Joseph Daniel Zukiger looked at the pimple-faced reflection in the mirror and sighed. Six months spending half of every working day with a nutritionist, a physical trainer, a personal coach, a hair stylist, a dermatologist, and an image specialist to clean up all his social bumps, and one full day back on the job had wrought havoc on all that had been accomplished.
He examined his teeth, running his tongue over the unbrushed enamel, then looked at the toothbrush hanging on the cupholder.
Of course it wasn't the emergency five hour shift he had worked that had really wrought the havoc, nor was it the all-nighter debugging after. It was the opera in the evening, in between.
He checked the time on his cellphone, sitting on it's charger on the porcelain, and shook his head. Instead of the toothbrush, he reached for the cup and filled it with water.
He hadn't been the only one standing, whistling, calling out, "Bravo! Olé! Bis! Encore!"
He looked at the mouthwash and shook his head at that, too. Some minty candy flavor Millie said she liked when she gave it to him. Cup to mouth, mouthful of plain tap water, swish it around.
She had been quite put out, not even willing to discuss how good the opera was or even whether the performance was good enough for him to cheer so vocally. Opera is apparently not a football game.
He spat into the sink.
The (very expensive) dinner after and the chauffeured trip to her apartment had been an exercise in arctic exploration. He still assumed she had been attempting to pressure him to apologize for the scene he had made, and promise not to repeat it. What else was there to assume? She would hardly respond to any of his attempts at conversation.
(Tom, who had taken chauffeur duties yesterday, was no help either. Just grinned and shook his head any time he had caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. None of the people at his company really wanted to encourage his mother's schemes.)
Something inside him had stuck. Opera was the rock concert of a bygone era, and opera in the old world was often a raucous affair, not the staid high-brow social staring contest that many in the Union of Independent States seemed to think it was. If he wanted to show his appreciation the traditional way, he was not going to let any woman tell him not to.
He repeated with another mouthful of tap water.
His knew his mother had spies in the audience, in the five-star restaurant they had gone to after, and even watching outside Millie's apartment.
Millie had pointedly not invited him inside, and he thought they had both been relieved at being able to call it an evening.
Rather than returning to his own apartment where his mother and his personal coach were waiting to analyze the entire evening, he had told Tom to bring him back to work, calling his mother from the car to tell her that he really needed to give his company and the people he worked with his attention. It had taken ten minutes to convince his mother that his business really was a higher priority than analyzing a disastrous date.
At the office, he had joined his core technical staff, diving into the bug that he had left half-fixed to go on the date. With his business partner and CTO, Sherry van der Velt, in charge, they had made significant progress while he was gone.
And they had fixed it together -- at some cost to his complexion and his suit, and, temporarily, his health. He hoped the others were faring better than he was. He had thought Sherry was looking a little haggard, too, when she headed for the elevator.
He supposed he felt
some disappointment about the evening, but also sympathy for all the
specialists his mother had hired -- and for the frustrated professional
matchmaker, too.
Looking over at the water cooler with its tank of cooled, pure organic mineral water from an old-world alpine range, he filled the cup from the sink again and took a long drink.
Mostly he was disappointed for his mom. She had so many expectations and none of them were coming to fruition. She wanted grandchildren, and what she had was a pimply, socially awkward, single adult son with a successful business and enough profits safely invested away to retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life -- as long as the economy didn't suddenly go belly-up. And a business partner who his parents, well, his mother, detested.
Looking over at the water cooler with its tank of cooled, pure organic mineral water from an old-world alpine range, he filled the cup from the sink again and took a long drink.
Mostly he was disappointed for his mom. She had so many expectations and none of them were coming to fruition. She wanted grandchildren, and what she had was a pimply, socially awkward, single adult son with a successful business and enough profits safely invested away to retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life -- as long as the economy didn't suddenly go belly-up. And a business partner who his parents, well, his mother, detested.
His parents
hadn't wanted the new house or the new car he had offered. Of course,
they hadn't needed them, either. He was not one of those who had started
with nothing, even though he had been independently successful.
They wanted grandkids and a pedigreed daughter-in-law. Sometimes he wasn't so sure that his mother would be averse to taking them in that order, either.
