Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (19 page)

11/28

I heard Thyme saying good-bye to her sister this morning, so I immediately went across the hall to get the scoop. “So Thornton’s gone, now. You can go back to being yourself,” I said.

No response.

“Did your parents make you act like the way they wanted you to?” I went on. “Because I know how hard that can be.”

Thyme just shrugged and gave me a bright smile. “This is me, Courtney. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

I just stared at her long enough so that she did. “You used to lecture me about not staying true to ‘the cause,’” I said. “You got mad at me for serving cream cheese.”

“I was confused,” Thyme said. “Anyway, I don’t know who you’re trying to be, but I’m embracing my roots. Did you see my new Honda yet?” Okay, that’s not
exactly
what she said, but that was the gist of it. Apparently she had a breakthrough with her parents and has now decided to accept who she is, blah blah blah. I think it’s more a case of: parents threatening to cut her off unless she toed their line. It’s very disgusting. Instead of Zen Buddhist quotes, she now sounds like she’s spouting lines from mugs with smiley faces. What happened to former best friend here? It’s like she joined a cult. The cult of Economic Inevitability. I
knew
her family donated that econ building and that they never lost her money. Or else why did she never have to work, was able to spend so freely, etc.? Can’t wait to discuss this with Annemarie, but she took an extra week of break to check out LA club scene. She picked a good week to be gone. My classes are impossible all of a sudden. Professors just realized that semester ends in 3 weeks and have shifted into some higher gear without warning. Papers due left and right, must read an entire book tonight.

Should have worked ahead like Mary Jo on Thanksgiving break. But was too busy watching TV with Ed, Eric, Dan, Peter, Jim . . . crap, still can’t remember 6th name. Man Who Does Not Speak. Either Karsten or Horst or Soren or . . . Kierkegaard.

11/29

Saw Wittenauer tonight for the first time since bowling trip. Very awkward at first. He pulled me aside and said he couldn’t stop thinking about one thing during break, it almost ruined his entire vacation back home in Iowa. I thought from the way he was looking at me, and the way he’d asked me out and I’d turned him down, he meant
me
. That he couldn’t stop thinking about
me
. Got very uncomfortable and pretended that an alum was calling me back, grabbed the phone, etc.

But then he said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I need to tell Dean Sobransky the truth. About how I need to out myself.”

Nearly dropped my stack of index cards. Wittenauer is gay? I was thinking. I rejected him and now he is rejecting the female species? Or maybe he was
never
asking me out, and stupid me assumed, which was a very dumb assumption. “Well, yeah, there comes a time in a person’s life, you know. Like my sister, Alison, she didn’t come out of the closet until last year—”

Wittenauer rolled his eyes. “I was talking about coming out of the
costume
. I feel really guilty for hiding behind Corny. I feel like I’m being dishonest to Dean Sobransky, who deep down is a pretty good guy, by not telling him I’m behind the whole school change concept, plus I’m letting you take the flak, which isn’t fair to
you
—”

Was trying to talk him down from the ledge, tell him not to stress so much, when Dean S. came into the offices. First he invited us all to an end-of-semester party at his house next Sunday night, the 10th, to thank us for all our hard work. Then he encouraged us all to make an extra push because people get more generous during the holiday season.

“Why don’t you have us stand downtown in Santa suits, accepting quarters in a can?” I asked.

“Courtney, please,” Dean S. said. “Do try to take this a little more seriously. Our future is at stake here. Alumni giving is down thirty-nine percent from last year.” He pointed to the giant ear of corn on the wall that measures our fund drive. “The kernels should go up to here,” he said, illustrating by pointing with a pool cue he was mysteriously carrying around. “They’re way down here. What we have here is an undergrown ear of corn.”

“Maybe it was genetically engineered,” I suggested.

Everyone laughed—except Dean S. “This is a very serious matter. We need to up our endowment. Tell the alumni you reach that our endowment is slipping,” Dean S. said.

“You want me to say that we’re not well endowed?” Rachel asked. “You’re kidding, right?” He wasn’t.

Then he cornered me and said he hoped I had a nice Thanksgiving. And wasn’t it nice that the seasons had changed, and football was over, and so that meant of course that my little protest group had ended for the season as well?

