Semi-Daily Scribbles

Barbara stood off to the side and watched her colleagues queue up for platefuls of cookout fare served at unsafe temperatures. She'd grabbed a quick bite on the way to her company's annual Employee Appreciation picnic. The stench and tumidity of cheap wieners floating in dirty water always made Barbara queasy, but people sure did seem to like the stuff. She just flat out hated these events; picnics, holiday potlucks, and off-site team building activities like the one last year at the bowling alley which traumatized her for a good two weeks afterward. As a rule, Barbara avoided smelly, loud, environments where people congregated. It was never worth all the sweaty trembling and worrying about what everyone thought of her sweaty trembling. Shakes and perspiration. She equated these two things with work functions, and regretted the decision to stay long enough to listen to insipid speeches from the management team. Barbara planned to duck out before Hank or Mildred forced her to play cornhole. It took all her concentration to visualize the nice, comfy sofa waiting for her back at the apartment. Barbara continued to stand off to the side, counted each deep breath, and heard every third word of some executive's puffed up, quarter-end attaboy spiel.