Diary Entry of a twentysomething Guy

Diary Entry, February 18th.1

Dreadfully sorry I haven’t written you these past few days, diary, but things have just been too hectic. 2

Blimey, loads of stuff have happened to me over the past four days – but, here’s the catch, diary, they’re all crap. Really. Crap with a capital C. 3

Well, let’s see … I started the morning of the 14th with absolutely no idea that it was Valentine’s Day. Can you imagine?? I soaked for an hour in the shower, and wore my usual navy suit to work. The bus was packed as usual, and I rubbed elbows with an aloof teen with earphones stuck in his ears and a frail old granny who looked like her next breath might be her last. No offence, but don’t people realise, that, past a certain age, you just gotta book yourself into one of those aged-care homes for life, because you just can’t take care of yourself, and no one else can be bothered to.4

Anyway, I leaped off the bus just a street away from the office, and walked briskly along. I passed a couple who were exchanging flowers. Nice. Wish you the best of luck when y’all get married, folks. And, diary, would you believe it, Valentine’s Day still didn’t pop into my head. 5

Della at the front desk greeted me with a smile and a wave, and she also said three more words, but they were drowned out by a loud voice shouting, “Jacksooon!!” 6

I grimaced at Della, and walked on to confront my boss.7

Frederick Casilo is, to put it mildly, the most obnoxious boss a human being can ever get. An overweight Cuban, smelling strongly of bad cigars, with a bad haircut and a leery grin, accompanied by double chins and a stubby nose, and a pair of beady beetle eyes completed the face. He carried his protuberant belly around in front of him like it was some trophy, smelling strongly of yesterday’s beer and looking extremely similar to one of those smiley-faced balls with short stubby arms and legs you can get for a dollar at any self-respecting newsagents. (Isn’t it amazing how people can be extremely fat above, and then, as you look at their feet, you find that they’ve got like really small feet. Weird, huh?)8

“Well, Jackson? What have you got to say for yourself?” the great man asked, hands on his belly. I’ve got no prejudice against obese dudes, but how on earth could such a fat man have risen to the rank of CEO of one of the most prestigious architectural and interior design companies in New York? 9

Maybe he’s got a different personality he exhibits to the clients, for if they saw him interacting with his employees on a day to day basis, they’d be ringing up the Employee Abuse Tribunal sooner than you can say “Obnoxious.” 10

I frowned in confusion. “Say what?”11

Casilo (or rather, his overlarge belly) swelled dangerously.12

“The report on the Parkland Bay project, dimwit!” he thundered,flecks of spit flying out of his mouth at random. A young intern passing by dropped her bundle of files in shock. Oh you poor dear. I pity you when you become a full time employee.13

I knelt to help her out and shooed her on her way. Turning and facing the boss, I replied in a falsely cheery voice, “Oh, that. I was meaning to tell you – printer’s down again. So if you could get tech support …?” I trailed away delicately. 14

The boss glowered at me. “That report had better be on my desk by five, or else.” He waddled off.15

Or else what? Gonna sit on me? I snickered to myself and walked off.16

***17

The day wore on, and I still had no idea it was Valentine’s Day. At three-thirty, when I was chatting with the jovial tech man over the perfectly fine printer, the phone rang.18

I waved away the techie and picked it up, and heard the soft tones of my wife, Sera Whitbridge. As always, the sound of her voice gave a funny feeling in the centre of my being, and I felt genuinely content for the first time the whole day. 19

Sera was currently staying in Washington for a conference on Business Leaders, which she was attending as part of her training course. She had been gone a week, and the bed felt strangely empty at nights, with me all alone on one side of it. I had been writing to her steadily the past week, but I had forgotten to yesterday - Casilo had kept me working overtime.20

Dang, maybe that's what she's calling about. 21

“Hello,” she said, rather stiffly. 22

“How are you doing, Sera?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and listening to the leather creak.23

“Fine. Anything planned for tonight?” she asked.24

“Nope. I don’t live without you, you know that,” I laughed. 25

“Yes, well, I got to go. My next seminar starts in twenty minutes.”26

“Hokey-dokey. I’ll call you later, Sera. Love you.”27

But she’d already cut the line.28

That was a fine phone call. Two sentences and 'click'.
What’s got her knickers in a twist? I wondered as I finished up the report Casilo wanted. 29

By five, I had rung Sera four times and had got her voicemail repeatedly. I was beginning to worry that something was wrong. Well, diary, I think you know what had Sera all miffed. If you don’t, well then, you’re probably a bigger dimwit than I am. 30

***31

I rang Sera twice again after eight, but still no response. I got home, and turned on the TV, the lights and the microwave simultaneously. I then proceeded to eat a frozen nacho, keep an eye on the new James Bond movie (the one with Pierce Brosnan) they had on the telly, and check my emails at the same time. Talk about multi-tasking.32

There was one new message, and it was from Sera.33

'Well, Randy? Did you forget about our special date today? Or did you just have other things on your mind? I hope you know what I’m talking about.34