“But there’s basketball teams, right? And hockey is really big here,” I said. “Isn’t it? Men’s and women’s teams? And then there’s swimming—”

“Courtney! We’re not changing the name of the college!” Dean S. cried, banging the pool cue against a file cabinet.

The whole time, Wittenauer staring at us, biting his nails, racked by guilt, not helping.

“We don’t want you to change the name of the college,” I said.

Dean S. looked at me as if I had just kissed him and offered to bear his children. Ugh. “You don’t? Oh, well, then what do you want?” Smiled at me and looked very greedy all of a sudden, sort of like the Grinch.

Suddenly I realized I had no idea. Have not been spending any time on this lately, and lost my train of thought. “We, uh, want, um, our voices to be heard,” I said.

“That can be arranged. I suppose,” Dean S. said.

“When?” I asked.

“Let me get back to you on that.” Sounded very much like he did not mean that at all.

Later on, Wittenauer made me promise I will go to the Badicals meeting this Sunday and asked me to bring anyone I can round up—Annemarie of course, and even Thyme. Told him that Thyme had been transformed/ morphed into Morgan, that she is wearing makeup over neck tattoo and getting French manicures and enrolling in business classes for next semester. I told him that when I asked her what’s going on with her, how she can just turn her back on her entire personality, she said, “I realized I needed to be
in
the system to
fight
the system.”

“How establishment is that? What
happened
to her?” I asked Wittenauer.

Thought he would laugh, but he didn’t. “She’s just like everyone else,” he said bitterly. “You’re really naïve if you think anyone actually cares about changing this place, or the world, or anything.”

Whoa. Might go slip my Mental Health Resources brochure under Wittenauer’s door. Only I can’t remember where he lives exactly.

Told him not to stress out so much, that obviously there are people who care. So we’re a little aimless right now, but we’ll pull it together.

Feel like everyone around me is cracking under the pressure of coming exams and massive amounts of work. Mary Jo and Joe are not speaking due to some notes-borrowing misunderstanding. Tricia snapping at a customer for taking too many pennies from the “Take a Penny!” cup. Marcus showing up at work in ratty T-shirt; Ben studying at every spare moment and getting all the orders wrong.

Good thing I cracked 2 weeks before now and am able to be there for people. Mostly this means they yell at me.

11/30

I have not seen the sun for days. Keep expecting to see polar bears on my way to class. Instead, layers and layers of fleece pass by. Largest coats I have ever seen. Boots also.

I don’t understand how people ended up settling here, how they survived, unless this is warmer than Scandinavia? Or do they have different skin from me, like animals who have evolved, adapted? I have definitely not adapted.

Dear Mom,

In case you are wondering what I might like for Christmas and if you can take a break from chat room and have time to shop online, I could really use a new winter coat. Something large and thick and preferably not bright yellow or orange.

In all seriousness, I hope things are going well, and I can’t wait to see you in a couple of weeks.

Love,

Courtney

Hi Courtney!

I was online when you wrote—not in a chat room, don’t worry. It’s so good to hear from you! I can’t wait to see you at Christmastime. I hope we can spend
lots
of time together. How are things with Grant? Did you settle things?

Mom,

Everything with Grant is okay. I’m really too busy here right now to even worry about that.

Yeah. Right.

Grant emailed me from computer lab tonight, where he and Melinda are working on writing some big report. Tried to tell myself this was no big deal, Mary Jo has a lab partner, too. Joe. And they sleep together, so, you know, what am I worried about???

12/1

Got Christmas card from Mary Jo’s family today. Reminds me I still haven’t sent thank-you note, and am in possession of world’s worst manners.

December 1st. Christmas is coming up way too fast, like some high-speed bullet train. Usually it’s the fallen-behind-on-shopping that gets to me. This year it’s the . . . what is going to happen when I get home? Things with Grant seem okay, but we are not talking as often and I have flashes of jealousy when we do. Like for instance why does he
need
a lab partner? Melinda should partner up with someone else. Grant can do the work on his own, he’s smart enough.

