A Secretary is Not a Robot

This morning didn’t start off too well. I got home at around midnight last night because I was at a study session for a chemistry end-of-year final with my sister, her friend Kristy, and my friend Richard. (Fact: chemistry finals blow.) And I had this whole plan to stay up doing articles for my school newspaper (I’m on the staff and I’m behind on this month’s issue) and doing some other stuff for school. All I needed was to lie in my bed for a few minutes and then attack my homework.

I guess that I got into bed and a few minutes later it was time to go to school. I had fallen asleep. Which totally womped, because I had more than five assignments I needed to have done. I was gone all day yesterday, and the time I had to use the computer my sister was using for the chemistry final. (Further fact: having chemistry finals when none of your other classes do also blows.)

So I’m sitting in my first period, Creative Writing, which is taught by Ms. Stanton. She’s also my newspaper advisor. She allowed me to go do some stuff for the newspaper, which included going out to interview people. When I went to the office, someone I needed to interview was in the high school’s LDS (Mormon) seminary building. I’ve had a friendly relationship with the front secretary that has somehow developed over the space of a couple of years. Part of it is because she’s so buddy-buddy with my sister, and part of it is because I’m always talking to her and keeping up with her life outside the office and what not.

However, I’ve needed to talk to a student for newspaper during seminary before, and I guess this really makes the secretary (name is Mrs. Bond, known as Sister Bond) annoyed because it disturbs the Spirit in the seminary classes that I take kids from. I totally respect that, and I can see how it might, seeing as how I’m Mormon myself. But she treats the matter like I’m the only one that does it. I’ve been in that seminary for two years, and in my classes kids are always getting pulled out by school office aids, student council, and what not. She doesn’t like it anyway.

So I write up the interview for this girl I need to talk to, Emily Hill, so that I don’t need to spend forever with her during her seminary class. All I need is a picture. I suck in my breath and I walk into the seminary. And there she is at the desk, with a look on her face like she knows exactly why I’ve come.

“Hi Sister Bond,” I say. She returns the salutation, and with a pang of guilt I say, “I need to talk to someone for newspaper.”

She gives me a look that’s halfway between a smile and a smirk. “Well Marcus, you know I can’t do that.” She sits back in her chair, as if she’s saying, “I will not be moved from my seat” like Rosa Parks.

“Please? It’d only be for a minute or less.”

She just shakes her head. All the images and thoughts of office aids over the years, pulling kids out of my classes without interrupting, flashed through my head. I wanted to grab her shoulders and scream, “My life is heck right now!! Please make it easier and gimme what I need!!!”

Partly because I thought I could make the situation less tense by making a joke, and partly because I was (to be blunt) fed up with her attitude, I said, “And hey—it’s not my fault that the kids I need to interview have newspaper.”

She just sat there; her face had flinched somewhere. Realizing that I misworded my joke/sentence, I say quickly, “I mean, kids that have seminary, when I have newspaper. And this is the time that my teacher let me out—”

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” she says suddenly.

Have you ever climbed a staircase in the dark, and you put your foot down where you think there’s a step, but in reality the last one you stepped on was the final stair? So your foot hits ground later than you expect, and you feel a sudden jolt when you realize what you did? That is somewhat what it’s like to lose a loved one, according to Lemony Snicket. That is also what it’s like when you realize that you’ve just insulted someone.

There I sat, mouth slightly agape. I still didn’t fully comprehend what I’d done until I got that jolt—which came from this gut feeling of realizing that Sister Bond was in shock. The tone in her voice carried some kind of terrified flavor. Then as if something terrible had just happened and she was covering it up/swallowing it down/biting her tongue, her fingers flew to her computer. “Who is it that you want, Marcus?”

90% of my mind was reeling with guilt, realizing that I had offended a good friend of mine. My mouth, somehow sensing that something was turned off upstairs, decided to take control. “Emily Hill. I know that you don’t feel good about this…” my mouth just started trying to make an explanation, an excuse, an apology—or at least something. But she just gave me the seminary teacher and refused to make eye contact with me.

I said “Thank you” but looking back, I realize that because half my brain was still registering, and my heart was feeling heavy, I sounded more like I was snapping at her with sarcasm than giving gratitude.

Later in the day, while still feeling guilty about it, I had my newspaper class. I showed up late because I was in the main office getting the names of other people I needed for articles. Incidently, the one I needed the most was in seminary. Right then and there, I gave up on finding any of them.

As I walked into class, Ms. Stanton seemed to be quiet. As I rummaged through my backpack to find the articles I had to turn in, she announced that she was going to the office. “Marcus, come with me,” she said as she was headed out.

I thought she needed me to carry something, or she’d give me an idea for an article. I was surprised when as we walked, she asked slowly, “Tell me what happened in the seminary this morning.”

Oh, I thought, this womps. I explained what had happened to her, and as we approached the office she explained to me that Sister Bond had called her shortly after Creative Writing got out.

“She was, from what I could understand, very offended. She told me…” she paused uneasily. Then, “She told me you were the rudest student that she’d ever interacted with.”

I wanted to die. Right there. It was then that my business being friends with Sister Bond was over, and that all my friendships were hinged as delicately. I couldn’t function correctly. I’ve felt for so long that because I’m such a mess-up, I can’t have a best friend ever again (that’s a different story, and shall be told another time). But this just confirmed that the messes I cause will destroy friends. Who would of thought it’d be the Mormon secretary?! Now it seems like I can’t get anything right. And somehow, I’ll mess up each and every one of my friendships. It’s better if I just stay out of good friendships from now on.

Ms. Stanton must have somehow realized that this deeply affected me, because then she continued to say how she herself didn’t think that I was that way, but I couldn’t hear her anymore. I could barely understand anything. I just sat there, wondering what my future was. If I can’t have friends, I am gonna die. Eventually, my heart will blow out like a candle if there’s no one there to keep it going. The ones who could keep it the strongest have disappeared from my life. Now everyone else is disappearing, too. No one knows…I start thinking. The darkness in me…no one knows…no one can see it or smell it, and yet I am saturated by it. No one knows…

After school I went and apologized to Sister Bond. Her main emphasis was that I had broken LDS seminary policy by not obtaining permission from Ms. Stanton to go specifically to the seminary building. She acted like she wasn’t offended by my remark at all. She mentioned that I’d said it, but if only for an instant—then rushed on like it hadn’t actually happened. I felt like out friendship was out the door like last night’s dinner slop, and that I belonged out there with it.

It may seem to you, reader, that it’s a petty thing to feel guilty about offending a secretary. But for me, I’m affected by the guilt on so many levels. I’m trying to do my best and forget about the whole stupid thing (partly by talking about it).

As I walked out, Sister Bond says to me, “You’re a good person, Marcus.” Her voice sounds a little strained, like she's trying to be polite.

I chuckle sadly as I shake my head. “No,” I say firmly. “I’m not.”

And then I walk off.