Has it gotten through your head yet? It’s Valentine’s Day today, idiot.'35

I dropped the nacho and banished all thoughts of Halle Berry from my mind.36

'I was waiting all day for your call, and when you did call, it was well into my day and you didn’t even mention Happy Valentine’s Day. Didn’t you remember what happened two years ago on this very day? Or don’t you just care?'37

Oh My God.38

I felt so … so … IDIOTIC! Blimey, I wanted to chuck myself off the roof. What a shithead I was.39

I racked my brains. Of course. Our first date took place on a Valentine’s Day, and Sera obviously expected that I remember. Dang it, I didn’t last year either. 40

Shit. Shit. Shit!41

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s disappointing my wife in any way. I adore her, and do anything for her. And now she’s pissed. And Valentine’s is already over.42

I spared a moment to curse St. Valentine for inventing the damn day, and then mooched off to bed. I went to sleep thinking of all the things I could do to console Sera. 43

Women are like that sometimes. She knows she’s got me by the balls this time, and can expect a great dealing of grovelling when she gets here tomorrow.44

Oh Brother.45

-- Can’t write anymore, diary, sorry. Too depressed by just the memory. Write later, mate. --46


Day 2.47

Feeling a bit better now, diary, so, if you’re not bored to death already, I’ll tell you how the Valentine Day fiasco played out.
I rang Sera again, but my peeved wife wouldn’t pick up. I paced around in a huff, stayed up until twelve at night, wondering what I could do to make her feel better. Or rather, I calculated what it would cost. Some things are guaranteed in life, including the fact that when you try to make it up to a loved one you’ve let down badly, (well, in my case, not that badly …) it’s gonna cost you an arm and a leg.
They should invent the Dating Credit Card or something else that doesn’t sound so dumb, but for the same express purpose of making extravagant dates possible without making the guys go stone broke. But I’m rambling here. Sorry, my bad.
Anyway, I just decided upon a warm welcome at the airport, involving a large bunch of feel-good flowers. Then I would take her home – thank God I just bought a new Audi, or else I would have had to rent a limo or something – and, with more flowers, a hot soaking tub would await my darling. After she’d soaked as much as she’d wanted to, I’d take her out to a sexy restaurant with glamorous décor, waiters with a fake French accent, and where the water costs five dollars a bottle, six if chilled.
Okay, I thought to myself. So far so good. Question was, would she like it? Or remain offended by my too showy apology? Dang. A fresh worry. Was I going too overboard with this thing? I rubbed my head angrily, mussing my hair, something I always do when I’m frustrated. Why did I ever leave my life of bachelor bliss?
No, I didn’t mean that. I adore Sera. I would never leave her now.
I fell into bed at three, and dozed off dreaming of an angry Sera refusing to sleep in the same bed as I and stomping off to sleep self-righteously to sleep in the bathtub.
I could have done without the dream. 48

***49

Waking up at five, I put the kettle on absent-mindedly, and thought about ten o’clock. That was when Sera was due in at JFK. Downing two cups of coffee in one, I grabbed my coat and went off to see to the flowers and check the restaurant reservations.
Flowers smelled good. I passed several people in the street who looked at me curiously, probably thinking, you’re a couple of days late, aren’t ya, bud?
I kept a straight face and walked on.
JFK was the same crowded hustling chaos that it was everyday. I glanced around for the Arrivals/Greeters area, and checked the airport notice board to see when Sera was coming in.
An elderly guy whizzed past me on one of those special airport wheelchairs. His handler – the dude assigned to help the elderly gentleman – was frantically running behind and trying to keep up. Poor guy.
I’ve always wondered whether those elderly folks use the wheelies really because they’re old and tired, or just plain lazy. Guess we’ll never know.
Her flight was in. I was sweating slightly, but I didn’t notice. The flowers felt heavy in my hand.
One of the trolley guys took a look at my flower and the expression on my face, and said, in a tone appropriate at a funeral, “Good luck, mate.”
I wordlessly nodded. (Am I that easy to read??)
She was coming! Boy, she looked tired. Jet lag, maybe, I thought, and inched closer to the gate. A bag trailed behind her, and a briefcase hung from her left hand. She didn’t really seem to expecting anyone to be waiting for her.
As she cleared the gate, I called out, waving my arms to get her attention, “Sera!”
She saw me, and I ran to her, and handed her the flowers. They’re carnations with one red rose in the centre. She loves carnations.
She sniffed at them with an inscrutable expression. I didn’t care, I was just so happy to see her again, that I hugged her, hard, making her drop the flowers and her bags. She gasped in surprise, and then, slowly, I felt her hug me back. (Yes!!)
We broke apart. Her beautiful face had the first glimmers of a smile.
“Welcome home, Sera,” I said, gazing into her eyes. She half-smiled.
“Thank you for the flowers, Randy.” I grinned like an idiot. “Now are you going to stand there grinning like a fool, or are you going to kiss me?”
I oblige, with all due pleasure.
On the way out, the same trolley guy saw me, and I winked at him. He smiled back, and gave me a discreet thumbs-up.
Yes!!!! First stage done.
“You’re not wholly forgiven, buster,” Sera scolded, seeing the look on my face.
“Of course not, Your Radiance,” I replied, and ducked to avoid the bunch of flowers that she swiped at my head. But she was smiling.50