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umbrella; therefore, my hair was soaked and plastered to my face. I couldn’t see anything a few inches in front of me. I ran into an elevator right before the doors closed, thinking it was empty, only to see Phillip standing to the side, looking perfectly dry, because being the intelligent human he was, he brought an umbrella with him.
    He took one look at me and gave me a horrified expression, as if my eyeball was dangling from my socket, trying to shake hands with him. Being the awkward person I am, I waved and said, “Remember me?” Then I proceeded to give him a little tap dance and spin where I finished off with a lift of my leg and pretended to toot. I believe the words that came out of my mouth were, “I sneaked a farty leak on you.” What possessed me to do such a thing was beyond me; I tried to blame it on a morning episode of alcohol intake, but that wasn’t the case.
    But that wasn’t all, his disgusted face encouraged me to add, “But don’t worry, I have a boyfriend now, so I’m saving those special toots for him. Don’t even try asking me to do it again. One time special.”
    Let’s just say, I cried in my office the first half of that morning out of pure mortification.
    Thankfully, I avoided another elevator ride with Phillip. I highly recommend to everyone, never engage in any kind of office sexual shenanigans; they only end up traumatizing you for a lifetime.
    When the door slid open to my office floor, I was bombarded by white plastic drapes hanging from the ceiling. The entire office was covered from floor to ceiling, not a square inch uncovered. Before I could ask what was going on, Susan, the receptionist, came barging through the drapes, hands to her head and a panicked look on her face. She was wearing a yellow shirt that sported a picture of a unicorn with a mustache on the front and a pair of paisley, flowered corduroys. Not the best outfit, but most certainly not the worst I’ve seen her in either.
    “Heavens to Murgatroyd, did you hear what happened?”
    “No,” I responded, looking around for anyone other than Susan to talk to. I loved the lady, but sometimes she could blow situations out of proportion.
    “Oh, I told that old coot you couldn’t have this many cats in the office and not have the office cleaned nightly. Serves her right.”
    Scanning the office, I tried to scout out my boss’s location, but the opacity of the drapes prevented it; I couldn’t see past them. “Where is everyone? Where’s Gladys?”
    “Dead,” was all Susan said.
    “What?!” I called out. “Gladys is dead?” My stomach revolted and I instantly felt ill.
    Susan waved her hands in front of face, fending off her tears. “Not yet, but she will be when the office manager finds out the price it will cost to clean out all the air ducts in the building.”
    I gripped my chest and took a deep breath, sighing with relief. “Jesus, Susan, you can’t go and say people have died when they really haven’t.”
    “I didn’t say that,” Susan countered, lying to my face.
    “Yes, you did. You said Gladys was dead.”
    “Metaphorically, dear, honestly. Read the tone.”
    Huffing and not wanting to fight with her any more, I asked, “Is Gladys here?”
    Waving toward Gladys’s office, Susan responded with exasperation. “She’s out there.”
    Blowing past the plastic drapes, I found my way to Gladys’s office, tripping over tubes, pipes, brooms, and cords the entire way.
    “Gladys?” I called out, not really able to see from all the drapes hanging down. I pushed past them and dust floated down from the ceiling and onto my freshly lint-rolled pants. Perfect. “Gladys, are you in here?”
    “Rosie, is that you?”
    “Yes, where are you?” I coughed from the dust, trying to push past the drapes, using Gladys’s voice as a guide.
    “Under my desk.” Her voice was weak, and I feared that she could possibly be crying.
    I placed my purse on a chair and crawled on the floor until I found Gladys