The Straw Thing

September eighth. I cannot fully explain what happened. That is partly because it involved a paper straw and a very specific Simone facial expression and the combination of the two at exactly the wrong moment, and partly because I was laughing too hard to take notes.

We were at the narrow place two blocks from work, the one with the mismatched stools and the coffee that tastes better than it has any right to given the size of the cups. It was the tail end of the lunch hour and I had just said something completely ordinary, the kind of sentence that under normal circumstances would not register, and Simone did something with the straw that I cannot describe except to say it was extremely intentional and also totally deadpan, and I lost it.

The thing about laughing with Simone is that she waits. She does the thing, and then she waits while you fall apart, and the waiting somehow makes it worse in the best possible way. I had my face in my hands at one point. I knocked my elbow into the counter. The woman two stools over looked over and then looked away in the manner of someone who has decided this is not her situation to manage.

The trying-not-to-laugh-anymore phase, which is always worse.

We've been at this since the supervisor question got sent and the schedule changed and I still don't entirely know what I'm doing in the new role, but I know this: some days the best thing that happens is a paper straw and exactly the right expression at exactly the right moment. The apartment felt quiet when I got home. I sat with Gerald for a while. The windowsill caught the last of the afternoon light. It was a good Thursday.

Recovery mode. Sort of.