They wanted grandkids and a pedigreed daughter-in-law. Sometimes he wasn't so sure that his mother would be averse to taking them in that order, either.
For himself, he wasn't that disappointed. One more gold-digger retired.
Hand on the faucet, he paused. Millie wasn't really a gold digger, even though money seemed to be far more important in her world than it was in his. He rinsed the cup and put it back.
He actually liked Millie, and even felt more than a little sympathy for her. Of the women Mom had tried to set him up with, he had found her the most acceptable so far.
But he was much more comfortable with letting all his personal bumps, edges, and awkwardnesses show in his personal relationships. And his opinion, not well accepted with his mother, was that any woman who would be persuaded by all the artificial changes would be a woman he would not want to spend a whole lot of time with, much less the rest of his eternities. If he ever made it to the place where Gods build worlds, he would be in the thick of the work, not trying to manage it from a safe, clean distance. And he was comfortable with his God's opinion of his opinion.
Hand on the faucet, he paused. Millie wasn't really a gold digger, even though money seemed to be far more important in her world than it was in his. He rinsed the cup and put it back.
He actually liked Millie, and even felt more than a little sympathy for her. Of the women Mom had tried to set him up with, he had found her the most acceptable so far.
But he was much more comfortable with letting all his personal bumps, edges, and awkwardnesses show in his personal relationships. And his opinion, not well accepted with his mother, was that any woman who would be persuaded by all the artificial changes would be a woman he would not want to spend a whole lot of time with, much less the rest of his eternities. If he ever made it to the place where Gods build worlds, he would be in the thick of the work, not trying to manage it from a safe, clean distance. And he was comfortable with his God's opinion of his opinion.
So
he pealed off his suit and shirt, threw them over the back of the chair
at the desk, set the alarm for 8:00 noon, and devoted a moment of
appreciation to taking in the beautiful sunrise glinting off the
rooftops below his window before he fell into bed. He wondered, briefly,
whether Sherry had seen the sunrise too.
He was unconscious by the time he hit the mattress.
He was unconscious by the time he hit the mattress.
At an eighth-hour past noon, he walked into the office in his wrinkled suit, sans necktie, hair still moist from the six-minute shower, grinning and whistling "Let It Go". All the staff cheered. James, their office manager and chief of sales, returned his grin and said, "Welcome back, JD."
Sherry smiled broadly,
if slightly blearily, and gave him a thumbs up. She also looked like
she was running on less than three hours of sleep, although he thought
she probably looked better than he did.
The door opened behind him and the cheering suddenly faded. He stopped whistling and turned around, his shoulders slumping.
"Joseph, I am disappointed."
"Mom, --"
From
behind her, Jenny, his personal coach, a cheerful dancer of modern
dance, interrupted. "Sister Zukiger, I'm not sure this is even a
setback."
More than once, he had entertained the wish that his personal coach were not already married.
"Quiet. I am taking charge now."
Something inside was rising, but he automatically suppressed it. Habit long in-grained took care of any rebellious thoughts.
From out in the hall, Sheliah, the matchmaker, said, "I think it's time for a new plan."
Without thinking, he said, "Okay, what's your plan?"
In the sudden silence, he could have heard a feather drop, if his mother had worn one of her hats that shed feathers.
But she hadn't today.
She remembered to close her mouth and turned towards the door. "Yes. What's your new plan?" Surprisingly, her voice was neither querulous nor sarcastic. A collective sigh of relief could be felt, if not heard.
She remembered to close her mouth and turned towards the door. "Yes. What's your new plan?" Surprisingly, her voice was neither querulous nor sarcastic. A collective sigh of relief could be felt, if not heard.
"Borrow from reality TV. Do it like a contest. E-P-ist millionaire seeking wife."
Mentally, JD put palm to forehead. But his mother had turned to face him again, raising an eyebrow. It looked like she wanted him to agree.
Behind her, Sheliah was nodding, with a conspiratorial smile and a finger to her lips. Jenny gave him a wink.
"Oh, whatever." He raised his hands in the air. "I need to make sure the bug we squashed a few hours ago will remain squashed, so all the rest of my training sessions this afternoon are cancelled, too. Everybody take the rest of the day off."
