Hors d’oeuvres

It was another big guy walked through the door. That made two. The hall was ample enough I figured, looking around and making the calculations in my head. The calculations worked like this: the two big guys took up about 1.5x the amount of space as someone like me. Or Enid, next to me. Enid was a little smaller than me but the difference was not as substantial as was the big men to everyone else. After taking stock of that, I looked around to see about any low hanging chandelier-type lights or any low-placed sconces. None to be seen. In fact, I couldn’t find any of the sources of light. Maybe the lights were coming from within, as they say.

After the lights proved to be a non-issue, I found all the chairs. Just small foldable ones so if the hall really was in jeopardy of being eaten up, well, we could just fold some chairs. Voila, real estate. At about that point I grew tired of the calculations. I gave up. Perhaps, as was my original fear regarding the space in the room, the big men were taking up too much space in my head. Filled it up. I shook my head in hopes to shake them out through my ears.

Enid had been taking two of every hors d’oeuvres brought around to us. “I am ravenous,” she said to the waiter. Every now and then I would glance around for the two big guys, who were strategically placed, it seemed to me, separately. I wanted to know how many hors d’oeuvres they were taking at a time. It looked like just one each for every approached waiter. For the both of them. So, fine, they ate before they came.

I had started to think about the lights, cursorily, when a man with what looked like a toupee came up and asked what department we worked in. We told him and he smiled. He looked like a dog smiling when you pet them. Sometimes dogs are able to smile, but a person must be willing to see it.

The man said he worked in Finishing, and stared at us, likely waiting for some award. “I’ve never heard of that department,” Enid, a toothpicked shrimp halfway to her face. He looked down in defeat. I thought maybe his toupee would slide right off his head onto the ground and scurry away. It didn’t. Some kind of adhesive going on up there, under it all. He walked off, perhaps having the same conversation with the next two. I’ve always admired people’s resolve.

This happened a few times. We met Brian, Jeff, Natalie, Dean, Lori. The good thing about Natalie was that Enid had seen her around the office. “I’ve seen you around the office,” Enid said after Natalie mentioned she worked in some obscure department. Enid had a cheek-full of cracker and roast beef which after confirmation of Natalie’s existence in the office, she washed down with what, to me, looked like flat champagne.

I resisted the urge to look at either of the big men. They were in my peripherals nearly always, though. I held up my hands like horse blinders for a couple seconds and then dropped them. They did help, but I couldn’t go on like that for any length of time. I thought I’d try to give myself some allowance at how often I would look for them. I searched for a number in my head and came up blank. What was reasonable?

I was thankful to have Enid next to me because it shifted a lot of the attention, if there was any, to her. She was beautiful and she was eating with abandon. I tried chatting up the wait staff when they came to offer her whatever it was on their platters, but they largely ignored me. I guess it was a bias against non-hors d’oeuvres eaters. Each time I’d try to engage and get rejected, I’d go back to searching for the lights. I was still trying to avoid the big men, but it became more and more difficult as I looked around. Their heads seemed to be everywhere, floating above like two hideous balloons. Two balloons, in a setting like that, are never enough. Balloons look better in large groups. Better vibes.

The hall started to thin out and breathing became more manageable. I almost couldn’t believe it when I caught my breath. It never occurred to me that I was chasing it.

The waiters had stopped moving around the room and instead stood at the doorways leading to back of the house. They folded and unfolded napkins. Organized silverware. Stacked various items on the tables. Enid had been craning her neck looking for them. “I’ll be back,” she said, moving toward the cluster. When she left I felt exposed and vulnerable. Instead of cowering, as I’ve done once or twice in the past, I did the opposite.

Time had come and the two big men were finally together talking. Approaching, I anticipated being snapped in half; hammered down into the ground like a human railroad spike; thrown like a javelin from one side of the hall to the other. So it surprised me when they both turned toward me, with what seemed like no forced kindness, and asked what department I was in. I stuttered my answer. They nodded, acknowledging that they were aware of it. We stood in silence for a moment, all nodding our heads.

Enid approached with a full tray of hors d’oeuvres. The men both attempted to grab one, thinking she was part of the wait staff. She pulled the tray away and regarded them while  shoving some kind of miniature samosa into her mouth. Mouth full, “What department are you in?” she asked. They told her. She scoffed, grabbed my arm, and out we walked. Just past the threshold, Enid frisbee’d the tray, the remaining hors d’oeuvres briefly in orbit.