Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (3 page)

Now
I was seriously late.  So, as Fate would have it, every traffic light turned
red on me from Millersville Pike up through Manor Street.  The one green light
I raced toward at Mulberry I forfeited to a pack of fire engines.  When at last
I pulled into the Prince Street garage, I came up behind someone entering a
parking garage for her very first time.  A wizened, woolly, permed head peered
out the driver’s side window and stared blankly at the huge lettering of the
machine’s instruction: ‘PRESS HERE FOR TICKET’.  I sighed.  I undid my seat
belt, got out and walked up to the 100-year-old would-be parker.  I pressed the
button and handed her the ticket.  She looked up at me confusedly through
Coke-bottle lenses.  Then she watched the gate go up. A moment later, I saw the
light go on over her head.  She smiled, waved thank you and floored her Camry
for all it was worth, leaving me behind in the fumes.

I
coughed, got back into my car and ignored the silent parade behind me that was
backed up Prince Street, probably well past Clipper Stadium.  I have to admit
it: people in Lancaster are super polite.  If this kind of thing had happened
in New Jersey, horns would be leaned on and various dialects of hand signals
would be displayed, not so subtly. As an official Jersey transplant, I’ve found
the hardest thing to get used to about Lancaster – besides the bucolic scenery
and fresh air – is how nice everyone is to each other.  It’s scary.

I
found a parking spot then hightailed it into the parking garage elevator.  I
raced out of the elevator, through the courtyard, and into the lobby to wait
for a few thousand years until an elevator showed up.  There are only seven
floors in the old Armstrong building on Chestnut and Queen and it almost never
fails that you have to wait a lifetime for an elevator’s arrival — and even
longer when you’re running late.  I drummed my fingers impatiently on the
receptionist counter.  Then I heard three simultaneous chimes as a trio of
empty elevators opened at once. I got into what looked like was the least
threatening elevator and pressed 7 for the ‘Penthouse’.  Ha, ha.

I
began walking to my desk, when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me inside the
IT lab.  “Leave your purse here,” Bauser whispered.

“You’re
mugging me?” I asked.

“Seriously,
How-weird’s on a roll.” Bauser shook his head.  “So leave the bag here and make
like you were in the bathroom or something so he doesn’t know you just came
back from lunch.”

 “Bauser,
girls take their handbags into the ladies room all the time,” I said. “But thanks
for the heads up,” I said, with a virtual pat on his head.

I
opened up the IT lab door, stepped back into the hall and found myself
breast-to-face with my boss, Howard (or, as we not so affectionately call him,
How-weird.)

“MINA!”
Howard screamed into my cleavage.  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

“Lunch?”
I said.

The
little vein running up the center of Howard’s bald head throbbed.  I gulped.

“Everyone’s
out to lunch!  You’re out to lunch! Roger’s out to lunch! And Buy-A-Lots’ execs
are out to lunch!  Now those crazies are griping Predict-O is being used by
arsonists!”

Bauser
was right.  How-weird was on a roll.  I tried to muster all the intellectual
wit I could from my energy-absent lunch.  I took a deep breath, opened my mouth
to explain, and let out a very loud burp.

Howard
threw his stubby little arms up in the air and stomped off.  Bauser fell
backward into the lab convulsing.  I blushed.

“Man,
oh man, that was like totally the best response ever,” Bauser hooted.

I
sighed.  Three years I’ve been with EEJIT now and each year I get depressingly
decreased raises accompanied by increased hints of termination.  Belching in my
boss’ face clearly wasn’t helpful.

Bauser
– known only to his mother as Ralph Bausman – took off his glasses to wipe the
tears out of his eyes.  Well, I thought, at least my dyspepsia provided comic
relief.

“So
what’s going on?” I asked.

“Okay,
seriously, babe, you are not gonna believe this,” Bauser grinned.  “You know
How-weird’s pet Buy-A-Lots project?”

I
knew all too well.  “Yip.  Help Buy-A-Lots put a store on every corner of every
town all across the country.”

