I have to admit it-I love caffeine. But that doesn't mean I am a coffee drinker. Just ask my boss. He'd rather make his own coffee than have me make it. But give me some Coca-Cola, or anything that fizzles when you open it, with bubbles popping as they reach the surface, I drink it every morning, bright and early at 9 a.m. My bottle is done by 9:30, and for a couple hours, I am bright and alert, whizzing around the office like a happy tornado.
"Watch out, she's on a caffeine-high," he says out loud, to no one in particular, each morning after watching me zip around the office. I think he approves, though. After all, it makes me work faster and harder, be more alert, and sound extra happy on the phone.
Then the high descends and I become listless, distracted, and not the best employee. Of course, I don't mean to be that way. It is just the energy going away. So, what do I do? I approach the vending machine, stuffing in my quarters, always losing at least one. Pleading at first, frustrated soon after, I sigh, kick at the machine, and fill in the lost-change form that we give to the vendor.
If I am lucky and happen to have another quarter, I put it in; if not, I plead with my boss, He says my pleading makes him think of his daughter. In fact, he told me one day, "You beg for money like my daughter."
"Of course, all us women are alike," I replied, flashing him an innocent smile.
"That's what I was afraid of," he noted, the ends of his mouth twisting up in, a smile. Not sure how to reply, I thought for a minute. Then he winked at me, and I smiled back in return and walked away, drink in hand. My boss is great, I think to myself, warm and fuzzy feelings filling my mind.
Feeding my caffeine addiction once again, I filled up, and had enough, energy for the rest of the One day my boss decided I should study to become an insurance agent. "Really?" I replied, more than a little surprised at his remark.
"Of course. You're good with people, and very smart. I think you'd do a good job."
"So, you're going to adopt me?" I said, jokingly.
He then confessed that his own daughter didn't seem interested. Visions of becoming a partner, and possibly making it out of my economic hole, filled my head. I am going to be a success, I decided. Better yet, I am going to become my Aunt Edna-rich. But please, not the single part, I wished to myself-and not all those cats!
The stack of books he gave me to take home made me feel sort of like a high school student again. But these books looked a lot harder to understand.
