Chip and the terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad week.
By R. L. Keller
( With due acknowledgment – and
apologies – to Judith Viorst)
“They're
here!” was yelled through the screen door from inside his sister's house north
of San Francisco as Chip Morton headed up the walkway. Immediately another voice reprimanded the
first. “Hush, Degan, you'll wake the
baby.”
Chip's
best friend, Lee Crane, chuckled softly as he walked a step behind the
blond. “So much for
sneaking in unannounced.”
Five-year-old Degan launched himself out the door and wrapped himself
around his uncle's lower body. He hit so
hard that Chip was nearly bowled over, remaining upright only because Lee
reached out a hand and steadied him.
“Easy, there, champ,” Lee told the youngster. “Your uncle Chip's had a long week.”
The
child, as blond as his uncle, backed off a step. “Did you kill any monster seaweeds, Uncle
Chip? How many torpedoes did you fire?”
“Degan,”
was spoken sharply by the child's mother as she opened the screen door,
welcoming in her sibling and Lee. “See
what you cause,” she scolded Chip, albeit doing so while giving him a warm hug. “The stories you fill his mind with...”
“So,”
Chip defended himself, walking into the spacious living room, “what are all
fairy tales except grossly exaggerated half-truths?”
Beth
shrugged as she gave Lee a hug. “I'll
have to give you that one, I suppose.
What can I get you two?” she continued.
“Dinner won't be ready for another hour or so.”
“A
chair and a beer,” Chip declared as he sprawled in the first piece of furniture
he came to, an overstuffed rocker/recliner.
“Like Lee said, it's been a long week.”
“Did
you shoot anything?” Degan demanded, refusing to give up his inquisition. He was sure his uncle had some wonderfully
gruesome stories to tell him.
“Don't
tempt me,” Chip muttered not quite under his breath, causing Lee to
snicker. Chip sent his friend a quick
glare before letting out a long sigh, and continued a little louder and a
little more under control to his nephew.
“No, Degan, I didn't shoot anything.
It's not something I do on a daily basis, you know.”
“But isn't that what submarines do?”
Beth's
husband, Greg, walked into the room with eleven-month-old Cassidy draped over
his shoulder. “Unfortunately, the
babysitter let him watch a World War II show on the History channel,” he said
softly, trying to convince his cherub-faced daughter to go back to sleep. It was quickly apparent that his efforts were
going to be a losing battle as the little blond head was refusing to stay on
his shoulder, wanting instead to twist around so that she could see the
visitors. He gave everyone a sheepish
look as Beth took the baby from him.
“Did I hear something about a beer?” he asked his visitors.
“Please!”
Chip breathed with feeling. Greg glanced
at Lee, who nodded before stretching out in another chair, and Greg headed for
the kitchen. When he came back through
the swinging door Chip's nose twitched and he glanced at Beth, sitting in
another rocker trying to convince Cassidy that she could watch the newcomers
while still remaining quiet. For the
moment, it seemed to be working. “What
smells so good?”
His
sister took a few strands of her longish red hair and used them to tickle her
daughter's nose as she flicked a quick glance between Lee and Chip. “I wasn't sure just when you two would get
here. I started parts of dinner a little
early so that I wouldn't be rushed later.
Greg,” she tried another distracting technique, this one on her brother,
“why don't you bring in the plate of sugar cookies. They can start on those.”
“Cookies!” Degan announced happily.
“You
get one,” his mother told him firmly.
“You'll
let Uncle Chip have more,” the youngster challenged.
“I'm
not at all concerned that they'll spoil his appetite,” Beth told her son
firmly, at which both Degan and Chip frowned and the other three adults
chuckled.
But
Chip's frown changed to speculation as his brother-in-law once more pushed
through the swinging door. “That smells
familiar,” he said. “What are you
fixing?”
“A
recipe that Lee e-mailed me,” Beth told her brother casually. “I discovered that the longer you let it
simmer, the more the flavors blend.”