Perhaps Johannsens wouldn’t mind 1 more mouth to feed at Christmas dinner, either. If they won’t take me in, maybe Mary Jo’s biological mother will. She might need help delivering all those Christmas cards and packages.

12/2

Spent the morning selling BF gift certificates and filling a display case with “Knockwurst Stockings” full of knockwurst treats for DOGS.

Need I say more?

Not now, because I already did at work. Tried to point out the contradiction this creates.

“You’re saying that we’re selling this prepackaged dog biscuit that is essentially made of the same things as our Knockwurst Knots, and this is supposed to send what kind of message to our customers?”

Strike 843 against me, but Courtney still not out.

Jennifer actually said, “Yeah. It’s kind of gross when you stop and think about it.”

Finally vindicated.

Not that it matters—we still sell the stuff.

Which is okay because I’ve got Oscar’s Christmas present wrapped up now, for a discount.

12/3

Annemarie is back, and we went to the Badicals meeting today. It is our last one of the semester, because next Sunday is so-called Crunch Day, last day before finals begin. (Same day as Dean S.’s party. Why is he giving a party on a Sunday night before finals? Probably doesn’t want a high turnout.)

At the meeting we talked about how we want to settle this whole CFC thing, and I said that Dean S. had promised to let our voice be heard. We made this list of our demands, and then decided to protest outside the bookstore on Saturday. They always give a lot of campus tours on Saturdays, for one thing. For another, everyone is jamming the bookstore now for study supplies, paper, highlighters, textbooks they never bought at the beginning of semester.

I think this is Crunch Month. I am going to spend the entire day studying. Annemarie, Mary Jo, Peña, and I are all sitting in the lounge, armed with pretzels and rice cakes, the low-fat study group.

Thyme just came by and asked what we talked about at our meeting. Annemarie said she should have come if she wanted to know. Didn’t understand her hostility until she pointed out that we can’t trust Thyme now. Morgan. Whoever. Because she’s working against us now, and is only asking in order to infiltrate the group for her own good. That seems sort of unlikely. I bet she just misses hanging out with us.

12/4

Funny day at work. We put up more holiday decorations—garlands of lacquered bagels—and then discussed possible holiday specials. I said I wanted to do a Ginger-spread Gingerbread bagel. (This job is either growing on me—or growing in me, like a disease.) Marcus wanted to have something called New Year’s Cheese. Ben wanted to have a Kwazy Kwanzaa Pizzaa, just for the visual of z’s and a’s. I don’t think he was being serious, I think he was making fun of me and Marcus.

Anyway, Jennifer listened and seemed really interested and impressed. Then she announced that she had just received her shipment of the company’s holiday menu items—on ice. She let out this sad sigh and brought out the tray with the things on it. First the Merry Carver: turkey rolled into a bagel. Then Rudolph’s Roast Beef—meat, bagel, the usual, only more bloody. “What next—actual reindeer meat?” I asked. Then there were Sugar Cookie bagels, which tasted very rude. And the Kris Kringle Single, a nasty-looking green and white candy thing that was supposed to be a dollar bill.

“This stuff makes even the Bacle look good,” I said, “which is saying a lot. I
really
don’t think we can sell this stuff. I don’t think
I
can, anyway.”

I waited for the inevitable strike 3. Maybe I wanted it to come. Go ahead. Throw me out. I’ll have more time to study for finals.

But Jennifer said, “I agree, these things look terrible. I bet we can come up with better ideas on our own.”

“What? But we can’t,” Ben said. “We’re not allowed.”

“Wait—wait. Before we decide
anything
, are there holiday aprons?” Marcus asked.

Jennifer then announced a very amazing thing. Once every year, the managers are allowed to run their own specials. Jennifer said, “The time is now.” She confessed that she’s totally sick of answering to corporate headquarters, tired of all the unreasonable sales goals, tired of getting slammed with new products, etc., and was probably going to leave soon, but maybe this would revitalize her.

Then she insisted we work through the day, into the night, developing our ideas. Does she not understand the concept of burnout? But it was actually fun. When the store closed, we blasted music, made signs, experimented with recipes, etc.

Courtney’s Gingerbread Spread. Coming soon to a non-chain near you.