Part 8.2: Who's Zoomin' ... zoomed

 The story thus far: Vanessa, like many others, has turned to Zoom meetings while working at home during the pandemic. Things are going about as well as she fears. We'll back up a few lines to get a running start for part two...

The meeting was going well and discussion had moved on to the photo, when Vanessa felt her heart begin to race. She listened inattentively, her mind wandering, as the people in the postage stamp-sized gallery view frames on her computer screen checked their calendars.

How many cups of coffee DID I have? she wondered. “. . . second week of July?” a stamp asked.

Two cups were needed for coherent conversation. “Inside or outside?”

Two and a half made her perky, but three cups . . . . “Masks or no masks?”

Vanessa felt beads of sweat forming on her upper lip. “What's the point of a photo if no one recognizes me?”

A prickly feeling spread across her face. “. . . temperature scans.”

Three cups would trigger a . . . “Face shields?” . . . hot flash.

Vanessa fanned herself surreptitiously with a Snootyslacks Foundation brochure while the postage stamps debated the merits of plastic face shields. She reached for her glass of water, hoping a drink would ease her symptoms.

It didn't.

She was caught off guard mid-sip by a question and inhaled when she should have swallowed, causing her to sputter and cough.

And cough.

And cough.

The postage stamps went wild. “Do you think this is funny?” “Is this your idea of a joke?” “Have you been tested? “Ohmygosh, is COVID a computer virus?”

Steve, who had been hovering in the doorway impatiently waiting for his VIPZM, rushed in to help his friend.

“Steve, I . . . .” Vanessa croaked.

As he handed her his “lucky” white silk, jacquard pocket square (his was a V-VIPZM), Steve was struck by inspiration.

“That's Doctor Steve,” he said, smiling at the stamps with all the candor of a late-night infomercial host. “Please pardon Ms. Kolkwitz. She's having what we in the biz refer to as an 'age-related, brief, tropical vacation'.” Taking the stamps' stunned silence for confusion he added, sotto voce, “A hot flash.” The female postage stamps nodded with understanding. The male postage stamps looked like they'd rather be anywhere else at that moment.

Vanessa, having regained control of herself, tried to regain control of the meeting as well. “The hospital has a lovely, terraced, rose garden that will allow you all to maintain social distance without looking too spread out. You can lower your masks briefly for the photo, allowing us to see your faces while still showing your concern for safety.”

The postage stamps hesitated.

“And refreshments afterwards,” Steve said.

Assured that PGCHC was COVID-free, their egos stroked, and photo scheduled, the board unanimously agreed to proceed, adjourned the meeting and signed off.

One thing was still bothering Vanessa. “Doctor Steve?” she said questioningly as she cleared her things from the desk.

“PhD . . . M.D.,” Steve shrugged, “they don't ask to see my badge when I make a reservation at Olive Garden.” He sat down in the control chair, then checked and re-checked his watch. “Before you leave would you turn on the ceiling fan?” he asked, blotting sweat from his forehead. “It's kind of hot in here.”

If you liked this (and I hope you did), tell a friend! And check out my novel, Scout's Honor, and the soon to be published Scout's Redemption.

Part 8.1: Who's Zoomin' ... zoom?

 The story thus far: While working from home during the pandemic, the residents of Pleasant Glen, like people everywhere, have turned to Zoom meetings ... with mixed results. Part 1 of 2...

Vanessa's job at the small Pleasant Glen hospital changed with the ebb and flow of budget cuts and staff reductions, compounded by her habit of being tardy to staff meetings which routinely started 30 minutes earlier than scheduled. Thus, when the pandemic struck and she showed up for the 8:30 a.m. staff meeting at 8 a.m., she found that she had been named the hospital's new liaison officer at 7:45 a.m.

Her new duties included being the (masked) face of Pleasant Glen Community Health Center for all donor-related virtual interactions. In lieu of a pay increase, she was allowed to work from home (as were all non-medical employees), and permitted to use her own computer and internet connections.

Vanessa wasn't sure what she had done to deserve “this fresh hell” (as she called it), but she suspected it had something to do with threatening an insurance company representative that she would “reach through the phone line and punch him in the throat” if he didn't approve a cancer patient's treatment plan. Julie thought it had more to do with the fact that, as J.J. said, “even with the face mask, she's smokin' hot.”

Normally Vanessa would have been thrilled by the opportunity to do away with her cross-town commute, but she had come to value those 10-minutes of alone time. Things had been a little crowded at home since her ex-husband Michael and his new husband Steve (her “ex-husband-in-law,” as Steve referred to himself) had moved in with her while remodeling their house.

For the most part, this unorthodox living arrangement worked well. They all got along, no one was bored, and no one had to drink alone. Household chores were more or less equally divided. Steve volunteered for extra kitchen duties, as he was a stress baker. Michael, who's blood type was Kona, made sure there was always fresh coffee. Vanessa provided the technological wizardry to keep them all supplied with a strong WI-fi signal.

But every positive has a negative, as we shall see.

With all three of them working from home, Zoom meetings were scheduled even more closely than bathroom times. A section of bookshelves in the den was designated as the official backdrop and was tastefully decorated with carefully selected, non-offensive books (hardback), photos (black and white), and one realistic-looking plant. The lighting and web cam were arranged to create the most flattering image possible.

On the morning in question all three had Very Important Zoom Meetings scheduled. Vanessa, worried about her VIPZM, had slept poorly. While Michael dialogued virtually with the other faculty leaders of nearby Big State University, Steve assured Vanessa the bags under her eyes were not that noticeable. Steve, worried about his VIPZM had made his nana's sour cream, cinnamon streusel coffee cake – which tasted exactly the same as Vanessa's nana's coffee cake. The two of them reminisced about their nanas and tried to eat their way to confidence, washing it all down with multiple cups of fresh Kona coffee.

Bolstered by sugar and caffeine, Vanessa was at last ready to meet virtually with the board of Snootyslacks Foundation (the philanthropic arm of Fancypants Inc.) about their grant for community COVID preparedness. The hospital had already received provisional approval thanks to her work on the application, support data and testimonials. All that remained was to show that PGCHC was deserving and humble and – most importantly – could provide a COVID-free environment for the publicity photo.

The meeting was going well and discussion had moved on to the photo when Vanessa felt her heart begin to race. She listened inattentively, her mind wandering, as the people in the postage stamp-sized gallery view frames on her computer screen checked their calendars.

How many cups of coffee DID I have? she wondered. “. . . second week of July?” a stamp asked.

Two cups were needed for coherent conversation. “Inside or outside?”

Two and a half made her perky, but three cups . . . . “Masks or no masks?”

To be continued ... Keep reading for part 2!