Lee
recognized the smells from the kitchen as the dish Chip had caught him fixing
one night to take to the Jameson's for dinner – one that he'd not totally
explained to his friend.* Chip was a
confirmed 'meat-and-potatoes' kind of person, and definitely not into
'healthy' foods. This dish was entirely
meatless, made much healthier by braising crumbled tofu, and he suspected that
Chip would react badly when that was finally revealed. Now he sent Beth a small grin. “I discovered that it's also almost better
reheated the next day.”
It
was Beth's turn to grin. “I've made it a
couple of times already – there aren't any leftovers to reheat.”
Greg
came back in with a plate of cookies with chocolate frosting on top in time to
hear his wife's comments. “Got that
right,” he agreed. “Yumm!”
Chip
momentarily glared at Lee. “You gave her
the recipe but you won't give it to me?”
Lee just shrugged, sent his friend a smile, and reached for a cookie.
“Chill,
Chip,” Beth admonished her brother.
“Apparently he said that he'd make it for you when you came up?” Chip almost reluctantly nodded. “He sent up the recipe so he wouldn't forget
it, and it sounded so yummy that I tried it out ahead of time.”
“Told
you that it didn't have any special ingredients I couldn't find up here,” Lee
added. “Just...it's how you put them
together.” He shared a conspiratorial
grin with Beth.
Greg,
who knew the whole story and sensed that his brother-in-law was about to get
fussy, decided to help sidetrack the blond. “Please, eat the cookies. You're aware, of course, that you have to
consume sugar cookies as fast as possible.
The icing ferments over time and turns into a dangerous mind-altering
compound that leaves you susceptible to subliminal messages. It's part of a nationwide conspiracy
underwritten by the makers of diet products.”
He barely got the commentary out before erupting into laughter as the
others merely stared at him. When he
finally got himself back under control he changed the topic, reaching for his
own cookie. “So, tell us all about your
lousy week,” he told Chip.
“GAH,”
the blond muttered. “Where
to start?”
Lee
choked on a bite of cookie as he started to laugh, and it took him a couple
seconds to get back under control.
“Temporary secretaries,” finally bubbled out.
“That
wasn't until Tuesday,” Chip growled.
“You left out Monday.”
“I
spent all day Monday otherwise occupied,” Lee reminded him.
“Conveniently
out of the line of fire,” the blond muttered back. Lee's grin went even more innocent and Chip mumbled
something under his breath, mindful of his nephew watching him intently.
“You
had a bad week, Uncle Chip?” Degan asked seriously. “It doesn't get any better if you move to
Australia.”
“Huh,”
Lee sent his best friend a totally puzzled look. Hoping to sidetrack the conversation, Chip
sent Lee a quick grin. “Degan, tell your
uncle Lee all about Alexander,” he suggested.
“You
don't know about Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day,
Uncle Lee?”
“That's
a new one on me,” Lee admitted.
“It's
one of his favorite stories,” Beth told him.
“Degan can recite it from memory.”
“Okay,
champ,” Lee told the five-year-old. “You
tell me about Alexander, and then we can compare it to your Uncle Chip's last
few days.” Chip groaned slightly that
his misdirection wasn't apparently going to work, but they all listened
intently as Degan regaled them all with the short story.
“Alexander
and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day,” Degan began. “It was written by a lady named Judith Viorst,”
he told Lee seriously. “She really knew
about bad days,” and he started to tell the story.
I
went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I
got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped
my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was
going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
At breakfast Anthony found
a Corvette Sting Ray car kit in his breakfast cereal box and Nick found a
Junior Undercover Agent code ring in his breakfast cereal box but in my
breakfast cereal box all I found was breakfast cereal.
I think I’ll move to
Australia.
In the car pool Mrs.
Gibson let Becky have a seat by the window.
Audrey and Elliot got seats by the window too. I said I was being scrunched. I said I was being smushed. I said, if I don’t
get a seat by the window I am going to be carsick. No one even answered.
I could tell it was going
to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
At school Mrs. Dickens liked
Paul’s picture of the sailboat better than my picture of the invisible castle.
