The day was like many others that I had spent at my new place of employment. Get to work around 8 o’clock, putter about trying to stay out of trouble, head to lunch, do some more puttering, and head home for the day. Only one particular thing was out of the ordinary on this day, and it happened at lunch.
As was my custom, when the clock struck 11:55 am, I gathered up my packed lunch and headed to my designated area. While my company has a cafeteria chocked full of tasty goodies (though I have yet to sample any), my Dave Ramsey-ness has prohibited me from partaking. While $5-$10 entrees and sandwiches seem to be a good investment comparatively to Dallas food prices, I prefer my sack lunch that saves me a few dollars here and there. While I look listlessly at my wilting lettuce and hope the slightly rancid smell my lunch meat exudes doesn’t mean it has expired, I rest confidently in the knowledge that I am saving money.
This particular day, I avoided the busy cafeteria and headed to my quiet grotto. While some of my coworkers have lunch together, I usually pass on their invitation. Their discussions on food (which I’m too cheap to purchase), sports (Texas people are crazy football fans!), and former coworkers (who I’m probably glad I never met) don’t seem to relate to me. An hour spent reading a good book or staring into space with a dreamy grin on my face as I world-build does more to rejuvenate me for the second stretch of the day.
I found my spot at one of the high-tables and had to hop to land on the tall stool. Three other high-topped two-seaters and four low, four-chaired tables surrounded me and sat overlooking the escalators in my office. People, like me, who preferred reading, thinking, or (most frequently) playing on their phones joined the ranks of the lone lunchers.
As I stomached the last of my salad, emptied my fruit cup, and tried to decide whether to save my chocolate square or scarf it down immediately, I began to absentmindedly fiddle with my necklace. The black pearls were nothing more than costume jewelry, but they stretched my meager supply of ornaments. Spinning the large and small balls in my fingers, I gradually worked from the front of my necklace to the back.
Without warning, my entire necklace exploded! Bead after bead cascaded down the front of my red button-down, hit my lap, and shot out from me in all directions.
I sat frozen, helpless, incredulous as the small black spheres continued to form a growing half-circle around me. Like dropping marbles on a cement floor, the pings continued unchecked.
In unison, a dozen sets of eyes turned to me. I just sat there as the last of the beads rumbled down my chest and oozed away.
“I guess my necklace had all it could stand,” I said with a frazzled chuckle.
The dozen pairs of eyes all swooped back to their forms of entertainment. Perhaps they thought that ignoring the problem would save them from having to help.
I hobbled off my stool, my pencil skirt restricting my movement. Slowly, I began the process of scooping up my beads. One lone lunch buddy, who I never spoke to before or after, helped me gather up my two dozen beads. Hurriedly depositing them into my lunch pail, I headed back to work with a bare neck and a lunchbox full of costume jewelry.
My quiet lunch hadn’t been so quiet after all.