Lips Like Coffee

cup: 15

Norma

"Hey, Norma-Jean, can you fax this file up to the director?"

I tried to hold in my groan as I back pedaled to grab the folder. Already, I had five folders in my hand and this would be my sixth one within the thirty minutes I had been working. What would those people have done if I hadn't taken the job?

Stacking the folder on top of the others, I made my way to the copying room and set the files down on an empty table. Pages and pages of computer codes, all of them either needed to be faxed or copied. There were also spreadsheets, summary reports, and accounting reports. None of it made sense to me, but there I was, bussing the shit around like it was a life or death situation. If it weren't the only place that wanted me, I wouldn't have taken the position.

"Fuck," I said, tugging at the paper coming through the fax machine.

Why couldn't they just email the work to who they want, is modern technology not at their disposal? They used the computers to make the papers, but didn't use them to transport them. It felt like I was their little circus monkey, that they loved to make dance. They said, 'jump', and I asked, 'how high'.

"The dinosaur eats another victim," a disembodied voice chuckled.

I turned around to stare at a guy, who had to be no older than twenty-two, and shorter than his voice sounded. He wore a blue button up shirt with black dress pants, and shiny pointed toed shoes. His hair was obviously died blond from the black roots that showed at the front, and his blue eyes were almost too pale to be real. The way he smiled was also like a wax doll, perfectly carved yet forced. If he weren't so stiff and polished, he could have been handsome.

"Your posture is too upright, you can relax your shoulders while still standing up straight," I said, my mind only focused on how much he reminded me of a cardboard cut out.

"Did you just analyze me, in thirty seconds," he asked with an impressed smile.

"Yes, it's a bad habit, I'm sorry."

He stepped farther into the room, coming to stand next to me in front of the fax machine. Tapping the side of it, the paper began to move up through the slot again and I jumped for joy. I should have thought of hitting it, but I probably would have broken it if I had. There were times I didn't know my own strength, and it could be a problem.

"This thing gets jammed all the time, but they refuse to get a new one," he smiled, handing me the now faxed paper.

"I appreciate the help," I replied, then switched files as I moved toward the copier.

"What's your name, fresh face?"

"Norma-Jean, and you?"

"Kyle."

What a simple name: it was plain. The name was so common, and it didn't spark any interest to further our conversation. My name was old-fashioned, but it wasn't common and I liked that about my name. I got teased a lot when I was younger because of my name, but it never got me down. There was something unique -at least it was unique to me- about the antiquity of my name. Classy, was how I described it.

I knew a certain someone who had yet to share their own name with me. (You want to take a wild guess at who it was?) He wasn't budging on not telling me, and it was a little annoying to say the least. There was no name in the world that could be that bad, especially to the point that you don't even say it out loud.

"Don't want to talk anymore," Kyle laughed, putting a paper into a second copier. "And here I thought we were getting along."

"Sorry, I'm not much of a talker."