At singing time she said I
sang too loud. At counting time she said
I left out sixteen. Who needs sixteen?
I could tell it was going
to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I could tell because Paul
said I wasn’t his best friend anymore.
He said that Philip Parker was his best friend and that Albert Moyo was
his next best friend and that I was only his third best friend.
I hope you sit on a tack,
I said to Paul. I hope the next time you
get a double-decker strawberry ice-cream cone the ice cream part falls off the
cone part and lands in Australia.
There were two cupcakes in
Philip Parker’s lunch bag and Albert got a Hershey bar with almonds and Paul’s
mother gave him a piece of jelly roll that had little coconut sprinkles on the
top. Guess whose mother forgot to put in
dessert?
It was a terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad day.
That’s what it was,
because after school my mom took us all to the dentist and Dr. Fields found a
cavity just in me. Come back next week
and I’ll fix it, said Dr. Fields.
Next week, I said, I’m
going to Australia.
On the way downstairs the
elevator door closed on my foot and while we were waiting for my mom to go get
the car Anthony made me fall where it was muddy and then when I started crying
because of the mud Nick said I was a crybaby and while I was punching Nick for
saying crybaby my mom came back with the car and scolded me for being muddy and
fighting.
I am having a terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad day, I told everybody. No one even answered.
So then we went to the
shoestore to buy some sneakers. Anthony
chose white ones with blue stripes. Nick
chose red ones with white stripes. I
chose blue ones with red stripes but then the shoe man said, We’re
all sold out. They made me buy plain old
white ones, but they can’t make me wear them.
When we picked up my dad
at his office he said I couldn’t play with his copying machine, but I
forgot. He also said to watch out for
the books on his desk, and I was careful as could be except for my elbow. He also said don’t fool around with his
phone, but I think I called Australia.
My dad said please don’t pick him up anymore.
It was a terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad day.
There were lima beans for
dinner and I hate lima beans.
There was kissing on TV
and I hate kissing.
My bath was too hot, I got
soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my
railroad-train pajamas. I hate my
railroad-train pajamas.
When I went to bed Nick
took back the pillow he said I could keep and the Mickey Mouse night light
burned out and I bit my tongue.
The cat wants to sleep
with Anthony, not with me.
It has been a terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad day.
My mom says some days are
like that.
Even
in Australia.**
“Well,”
Lee told the youngster once he quit laughing, “I'm not entirely sure that your
uncle had quite that bad a time.” He
glanced at Chip. “But it was close.”
“Your
turn for a story, Uncle Chip,” Degan turned to his uncle.
“Yeah,”
Chip muttered, finally sighed heavily, and waded into the minefield that he'd
spent the last few days navigating.
“Barely
got into the office Monday when Barfield...” he paused. “Our chief accountant had to take a leave of
absence,” he explained to Beth and Greg.
“He'll be back in two weeks. Thankfully!” He took
a large swallow of beer and snagged another cookie. “Anyway, in the meantime we've had to put up
with this idiot, Cecil Barfield, who seems to think that he needs to have a
written record for every toothpick used in the cafeteria.”
“He's
a real pain,” Lee agreed. “Maxwell at
least keeps him under control. But the
instant Daniel had to take leave, Barfield took it in his brain to, as he was
overheard to phrase it, 'get this company back in line'.” It was his turn to sigh. “Admiral Nelson has been heard to plan his
demise. In the shark tank,” he added
with a grumble.
Chip
sent him a speculative look. “Humm, was
that before or after Monday?”
“Before,”
Lee informed him as he reached for another cookie. “I don't think he's heard about that, yet,
since he's been in DC all week.” It was
his turn to frown as Chip smirked.
“Don't,” Lee warned him. “You
really don't want to be responsible for that kind of slaughter.”
“Would
one of you kindly get back to the story before I smack you?” Beth ordered.
“Oh,
yeah,” Chip gave himself a shake.
“Sorry.” He and Lee still shared
a quick look before the blond continued.
