The day before the Fiery One and I left for Costa Rica, we spent the night in a businessperson's Travelodge near the airport. We had not been in our hotel room for five minutes before he was rifling through the drawers, looking for hotel stationery. When he found a pad of paper, he licked the tip of his pen, touched his finger to his chin as though he were pensive, and began to write.
I asked, What are you writing?
He levelled his gaze at me and said, Shhh, shushing me with a finger pressed to his lips. I am writing a business memo, and I need to concentrate.
Oh, I said, and waited.
I was too curious. So, what do big business guys like you write in their memos?
I moved over on the bed so that I could take a look at this important document he was constructing, but he turned his back to hide the paper.
Is it about me? Because if it's about me, you should let me see it.
The Fiery One merely raised a palm in my direction to show me how little time he had for my frivolous questioning.
We are in the same room, you know. I am right here watching you write that memo.
He warned me that my employment with them was not all it could be and sighed, because he would really regret having to let me go.
Is that a threat? Because if that's a threat, I can always take it to the Labour Board.
He made every effort to appear serious and discerning while he worked over his memo. He put the end of the pen in his mouth; he looked thoughtfully at the drapery; he emitted a constrained sigh, as though he were writing a message that would be difficult to deliver.
Finally, he handed over the much awaited memo with a business-like look that was the equivalent of don't take this personally, but facts are facts.
Me and my cooties were much amused.