Small Places : Nick L Belardes [115 of 128]

• Me: "That's an interesting statement." I know she sits in her office and types emails to her boyfriend and writes about balloon festivals."
• The rest of the time Eliza wanders the halls and cubicles for $85,000 a year. Milt made more though. And he could speak French.
• While Milt seemed built from electricity and bug mandibles, she appears to have rolled out of an old 1970s TV set.
• After our talk she begins a new routine of staring at Mulani from her doorway. She looks like a sitcom extra. Franken TV. A caricature.
• At lunchtime, Eliza paces outside the elevator. She leans against a wall, pretends to read a novel while marking our coming and going.
• If that isn't enough, the marketing meetings have become celebrations of Post-Its and fat markers.
• "Think of your favorite color," she says. "Now, take a Post-It and describe that color.
• Take another Post-It and tell me three good things about this company.
• "Then tell me three things you don't like about the person on your left." Me: "Do you want that on a Post-It or share now?" Eliza stares.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [114 of 128]

• I'm in shock. But Eliza ignores my surprised look and babbles: "I want to travel to France to revamp Buildicon's ads." Me: "France?"
• Eliza: "I need a French countryside vacation." Me: "You just started." Eliza: "I don't like your attitude." I decide to change the subject.
• Me: "I hear you're in theatre. You going to be in a production soon?"
• I wonder if she will start performing right from her Buildicon office. Eliza: "Yes. I'm auditioning for
• 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.'" I immediately blurt: "Nurse Ratchet?" Eliza smiles: "How did you know?"
• In the afternoon Eliza calls me into her office again. "You and Mulani both took a two hour lunch." Me: "I did not." Eliza: "You did too."
• I knew better than that. It was one hour and fifteen minutes. I give in: "OK, I won't be late again since you're being so ticky-tack."
• Eliza: "Good. Two hours is too long." Me: "I was fifteen minutes late." Eliza: "If there's so much free time, we have too many workers."

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [113 of 128]

• Thirty-seven
• Eliza Lumber is one of the worst names imaginable. First contact was made when I peered in the window of her Subaru in the parking lot.
• "Who in the Hell does this car belong to?" I say to Mulani after we tackle a Chinese food buffet. "The new marketing manager," she says.
• The Subaru is filled with Hostess donut wrappers and books on theatre, like: "How to Talk like You're Talking," and "Lights, Camera, You."
• More titles: "Great Theatrical Moments on Forgotten Sitcoms," and "How to Avoid Rigidity in Non-Realism: Epic Muppet Disasters."
• I’m thinking: Here’s someone who wants to learn how to fake her way through life with as much preservatives as possible.
• I'm sitting in Eliza Lumber's office when she blurts: "You know, I don't really know much about marketing and ads. I am picking up on it."
• Me: "Oh, self taught." Eliza leans forward in revelation: "Everything I've learned about advertising is from sitcoms and other TV shows."

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [112 of 128]

• "I'm too much of a rebel for that. Besides, I hate meetings." Mike: "But you hate everything."
• She storms out of the cubicle for bad coffee. Mulani has a victory in the supply cabinet war after tricking office staff
• into purchasing gel pens and a high-end three-hole punch. Her deftly planed Post-Its were tactically positioned
• to make it look like at least twelve different office workers had made requests.
• In response, Gertrude Ring, sent out what Mulani giggles is a hopelessly self-defeating email on office supply procedure.
• Gertrude's email: "...in order to make for timely and accurate delivery of your order, please do not leave Post-Its in the supply cabinet."
• "It's the Post-Its that did them in," Mulani laughs. "They were forced to come up with a procedure.
• Now they want the catalog on my desk..." Me: "A catalog?" Mulani: "I ordered one when the office workers were too lame-brained to do so."
• Suddenly Gertrude walks past like a ghoul. Me: "Can't we surrender? I keep getting called into Ken Grippo's office and
• I'm tired of staring at his nose." Mulani: "Casualty of war." Me: "His nose might attack me.
• You might not like me after I'm maimed by that thing." Mulani: "Oh, don't worry yourself." She walks away.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [111 of 128]

• "To be honest, I'm not even sure if she had a neck," Mike says. "That green dress was sure tight around her gizzard."
• "They hired my third grade teacher," I say. "They went from Hollywood sleezy to Texan, to cheesy sitcom actress." Mike: "It gets worse."
• Me: "Worse?" Mike: "You'll see." Me: "How could it get worse?" Mike: "I saw the supplies she ordered. She's a live one."
• We walk to Mulani's office and she's sitting there, glasses on and staring at the computer. Me: "Oh man, she's doing global data entry."
• I peer closer. "It's that data program that's going to revolutionize how we organize. She'll never hear us. She's got the Internet stare."
• Mulani feigns a trance. Me: "She must have entered the same information twelve times. Would be easier to enter data into a sausage."
• "Mulani, come back to us," I say. She giggles. Mike: "Oh look, it's Joan." Joan: "Hi guys." She smells like stress.
• "Passed up for manager again?" Mike says. Joan: "I don't want that stinkin' job. I never applied and I never will.”