“What had set Barfield off this time was what he considered a major
anomaly in my supply order, but what I knew – and everyone else who was on the
last cruise,” he and Lee both shuddered, “was strictly a necessity. We...ah...sort of had a small problem on the
way home when nearly all of the crew ended up with food poisoning.”***
“Did
you go to Australia?” Degan wanted to know.
It caused quick smiles all around before both Chip and Lee shuddered
slightly.
Chip
held up a hand as Beth started to question.
“It was an accident,” he hurried to explain. “Nothing Cookie did. Just...one of those
things.” Neither he nor Lee
wanted to explain the tainted dried fruit that had been brought aboard. “But we ended up using an over abundance of
bathroom tissue so, when I put in the re-supply order, I doubled the usual
amount so Seaview would be totally restocked.
Barfield came a little unhinged, obviously not knowing the reason.”
“Knowing
him, he didn't bother checking the reason,” Lee muttered.
“That,
too,” Chip agreed.
“You
still should have been able to deal with the explanation,” Beth said. “He can't possibly think he can argue with
facts. Especially from
Seaview's XO.” Her expression
turned puzzled when the statement caused Lee to quickly have to smother a
giggle.
“Sorry,”
Lee told her once he was back under control.
“Part of Tuesday's story,” he gave her half of an explanation and turned
back to Chip.
“Yeah,
I'll get to that,” came from the blond in a snarl. A little softer he continued. “No, once I pointed out a few details he'd
obviously ignored, I got him sorted out.
But just getting to that meeting ended up an obstacle course.” He emptied his beer bottle and his
brother-in-law immediately headed for the kitchen to get a refill. He glanced at Lee but a quick shake of the
dark head told him that Lee was still nursing his first bottle. Greg came back with a fresh one as Chip
finished stuffing another cookie in his mouth.
“Thanks,” Chip mumbled around the crumbs, washed them down with a more
controlled swallow of beer, and continued.
“Barfield
ordered me to his office...” He paused
as both Beth and Greg stared at him. He
merely shrugged and sent them a small smile.
“Yeah, but it didn't bother me, letting him try to push what he thinks
as 'his authority' around. Just meant
that I could get up and walk out any time I felt like it, rather than put up
with him in my office for who knew how long.”
He got back nods and got back to the narrative. “I gathered up a copy of
Doc's report documenting...” he gave his head a shake as three smiles were sent
his way for that sentence, “the incident, and headed for his office half an
hour early.”
“Throw
Barfield off track by showing up early,” Lee interjected. “Typical Chip tactic.” He chuckled as Chip sent him a quick glare.
“Unfortunately,
I made the mistake of stopping to help Angie change an ink cartridge in her
printer.” He sent the group a disgusted
look. “Those things are sealed. No problem, right?” He sent Lee another glare as the brunet
buried a grin. “The blasted thing
exploded – I don't know another word for what happened – and I ended up with
print powder all over my uniform.”
“Oops,”
Beth told him sincerely. Having grown up
with him, she as much as anyone knew what a neatnik her brother was. He would have been totally torqued!
“No
biggy,” Chip shrugged it off. Sort of. Beth still
saw a look cross her brother's face that had her biting her tongue. “I keep a spare uniform in my office, and
thankfully the report didn't get hit with any of the fallout. I cleaned up and headed out again...” He paused as once more Lee choked off a
snort. “Yeah,” Chip growled. “Turned a corner and ran smack into him,” he
pointed at Lee, “headed for his own meeting with the Engineering department.”
Lee
cringed slightly at the tone of Chip's voice.
“I was carrying a big mug of coffee – it was going to be an involved
meeting and I needed my own fortification.
The secretary staff in Engineering has gone on a decaf kick.”
“Not
only did the coffee wipe out another uniform shirt, it destroyed Doc's report,”
Chip muttered, before sighing heavily.
“Back to my office, print out a new report, and grab a polo shirt 'cause
I'm out of clean uniforms. Note to self
– keep four clean uniforms in my office from now on.” Everyone chuckled at that. “By that time I was late. Stalked into Barfield's office – he wasn't
impressed with my casual dress.
