Tourist Season

“Well, Lisa?”

My eyes focused back in on the Teams meeting. I had completely missed the whole thing.

“I, uh, sorry can you repeat that?”

I sounded just as stupid as I felt.

“Are you done with the cash flow statement for last quarter?” my boss Allan said with mild annoyance as he flicked a pen between his bony fingers. “You said you’d need another week, and that week has passed. How is it going?”

“I, uhhh…”

I knew perfectly well that the document I had created to make the statement in was still completely empty.

“I’ll send Janine over to your desk later to take a look at it with you.”

“Great, thank you,” I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice was tinny and hollow.

Fucking Janine.

My heart was racing a mile a minute. I was about to be found out. I started to sweat at the thought of Janine’s confused face as I showed her my stupid empty cash flow document.

The meeting concluded, I didn’t really catch much else of it. I shut my computer and stared into space.

Only a few moments passed until I saw Janine’s round body coming up to my desk. She was wearing a big fluffy pink sweater, and holding her stupid novelty mug which said: “I only drink coffee until it’s time for Prosecco.”

A little gauche to advertise that you’re an alcoholic at work, but whatever.

Janine smiled reassuringly as she came up to me.

“Hi, Lisa. Let’s pull up that cash flow statement, I’m sure we’ll fix it up and finish it in no time if we work together.”

The worst thing about Janine was that she was genuinely nice. So nice it made me feel awful.

I wondered if I should lie, and say that it somehow mysteriously got deleted. It was no use. I turned around and gave Janine a pitiful look.

“I haven’t even started on it.”

***

Allan sat in his chair, again flicking a pen between his large knuckled fingers. Above him was the logo of our company, Dermuth and Sons Publishing. Of course Dermuth and his sons hadn’t had anything to do with the company for decades.

It had felt like it made sense at the time. I couldn’t make any money writing, but if I worked in the finance department of a publishing company, then it would sort of feel like I still had some connection to the world of books. Then I found out Dermuth and Sons mostly published auto repair manuals.

“So Lisa,” Allan said gravely.

Obviously I knew he was going to fire me, but the deep seriousness with which he was approaching the situation was a bit much.

“I understand that you haven’t been doing any work at all for the last month or so is that correct?”

“I mean, sort of…” there was no way to weasel out of this.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Allan continued, raising his thick brown eyebrows up on his big balding head.

“Now, Miss Cooper, are you diagnosed with any mental illness, something that could help explain the situation?” Jennifer from HR piped up from the corner as she picked at the keyboard on the laptop in front of her.

“No, no diagnosis, but this has got to be something, right?” I said. “I mean I just suddenly lost the ability to focus completely. It’s gotta be like burnout or something.”

“But you did not seek professional help?” Jennifer asked.

“No,” I mumbled.

“I see.”

***

I sat in my pitiful little Chicago apartment. The Chinese food I had ordered was already tepid when it arrived, but the beer from my fridge was cold and crisp. In the freezer a pint of ice cream waited for me and on the kitchen counter a bottle of wine. I was going all out tonight.

Later I would tell my friends everything, and maybe they would even take me out drinking too. This night though I would have just for me. For what must have been the fiftieth time I got out my old USB stick and put up the Much Ado About Nothing movie with Emma Thompson on the TV.

I was going to do what I wanted, just for one night. Watch my favorite movies, eat my favorite foods, drink as much as I wanted. Fuck it, it’s not like I had work in the morning.

The evening started out nicely. Actually, getting fired from that job which had caused me nothing but misery in the two years I had had it was tremendously freeing. I looked forward to the weeks ahead. I had a bit of savings, I wasn’t going to struggle right away. Maybe I could look into starting to write again.

As the night wore on, I got drunker and drunker, but in stead of the alcohol soothing my anxieties, it somehow made them more intense.

What was I going to do?

A quick, messy calculation on my phone showed that I could only really keep afloat for seven weeks with my savings, and that would be if I didn’t buy any insurance. I would have to apply for unemployment, but even that could only keep going for so long.

I would have to start applying for new jobs soon too, but what job did I even want? Certainly nothing in finance, I couldn’t bear it any more. Other options for office jobs sounded just as unappealing. Sales, HR, IT, they all sounded like horrible ways to spend your days.

Finally I thought back to the only job I had ever enjoyed. It was a job I knew I could get again any time I wanted it.

Why not?

***

I woke up groggy on my couch. The TV had turned itself off in the middle of the night. My mouth tasted like something had died in it. I moved and I felt something horribly sticky.

I looked down to see that the ice cream pint had melted and spilled all over my arm and my couch. The sleeve of my sweater was covered in the sickly sweet substance. I heaved, ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Why had I thought that getting drunk would help my situation? Now I was unemployed and hung over.

My phone dinged on the couch.

Oh fuck who have I been texting? I thought.

After I was sure I wasn’t going to need to throw up any more I slowly walked over to the phone, as if it was an animal that could bite me. I looked to find the email that had made the notification.

Hi Lisa,

It’s so good to hear from you after all this time. Of course you’re always welcome to work at the diner any time you like. I’m so excited to have you back for this year’s tourist season, and I know the other girls are too.

Much love,

Thelma

It dawned on me. In my drunken stupor I had sent an email to my mom’s old friend Thelma, whose diner I had worked at every summer when I was in college.

The diner was located in the middle of the quiet little tourist town where I had grown up, Badger Lake, Oregon. As soon as I turned fifteen I had started to work there every other weekend and more on the summers.

I had asked her if I could come and work one more summer while I figured out what to do next in life.

She sounded so excited to see me, I felt like I had no other choice but to go. It also made financial sense, I could stay at my parents’ old house, and save money on rent.

On top of everything else there was someone in Badger Lake I was very excited to see again.

Max Walinski.

***

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