Buy-A-Lots
pays EEJIT a boatload of money for the Predict-O reports, because Predict-O is
supposed to find them the best possible new store locations.  When Buy-A-Lots
ran the program, and Predict-O forecasted Lancaster as the best place to open
up their next new store, they went nuts.  There are six Buy-A-Lots here
already, and all of them are bleeding money.  Both EEJIT and Buy-A-Lots
couldn’t understand the results from the data – but here in the Lancaster office, we sniggered. If you stay here for more than 48 hours, you realize that
Lancastrians are frugal people.  Very, very nice, and very, very frugal (in
other words, cheap). So it was no surprise, then, that Buy-A-Lots execs
couldn’t believe our data was telling them to open up a seventh loss leader.

“Babe,
remember how at contract renewal Roger talked Howard into letting Buy-A-Lots
pay only half for Predict-O so we could keep the contract?  The other half’s
bet on the new store opening up in Lancaster on time and being a lean, mean
cash machine.”

“Right. 
So what’s the catch?”

 “The
new store on Fruitville Pike.  It’s burned down.  Again.”

Oh. 
So that’s where the pack of fire trucks was going.

This
was the second time a fire ‘happened’ to the same new store.  The first time
was an accident, the paper reported: a workman’s torch was left on when it was
supposed to be off.  Although the gossip with the senior crowd during that
Brethren Breakfast was that none of them were too unhappy about it.  Especially
since no one got hurt.  (You see how nice Lancaster folks are?)

So
that explained How-weird’s meltdown.  It was common knowledge that if the new
store didn’t go up on time and wasn’t super profitable, How-weird would get the
boot.  I sighed.  This could make my position even worse.  Who knew who would
replace Howard? Someone even more awful?  Or maybe he’d fire me on his way out:
his last hurrah, that kind of thing. I started to read the writing on the
wall:  scapegoat for hire.

“Welcome
back, Mina,” Lee said smugly as she sashayed past me.

When
she was past, Bauser said, “Man, she is such a witch.”

I
shrugged.  Ever since I’d been hired, Lee’s jealousy for my office manager
position flared at every opportunity.  I figured it was mostly because she’s a
dyed-in-the-wool busy-body.  Part of my ‘other duties as required’ includes
being the closest thing we have to an HR department.  Consequently, I help
people deal with a lot of health benefit issues, which means I end up knowing a
lot more about their personal lives than I’d like to.  Someone like Lee would
definitely use this information for no good.  But luckily, Lee is a QA
technician who reports to Achmed.  And it seems that Achmed likes to keep her
pretty busy so he can check out his stock investments and eBay.

I
shrugged bye-bye to Bauser and trudged back to my cube.  I looked over at Norman’s cube across from mine, and saw him lying on his towel.  Norman stretches himself
out on the floor of his cube every day at exactly 2:00 p.m.  Clearly it was
half-past nap time, since he was already settled in.  It was also a clear sign
that I was even later than I thought.  Crap.  I plopped myself down in my chair
and stared at the corporate logo screensaver.  I logged in and waited for my
email inbox to open.  Since lunch, another 185 new emails had rolled in.  I
clicked on the ‘Message from’ column and confirmed what I already knew: 90
percent of these were from How-weird, whose office was less than twelve feet
from my cube.  I sighed, then reordered them by date and time to trawl through
the missives in order.

I
started to open the first email from How-weird when my phone rang. “Mina
Kitchen, EEJIT,” I said automatically, while trying to decipher the content of
How-weird’s first bold-face, red 14-point email.

“Girlfriend,
you are not going to believe this!” Belinda hissed into the phone at me from
across the miles.

While
I had to endure How-weird and the occasional stray Amish buggy, poor Belinda
endured various levels of dysfunction in EEJIT’s corporate offices in Atlanta.

 “Ken
is on a rampage,” Belinda whispered in a voice so low only a bat could hear it.
But I got every word.  We’d perfected the office phone whisper until we could
hear each other’s pulse.

“He’s
joined the club, huh?” I said, still perusing How-weird’s emails, which had
grown from 14-point bold red to 20-point purple, highlighted in yellow, and
pulsing against a black border.  I wondered how he did that.  It was pretty eye
catching.  I’d have to look into it.

“Ken
is actually sweating,” Belinda said.