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [110 of 128]

• "Who knew she hid such a heart ailment?" Mike said. She had been walking and collapsed. Had she snorted drugs before her stroll?
• Mike: "You just don't know about people. A bodybuilder with a bad heart. Hate to change the subject. Did you hear? The Texan is leaving."
• Thirty-six
• Me: "What do you mean the Texan is leaving?" Mike: "We're getting a new manager. He was just interim. You know, a temporary stand-in."
• Me: "Who is the lucky replacement? Maybe the return of Milt Butterlink?" Mike: "I don't believe in ghosts."
• Me: "He's not dead." Mike: "Looked like a zombie at the funeral." Me: "Zombies are undead: not dead, not alive." Mike grimaces, shrugs.
• "Whatever," Mike says. "She was wearing a Little House On The Prairie dress. Sort of looked like a piano player from the Old West."
• "Oh no, not a calico dressed manager! Was her dress green? It must have been green. Tell me she didn't have a high neckline," I say.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [109 of 128]

• Social groups form among the staring, sad faces. I don't go to any of them. I notice Milt Butterlink in a black-and-white plaid suit.
• By himself, he leans against a wall and has that same boyish, wooden grin on his face. His hair is a mess.
• His fat hands stuffed in pockets. Because I know nobody else will, I walk over. "How are you?" I ask. He looks away.
• I leave him standing helplessly lost in his mortality. The next morning I find a small box on my desk.
• Inside is a black coffee mug with the likeness of Katie Starburn on it. "The ultimate in corporate farewells," I say.
• Mike: "What about a calendar?" Me: "Too much finality. Eventually you reach December."
• Mike: "Collectable coffee stirrers?" Me: "Too small to read the fine print." Mike: "Pens?" Me: "Everybody loses them."
• "I think I need a shot of whiskey. I'm gonna miss that girl," Mike says. "She sure brightened up the land of cubicles. Don't you agree?"
• "Oh sure," I lie. I can't help but think of what Katie said at the Day of the Dead party. She had spilled her hardened, dying heart.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [108 of 128]

• Memories flood of her moving against me. My stomach churns in an agonizing twist. My mouth barely forms words: "When, Joan? When?"
• "Last night. Just after work," she says. My head hurts. My heart hurts. It beats and pushes blood that pulses, stings, throbs.
• With each second my fragile heart hurts more and more. It beats harder in my chest until drums pound a deafening death march.
• Thirty-five
• Outside the funeral home a sea of cars seem to have washed ashore. Palm trees droop leafy heads like shadowy gatekeepers.
• Surrounding the red-brick walls, rosebushes seem to playfully stretch, mocking the finality of the place.
• In the distance, flat cemetery lots are covered with manicured lawns and lined with dark green hedgerows. Nearby, a crowd gathers.
• I watch Joan and a group of women make their way toward each other. Buildicon workers gather like flocks of grey, dark-eyed waterfowl.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [107 of 128]

• The offices are darkened. It's early. I continue to hum a tune as I turn on my computer. It blinks and turns off. "Damn thing," I say.
• I hit the button again. The computer turns on then flashes off. I grumble and crawl under the desk to examine connector cables.
• After poking around I realize the main power cable is loose. "Ha!" I say. As I crawl out from under the desk I notice Joan standing there.
• She's probably got fifty tasks for me. I press a button and the computer flashes on. "Yes!" These little victories can salvage any Monday.
• begin shuffling items on my desk trying desperately to remember how I am supposed to begin my day. Joan is still at the foot of my desk.
• Any early morning thoughts of a day's head start ended with the cop's loudspeaker. "You'll never believe what happened," I say.
• I continue: "I was walking on Main and this cop..." Joan isn't listening. She looks down at her feet, ignoring me. "She's dead," she says.
• I'm laughing and not even listening. Joan is crestfallen. "She's dead," she repeats. Suddenly my heart floats into the ether.
• I imagine Mulani's face smiling and then in agony. I fall onto my chair and can't breathe. I imagine her caressing me, her lips on mine.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [106 of 128]

• I give "How do you do's?" to limping bag ladies. I smile at fluffy clouds like they were put in life's playpen for me to coo at.
• Then there's the occasional near-death experience with a car not yielding to me: the unwary pedestrian. "Asshole!" I scream.
• As a suburban nearly flattens me I stomp across the street suddenly thinking: "I have the worst possible life of anyone I know."
• As I walk under my morning cloud I suddenly stop in my tracks. My name is blasted from a loudspeaker: "Willie, where are you going? Stop."
• I slowly turn only to see a cop car stopped in the middle of the road. Again I hear my name blasted along downtown streets.
• "Willie, you don't know where you're going. Stop. Think about it." I squint, wondering if God is in that vehicle or if my fly is down.
• I realize the police officer in the car is a cop I know. He's laughing because I nearly wet my pants. Thank God for the police.
• I'm miserable in fake laughter as I head up to my cubicle. The elevator is a cold, weighted ride. I hum. I giggle.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [105 of 128]