Tough! Tossed the report on his
desk, told him that if he was unable to read facts to take it up with Doc, and
I stomped back out.”
“And
holed up in his office the rest of the day,” Lee added oh so innocently.
Beth
grinned. “I gather Barfield got the
hint.”
Chip
finally sent her a small smile. “Didn't hear another word out of him, for sure.”
“So,”
Beth goaded him softly, “what did Tuesday bring for Seaview's XO?” She'd not forgotten the little side-play
between her brother and Lee earlier.
Chip
groaned audibly and made a hit on his beer. “So, I come in Tuesday carrying
three uniforms, fresh from the cleaners...” that got chuckles all around, “and
discover that my secretary is home sick with the flu and I've got a temp. On a day when I've got a gazillion memos and
staff reports that need reading and typing responses to!”
“First
of the month,” Lee interjected.
“Everyone spends Monday doing their departmental reports, and Tuesdays
can get really bogged down getting through them all, as well as re-distributing
the information where it's needed.”
“Yeah,”
Chip agreed. “So I make a hit on the
coffee pot for fortification and discover that there's only hot water because the
temp only drinks tea.”
“She's
still alive?” Beth knew her brother only
too well.
“Barely,”
Chip growled. “Tossed that out while
telling her in no uncertain terms that the coffee pot was for coffee only and
she could jolly well get her own hot water, and waded into the reports.” He glanced at Degan, seemingly fascinated by
his uncle's story, and didn't say out loud what was fairly readable – by the
adults – on his face.
“I
started in on the reports, getting the data sorted into where it needed to be
directed, and sending the various merged reports to the printer so that I could
distribute them in digest form.” He
sighed and took a swig of beer. “I go
out to get the reports... I have got
to get a printer in my office instead of using the one I share with my
secretary, Trish,” he growled at Lee, who shrugged, “...and nothing's
there. I look at the temp and ask what
she did with them, and she's on the phone talking to someone about shades of
lipstick.” He shook his head. “When she doesn't answer me I disconnect the
call and ask again, actually fairly nicely.”
“Yeah,
sure,” Lee interjected softly, and Beth and Greg snickered.
“And
she says, 'well, the printer kept beeping but nothing came out so I just
ignored it.' Then she shrugs and redials
whoever she was talking to.”
“And
she's still alive?” Beth asked incredulously.
“Angie
doesn't like me throwing secretaries out third floor windows,” Chip told her,
“but I was sorely tempted. I did,
however, inform Angie that she needed to seriously re-evaluate her screening
practices. Anyway, once I cleared the
printer I spent the rest of the morning having to totally re-do all the screwed
up reports.”
“Have
another cookie,” Beth told him. “Sounds
like you burned up a lot of extra calories in frustration.” Cassidy had finally gone back to sleep, and
Beth got up carefully to put her back to bed elsewhere in the house. Both Greg and Lee helped themselves to more
cookies as well, and Greg broke off part of his and gave it to Degan, who was
looking longingly at the diminishing stack.
Greg put a finger to his lips and Degan nodded seriously, understanding
not to let his Mom see. He was done
eating the small piece by the time Beth re-entered the room. “So, you finally got things sorted out,” she
said with confidence in her brother as she headed for the kitchen. This time she left the swinging door open.
“Not
exactly,” Chip informed her. Beth stayed
in the kitchen but kept one eye and one ear glued to the conversation in the
living-room. “I did have a different
temp when I got back from lunch.”
“Hallelujah,”
Greg told him.
Chip
grimaced. “Not exactly,” he
grumbled. He sent a look Lee's way when
his friend couldn't control another chuckle.
That look had been known to send members of Seaview's crew scurrying for
their lives. As usual it had little
effect on Lee. Chip finally sent him a
quick nod and continued. “I had several
memos to get out, still, and since I'd ended up wasting so much time that
morning, I dictated them and gave them to the temp to type up. This one at least seemed competent.”
“Wrong,”
Lee said quietly.