This
was significant.  Ken is about 7 feet tall and weighs 90 pounds.  When he
visits Lancaster and stands next to Howard, he looks like a giant fork standing
next to a 4x4 meatball.  The effect is pretty humorous.  Especially since Ken’s
gestures are pretty effeminate, and Howard is a confirmed homophobe. This means
that after one of Ken’s visits, there is usually a mass exodus to the restrooms
so we don’t all pee in our collective pants.

“What’s
the deal?” I asked.

“Didn’t
you hear? You’re out there, for Pete’s Sake!”  Belinda was a Baptist. Saying
‘Pete’s Sake’ for her was significant cussing.

“Okay,
I’ll bite.  All I heard is that Buy-A-Lots’ new store on Fruitville Pike got
torched again.”

Belinda
sighed.  “And did you know the same thing happened out this way AND in
Buy-A-Lots’ corporate hometown?”

“Really?”

“And
they think all three store sites were selected by using guess-whose Predict-O
system?”

“Hey!”
I smiled.  Sometimes Fridays weren’t so bad after all.

“And
you know that fingers are pointing every which way, and Ken ain’t gonna take
the heat for nothin’, neither,” Belinda said.  She was right.  When it came to
passing the buck, Ken made How-weird look like a rank amateur.

“Anybody
hurt?” I asked.  I had to.  It was the nice thing to do, and I was still trying
to fit into Lancaster.

I
heard Belinda smile. “Nope.”

Cool. 
But also weird.  It meant there had to be some actual arsons going on.  Since
all three stores were already under construction, they weren’t exactly the
world’s best kept secrets.  Especially with all the PR Buy-A-Lots made sure was
in play.  New stores and store openings were announced in every major
newspaper.

“And
get this,” Belinda squeaked into the phone.  “All three fires were set off by
flaming –”

Her
sentence was cut short as she fell into one of her coughing jags.  Poor Belinda
has asthma that’s probably irritated by the same source that heats up my
catering crazies at EEJIT.

“Are
you okay? You wanna call me later? Or email?” I offered.  There was, after all,
no reason why EEJIT should ruin her weekend by landing her in the ER.

I
listened for a response, and heard nothing. “Belinda!” I said, then jerked in
my seat. I’d scared myself by speaking out loud into the phone like a normal
person. 

I
heard some crackling and a snort.  “Heeeeee-heeeee-heeee.”

“Belinda,
are you gasping?” I went into Commando mode. “Hang up the phone!”

“No-oooo…”
she whispered back at me.  “I’m t-t-t-trying not to – p-p-pee myself! 
Heeee-heee-heee!”

Oh. 
She was laughing.  I’d never heard her laugh before.  In fact, I’d never heard
anyone laugh at EEJIT.  Ever.  Although I’d heard lots of sighing.

I
got curious.  “So what’s the big ‘heeee’ about?”  I asked, sensing Belinda
wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Phew!”
she gasped.  Then, matter-of-factly, she said, “Every fire was caused by
flaming bags of feces.”

“Huh?”

“Bags
of doggie doo – on fire! Hee-heee-heeee…”

I
clapped my hand to my mouth so I wouldn’t LOL.  Wow.  TGIF!  I started to
snicker – and that made Belinda snicker more. Then she ended up having a real
coughing jag.  “Gotta go,” she gasped and hung up.  This damn company.

I
finally stopped and blew my nose hard.  I started to pull myself together when
I looked over and saw that I’d woken Norman.  “Sorry, Norman,” I said.  I
really was.  Norman is the only person who helps me when things get so bad I
bang my head against the desk.  Usually by folding up his towel and placing it
in front of my forehead.

“That’s
okay,” he said.  He looked at me incredulously.  “Did something good actually
happen?” he wondered aloud to me.

I
scurried across the aisle bent kneed, so How-weird or Lee wouldn’t see me above
cube height, and plopped down next to him on his towel.  I told Norman about the Flaming Fecal Flingers.  Then we both kept trying from laughing so hard we
turned red and tears streamed down our faces.   In the end my bladder couldn’t
take it anymore.  I squeaked, “Bye,” and crawled back to my cube.