“Passion good, or passionate bad?” Phillipp, the tech company’s marketing director asks.
“Not good,” I say bluntly. Their crappy certification curriculum isn’t my problem to care about. “They want regular text-based training materials.”
“They don’t like the video modules?” he asks, bewildered, and this guy kind of a dumbass for not realizing this about his company’s target audience.
“It’s not that they don’t like the videos,” I clarify unapologetically, “it’s that they want a searchable text document so they can look up specific information without having to skip ahead through a thirty-minute video or rewatch the entire thing just to find one piece of info. The videos are fine. They just can’t be the only material you offer.” I pause, muting myself for two seconds so I can cough. “Or at least, if they’re the only material you offer, you’re going to have a lot of unhappy attendees who probably won’t register for the next training event.”
“I explained this to you, Phillipp,” Miriam, the tech director pipes up. “These people are engineers. They don’t care about your stupid, ticky-tacky, patronizing training videos. They just want the information. They can read it and understand it in a quarter of the time each video takes.”
I bite my lip to avoid laughing out loud as she continues to school her oblivious male colleague. Unfortunately, attempting to stifle a laugh causes me to choke on my own snot and saliva, and I break into a coughing fit before I can mute myself.
Phillipp and Miriam don’t notice and continue to go back and forth about the modules, and my phone chirps on the couch next to me.
Zoey Campos: You look like hell.
I roll my eyes.
Ava Herald: Thanks a lot, Zoe. I know I do.
Zoey Campos: Are you sick???????
Ava Herald: It’s the pollen.
Zoey Campos: Are you sure?????
Ava Herald: Go look at the pollen counts and see if I’m sure. The cedar’s trying to kill me.
Zoey Campos: you sound like you’re losing your voice too
Ava Herald: I. KNOW.
“Okay,fine,” Phillipp snaps with so much irritation that it gets my attention. “We’ll work on adding the text-based supplements. Can we send out another survey with a sample of the updated modules and see what they say? I think we have enough lead time.”
“We do,” I agree, turning my phone over, screen facing down so Zoey doesn’t keep distracting me. “If you can get that to me by today or tomorrow, I’ll send out the next survey on Friday.”
Friday.
One week since that awful moment on the sidewalk when Lucky ripped me to shreds with his hateful words.
One week and one day since he held me in the very last warm, tender, wonderful embrace.
Why couldn’t we keep that?
Oh, right. Because I apparently insulted and offended him on a soulish level because I wanted to come home.
What a fucking asshole.
A total fucking asshole that I am still hopelesslyin love with and miss like fucking crazy to the point that it’s making me physically sick.
That and the pollen at least.
I think. This is actually pretty heinous for my standard seasonal allergies. But maybe I’d just gotten accustomed to the air in New Orleans, and I have to reacclimate to the air in Austin.
Whatever. I’m about to get off this call, and then I can go back to bed.
“Sounds good,” Phillipp says. “Thanks everybody.”
I end the meeting, close my laptop, and my phone immediately starts ringing with an incoming call from Zoey.