“Oops,”
it was Greg's turn to murmur.
“I'm
used to Trish typing a master and letting me proof things before she e-mails
them out.” Chip shrugged. “The temp had a different working style. I'd left sticky notes as to who each memo was
supposed to be sent to, and she just typed them up and e-mailed them out. And obviously she didn't proof them, either,”
Chip added with a growl.
“Chip
hates typos,” Lee once more interjected a small commentary.
“Yeah!” Chip agreed.
“They
can't have been that bad,” Beth tried to console her brother.
Chip
sent her a toned-down version of the glare he'd favored Lee with a few moments
earlier. “They sent Lee nearly rolling
on the floor laughing before he brought them to my attention.”
Beth
sent Lee a raised eyebrow. “She just
switched two letters in one e-mail, and left out a letter in another,” Lee
explained.
“But
it was which letters where,” Chip muttered.
“Yes?” Beth was sensing that her ultra-competent
brother had taken a major hit. And she was loving every bit of it.
Not that she wished him ill. But
it was nice to see him knocked down a peg or two on occasion.
“At
least both e-mails stayed in-house,” Lee tried to mollify his friend.
“Thank
heaven for small miracles.” Chip refused
to quit frowning.
“So,
is one of you going to finally spit out what the problems were?” Greg asked
with a careful smile.
“Only
if I have to,” Chip muttered.
Lee
had been trying to get Chip to admit what had caused his foul mood, but his
stubborn friend wasn't giving in so he finally did. “The first one involved staff letting him know in a more timely fashion than has been happening when
reporting the occasional overcharge by supply distributors. But instead of 'reporting to Seaview’s XO,'
she'd typed 'reporting to Seaview's OX.”
Beth
couldn't hold in the giggles and ended up enduring a ferocious glare from her
brother. But she was just as good as Lee
was at ignoring the blond's occasional temper tantrums. “And the other one?” she asked Lee, ignoring
Chip.
“A
small matter of leaving out the 't' in Chip's last
name at the end of the memo. At that
Beth totally lost it and disappeared back into the kitchen. However, she almost immediately reappeared. “This wouldn't be one of the secretaries
you've dated, would it? Maybe she was
holding a grudge for some reason.”
Chip
shook his head. “She's married,” he told
his sister.
Lee
was also quick to dissuade that thought.
“When Chip called her into his office and pointed out the typos, her
contrition at the errors was most definitely genuine.”
“Yeah,”
Chip was forced to admit – however reluctantly.
“She was still feeling so bad about it the next morning – Trish was
back, thankfully – that she brought in fresh bagels and cream cheese from the
bakery downtown.” A smile almost hit the
blond's face before he remembered that he was supposed to be ticked off. Beth didn't miss the look, and giggled her
way back into the kitchen.
“So
hopefully, with your secretary back, things calmed down,” Greg reasoned.
“Yes
and no,” Chip muttered. He almost
drained his beer bottle, visibly controlled himself, and merely took a
sip. “Started in on my day's
projects...”
“Properly
fortified with high-test coffee and three bagels slathered with half an inch of
cream cheese each,” Lee interjected, grinning at Greg with a sideways smirk at
his best friend.
Chip
tried to snarl back but his heart wasn't in it, and Lee's grin spread as he
took his own sip of beer and winked at Greg.
Chip sent him a slight tip of his beer bottle in acknowledgment and
continued. “Needed to
call one of our suppliers. There
was a discrepancy between what was on the invoice, what I’d ordered, and what
we'd actually received.” He
frowned. “Since the last time I talked
to them they'd put in an automated phone handling
system.”
“I hate
those things,” Beth commented from the kitchen.
“Dinner ready?” Chip asked hopefully.
“Not
quite,” his sister informed him. “You
have time to finish your story.”
“Swell,”
Chip grumbled, not quite under his breath.
“Was
the company in Australia?” Degan asked.
“No,
but they're going to be kicked there if they don't fix their phones,” Chip
threatened.
“Degan,
quit interrupting your uncle,” Greg admonished, albeit with a grin in his
voice.