• All I know is these corporate guys won’t pay for my bus fare across town, let alone a ticket to France where I can get drunk with Ichabod.
• On top of it all Joan is back with the company. She’s already pacing downstairs in the parking garage and chain smoking.
• Did she ever leave? "There is another," Joan says. She takes a deep puff as if the garage is her office. Me: "You sound so Yoda."
• She even looks sort of green. Joan: "You're so Episode V lately." Me: "It's the best movie.
• So, are you going to be our new marketing manager?" "Now there's a cold day in the marketing department," Joan laughs.
• he looks like she just finished burying Milt in an abandoned mine.
• Thirty-four
• Some days when I walk to work I think I've got the best life. I get to release stress through a great pedestrian morning.
• I curse about my life and get angry, then grimace at birds and cats and kids walking to school. It's nice. I feel free!

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [104 of 128]

• Katie laughs and continues: "It's a dog-eat-dog world, honey. Take as much as you can while you still have time.
• "I just went to Vegas and snorted up as much as I could. I took it. You should too. I'm not going to keep offering myself to you."
• Thirty-three
• Even though I never liked Milt Butterlink, I never held it against him why the company Prez would send lowly office workers to France.
• I have never wanted to go to the French countryside or a French city, meet French people, or get kissed in Paree.
• OK, I have wanted to embark on an Indiana Jones tour of the Louvre.
• It's not that I want a free trip. I don't want to attend wireless trade shows in Capetown, Orlando or Caracas. It's the justification.
• You realize more and more the fallacy of the entire intellectual and philosophical existence of a company as you realize inconsistencies.
• I would rather eat Top Ramein and be happy knowing I didn't depend on my sexuality to get to the top. I think.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [103 of 128]

• Katie: "Is it time for everyone else to leave?" I see Mike at the skeleton tree hanging barbecued chicken legs. I pretend not to notice.
• "So where's your girlfriend?" Katie asks. Me: "I don't have a girlfriend." Katie: "Yes you do. That Mulani girl. That tramp.
• "You know it was me who caused her pay to get docked when she was sick. Serves her right. I never liked her anyway.
• "I just signed her little name to everything I could. Milt noticed and shook up her world. It's always better to embarrass someone."
• Even I'm shocked by this turn of news from Katie. I step back. "You and Milt? She never told me she had a dock in pay," I say.
• Katie: "Forget that loser. I make twice her pay. And that means I'm a better woman, right?
• "Look, her husband doesn't love her. She makes low pay thanks to me, and she has some kind of illness. Sounds mental.
• “Any day now she’s going to be hanging from that tree with the rest of your skeletons.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [102 of 128]

• In her fast talk I don’t know if she said: skeleton, gelatin, or fish. She instantly complained about a lack of excitement in bed.
• Mike and I are below the window. It’s set rather high and overlooks a narrow walkway between the apartment and a fence.
• On my tiptoes I can see the tops of two heads. Voices quickly chatter, and unintelligibly at that.
• I place a foot on an air conditioner unit, hoist my left knee onto its surface, then slowly raise myself into position.
• Katie has just unhooked a black bra revealing two huge breasts. The girl smiles, reaches over and begins to squish with nimble fingers.
• Mike and I look at each other. He's gawking too. He shrugs as if to say, "What the heck, I like these." I'm thinking: lumpy Play-Doh.
• Katie walks out of the house. She wears a big leopard-skin fur coat and walks up to me: "Hey lovely."

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [101 of 128]

• The battle reminds me of Buildicon company jackets. It takes the company four weeks to decide which jacket to order for each employee.
• When workers refuse to pay, only one jacket is ordered. With all the work hours wasted, free jackets could have been distributed to all.
• Thirty-two
• "Lift me up," I say. Mike: "I'm not lifting you up." Me: "Maybe I should climb on the air conditioner for a better look."
• Having snuck around a tangerine and lime tree, we have waded through two bushes for a glance of Katie Starburn's fake boobs.
• Katie would have probably shown us had we asked. But what kind of adventurer are you without being a voyeur once in a while?
• It's the night of my annual Day of the Dead party. People file in with skeletons to clip onto a tree that dangles with fake rubbery dead.
• The grandest skeleton is a six-foot Paper Mache marionette that took a month to create. Mike had glanced at it: "Needs lipstick."
• Katie brought a ghost... or a fish. I can't tell. She handed me twine and a blob of white construction paper.