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.
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