His mother stood, arms akimbo, frowning.
"Okay, Mom, tomorrow morning. Shel can tell us about her plan then."
His mother thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Five o'clock, sharp." Then she turned and left. "Come with me, girls." Jenny and Sheliah waved cheerfully and followed her.
He retired into the server room to check the last three hours' worth of logs, and Sherry joined him.
"Maybe all this training isn't going to waste. You stood up to your mother today."
"Sort-of."
"It's a good start. Look at all the transaction roll-back logs."
"What roll-back logs?"
"That's the point."
"Uh-oh, there should be some rollback in there after three hours' worth of business."
They dug in.
(If you're wondering about the hours, there are sixteen hours in a day, and 256ten minutes in an hour. But they count in hexadecimal. Clock noon is 8:00sixteen.
Dawn usually occurs somewhere between three and quarter past five, and it's early spring, so dawn is about a quarter before five, or about 4:C0sixteen. That does mean hours are longer there than here, and minutes shorter. The common five-hour workday starts at 6:00sixteen and ends at B:00sixteen.)
This little fantasy was sparked by the person recently calling himself a Mormon millionaire, proposing to find his wife by advertising on billboards and running what is essentially a reality-show type contest. There was a conversation about it on the FaceBook LDS Beta Readers group:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/475461645922698/permalink/1552836624851856/
When I first saw it, I shrugged and laughed. I felt no spark of inspiration, although several other members of the group did.
After it kept resurfacing in various feeds over the course of a day or two, the pan I don't remember putting on the back-burner in my mind boiled over, shoving several other projects out of the way, and I started a flash piece in the FB conversation, which I later copied to my Random Eikaiwa blog and cleaned up a bit:
https://joels-random-eikaiwa.blogspot.com/2019/05/e-p-ist-millionaire-seeking-wife.html
It looks like a novel is taking shape.
Mentally, JD put palm to forehead. But his mother had turned to face him again, raising an eyebrow. It looked like she wanted him to agree.
Behind her, Sheliah was nodding, with a conspiratorial smile and a finger to her lips. Jenny gave him a wink.
"Oh, whatever." He raised his hands in the air. "I need to make sure the bug we squashed a few hours ago will remain squashed, so all the rest of my training sessions this afternoon are cancelled, too. Everybody take the rest of the day off."
His mother stood, arms akimbo, frowning.
"Okay, Mom, tomorrow morning. Shel can tell us about her plan then."
His mother thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Five o'clock, sharp." Then she turned and left. "Come with me, girls." Jenny and Sheliah waved cheerfully and followed her.
He retired into the server room to check the last three hours' worth of logs, and Sherry joined him.
"Maybe all this training isn't going to waste. You stood up to your mother today."
"Sort-of."
"It's a good start. Look at all the transaction roll-back logs."
"What roll-back logs?"
"That's the point."
"Uh-oh, there should be some rollback in there after three hours' worth of business."
They dug in.
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Copyright 2019 Joel Matthew Rees
(If you're wondering about the hours, there are sixteen hours in a day, and 256ten minutes in an hour. But they count in hexadecimal. Clock noon is 8:00sixteen.
Dawn usually occurs somewhere between three and quarter past five, and it's early spring, so dawn is about a quarter before five, or about 4:C0sixteen. That does mean hours are longer there than here, and minutes shorter. The common five-hour workday starts at 6:00sixteen and ends at B:00sixteen.)
This little fantasy was sparked by the person recently calling himself a Mormon millionaire, proposing to find his wife by advertising on billboards and running what is essentially a reality-show type contest. There was a conversation about it on the FaceBook LDS Beta Readers group:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/475461645922698/permalink/1552836624851856/
When I first saw it, I shrugged and laughed. I felt no spark of inspiration, although several other members of the group did.
After it kept resurfacing in various feeds over the course of a day or two, the pan I don't remember putting on the back-burner in my mind boiled over, shoving several other projects out of the way, and I started a flash piece in the FB conversation, which I later copied to my Random Eikaiwa blog and cleaned up a bit:
https://joels-random-eikaiwa.blogspot.com/2019/05/e-p-ist-millionaire-seeking-wife.html
Copyright 2019 Joel Matthew Rees
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