Chip
sent him a look, sighed heavily, and continued.
“So, I dial the number – it's long distance, of
course – and I get a wrong number.”
There were small sympathetic sounds from Beth and Greg. “I know I dialed correctly, but I
double-checked the number anyway and dialed again. That's when I discovered the new
system.” He glanced at Beth, who was
standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Most of them, when they start their spiel, you can hit zero and it
will take you to an actual person at the reception desk. Not this one,” he ended in a snarl. Everyone, including Degan, wisely stayed
quiet. “I get this...” he glanced at his
nephew, “stupid message, something about not recognizing that option, and I got
disconnected. So, I dialed again and had
to listen to half a dozen different options, none of which sounded like what I
wanted, so I picked one thinking I'd get a person who
could direct me to who I needed. All I
get is another list of options.” He
paused for a swallow of beer. “This set
really didn't sound like I wanted so I wait for an option to take me back to
the main menu.”
“There's
always one of those,” Greg offered.
“Not
this time,” Chip muttered. “By now I'm
so screwed up that I hang up and start all over again. I pay very close attention to the
options and finally get an honest-to-gosh warm body.”
“Hallelujah,”
Beth breathed.
Chip
sent her a disgusted glare. “Yeah, right.”
“Did
you know,” Lee interjected, his eyes twinkling, “that those two words, used
together, are the only time in the English language where two positives equal a
negative?” Chip transferred the glare to
his best friend, Lee sent back a totally cherubic grin as he reached for
another cookie, and Greg and Beth struggled – and failed – to bury chuckles.
Chip
finally gave his head a shake and went back to the story. “So, I get an actual voice,
start to explain the problem...” He
glanced at both Greg and Beth. “We were
invoiced for a case of one set of parts but what we received were
something totally different. Still
usable, but nearly half the price of what we'd ordered and been billed
for.” He got back nods of
understanding. “So I barely start the
explanation and whoever I was talking to stopped me and said that he didn't
deal with that, and he'd transfer me to Shipping. So I'm on hold for, like, ten minutes, I
swear...” Lee held up two fingers and
Chip sent him another glare when his sister snickered softly. “So,” Chip continued with another sneer at
Lee, “I start in with the dude in Shipping, and he says that he packed what was
on the Invoice, and before I could do anything he sticks me back on hold again
and transfers me to Invoicing.” He
frowned. “That idiot was adamant that
he'd invoiced the order exactly as he'd gotten it from Processing. I get stuck on hold – again – and transferred
to Processing.”
“Eesh,”
Beth sympathized.
“Oh,
it gets better,” Lee told her.
“Good
grief,” Greg breathed not totally quietly.
Chip
actually growled. “So, Processing says I
screwed up the order and I tell him no way, and fax him a copy of the original
order while he’s still on the line. He
hems and haws and somehow I end up on hold.
Again. I
figure that he’s straightening it out but suddenly I’m talking to the idiot in
Shipping, who’s still no help and transfers me to Invoicing, who hasn’t a clue
and transfers me to Accounts Receivable.
I thought that warm body was actually listening to me until he muttered
something about not being able to rebill for what we’d received without
authorization. I said fine, give me to
someone who has that authority, and I promptly get disconnected.” He looked at his nephew. “By this time I was ready to shoot someone,”
he told Degan, and then promptly pointed a finger at the youngster. “But I didn’t,” he said firmly. “I handled it the proper way – by firing off
another fax, detailing the entire problem as well as my extremely unsatisfying
phone conversation, and demanding that the original shipment be re-billed, the
original order be filled, both confirmed within twenty-four hours, or they
could expect no further business from NIMR in the future.” He let out a blast of air and his hard look
turned decidedly smug. “I had a
confirmation fax within two hours, and the right order delivered overnight
express. For which shipping option,” he
added, including the others in his glance, “cost them a pretty penny but for
which we were not charged.”
Beth
clapped her hands. “That made up for all
the hassle.”
“Mostly,
anyway,” Chip had to agree, and his sister smiled.
“So,
did your week finally fall into place after that?” Greg asked.
Lee
had, unfortunately, just taken the last swallow of his beer and very nearly
choked trying to smother a snort of laughter.
After a quick glare at him, Chip frowned at his brother-in-law. “If you don’t count having to hurry to a
meeting after the extended phone conversation, walking in five minutes late,
and then discovering that I’d grabbed the wrong folders.”
“Ouch,”
Greg sympathized.
“Or being in the shower this morning, nicely lathered up, and my hot water tank died!”
“Oh, no,” Beth commiserated. “Did you at least have a reason last night to be requiring a cold shower before work this morning?” She said it with a straight face but immediately ducked back into the kitchen, out of her brother’s line of fire. As both Lee and Greg finally got their instant laughter under control, she called out, “Dinner ready in two minutes.” She heard a muttered, “It’s about time,” and sent her brother a grin as everyone gathered around the table.
Chip’s mood instantly improved as he glanced over the table. A large bowl of salad greens sat with several different varieties of bottled dressing. Nearby were serving dishes, one filled with baby carrots sautéed in butter and the other a broccoli and cauliflower combination blended in a light cheese sauce. There was a divided plate that held several kinds of olives and pickles, and a butter dish sat next to a covered basket from which emanated the scent of freshly baked rolls. Chip was already licking his lips in anticipation as he sat down, ignoring the amused grin on Lee’s face as he also settled into a chair. Greg poured coffee for the adults before he sat down, a glass of milk already sitting in front of Degan’s plate. Beth was the last to sit, bringing with her a bowl of dry Chinese noodles and a serving dish filled with what resembled a saucy hamburger sloppy joe mix.
Chatter
was limited as dishes were passed and everyone’s plates filled with the dinner
selections. Chip could barely contain
himself until everyone had some of everything and he could fill his fork full
of a combination of dry noodles now loaded with a large helping of the meat
mixture.
Conversation
continued to be sporadic. Now that Chip
was otherwise occupied, Greg and Beth had a chance to catch up with what had
been keeping Lee busy since the last time he’d visited – at least, the
unclassified parts. Lee enjoyed Chip’s
baby sister and her family. There were
also comments about the meal – Beth was an excellent cook.
Chip
did take a fair amount of ribbing as he took a second helping of the noodles
and saucy meat mixture. “It’s even
better than what I tasted at your place,” he sniped at his friend.
Lee
nodded. “Like Beth said earlier, it’s better the more you let the flavors marinate. Mine was barely finished cooking, let alone
being allowed to simmer for a while.”
Chip shrugged and continued eating.
Half
an hour later the only thing left of the meal were a few pickles and
olives. Chip had polished off the last
of the noodles and meat while ignoring the smiles and snickers from the rest at
the table, including Degan, before helping the others make a fairly large dent
in a devil’s food layer cake with cream cheese frosting. He picked up his coffee, drained the last of
that, and collected both Beth and Lee into a firm gaze. “Now, one of you two, tell me what’s so
special about the meat in that.” He
pointed to the now empty dish.
Lee
very carefully kept a straight face.
“There’s actually nothing special about the meat used to prepare that dish.”
Chip
turned to his sister. “He’s
hopeless. Give, Sis,” he ordered.
Beth chuckled. “Lee’s absolutely correct – there’s nothing special about the meat.” As Chip’s expression hardened and he prepared to turn on his best XO performance, Beth turned on her own ‘little sister knows more than big brother’ expression. “Because, Chip, there is no meat at all in the recipe.”
Chip
snorted. “I know meat when I eat it,” he
told her.
“Not
this time,” Lee told him. “It’s tofu.”
“What?”
Chip practically yelled. “No way!”
“Yes,
way,” Beth told him smugly. “It’s all
crumbled up and sautéed firm tofu.”
There was complete silence around the table until a small voice broke in. “Some days are like that, Uncle Chip. Even in Australia.”
*see
“A Special Dinner Request”
**
“Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day” by Judith Viorst,
c. 1972
***see “Shark Bait