Chapter 2
“Good morning, Charlie!”
Lisette, the nice, pretty girl who made her coffee every morning at the local book & cafe shop, named Anna’s Place, cheerfully greeted Charlie as she walked in. Lisette was always perky, no matter what the weather was like or whatever time she was working. She was a beautiful, glass half-full kind of lady – everything Charlie felt that she herself wasn’t. But although Lisette’s constant smiling and her it’s a great day to be alive! attitude sometimes got under her skin, Charlie couldn’t help but genuinely like her.
“Good morning, Lisette,” said Charlie, approaching the counter.
“It’s another beautiful morning!” Lisette said with a smile. “What will you have today? Oh, I know! Why don’t you try our new spiced pumpkin café mocha? It's a nice way to warm you up on these cool autumn days, don’t you think?”
“No thanks,” said Charlie, outwardly unmoved by Lisette's effort to slap a big bright dose of sunshine to the start of her morning. “I’ll get the usual: a regular coffee with one cream and two sugars.”
“Oh,” Lisette pouted. “Don’t you get tired of always getting the same thing? Why not try something different for a change? Spice your life up just a little?”
“I don’t know. Sounds a bit dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” asked Lisette, appearing puzzled, and her happy-go-lucky demeanor slowly melting away to grim concern. “I don't understand…”
“Do you sell zucchini flavored coffee here?” asked Charlie.
“Is there even such a thing?”
“Then there's the problem.”
“What does that have to do with spiced pumpkin cafe mocha?”
“Simple,” said Charlie, dead serious. “What if today, of all days, I decide to break my routine and indulge in something out of the ordinary, just this once, and actually like it? What happens then? Because what happens if the world is attacked by a mutated breed of bacteria, hell-bent on consuming every last pumpkin on Earth? Once there are no more pumpkins left to create spiced pumpkin coffee, where will you turn? By that point I'll be completely hooked and will need an appropriate replacement that comes from the pumpkin family tree.”
“And zucchinis are related to pumpkins?” asked Lisette, beginning to feel awkward and unsure about Charlie's mental state of affairs.
“Part of the squash family, yes. And if there's no such thing as zucchini-flavored coffee, then I better stick to the regular to avoid addiction and possible mental breakdown if ever the bacteria decided to attack.”
Both women stared at each other for a moment, until Lisette caught the faintest hint of a smile hiding on Charlie's lips, causing the light bulb in her mind to click on and making her grin. “What if the bacteria attack the coffee beans instead?”
“Touché,” said Charlie, now allowing her restrained smile to take full form.
Lisette laughed loudly. “I totally thought you were serious!”
Charlie smiled and watched Lisette brew her coffee. The smell was something she liked to inhale as deeply as she could, letting the fragrance tickle her senses for as long as possible. Perhaps her obsession with the aroma made Lisette’s constant happy-go-lucky mood more tolerable?
“One delicious cream coffee with a smile!” said Lisette, handing over her coffee.
Sure enough, Charlie looked into her cup before placing the lid over it and a face made out of whipped cream smiled up at her. I’m delicious! it seemed to declare, mocking Lisette’s cheerful tone.
“Thanks Lisette,” said Charlie. “You’ve given my coffee a soul and now I get to feel guilty drinking it into oblivion.”
Lisette laughed again as Charlie left the shop, waving her farewell.
As Charlie stepped outside, she brought her cup to her lips and breathed in deeply of both the scents of her drink and those of the early morning city. A slight breeze brought the scents of the bakers and flower shop from down the street, carrying the fresh smell of newly baked bread and of autumn flowers. Sensations like these made her wish she got out more.
The next half an hour consisted of Charlie riding a bus to work, cramming into a tiny elevator with eight other people, while at the same time trying not to choke on the cologne that the man standing next must have poured over himself that morning, and finally logging into her computer and setting up her headset for another fabulous day of pickle questionnaires and getting yelled at. She looked into her cup one last time before taking the last drink. She imagined that the smiley face was now nothing more than a swirly mess of white and brown chaos, its voice sounding similar to a toothless drunk expressing his unhappiness about the rum being gone. Then, with one last gulp, she relieved the coffee of its misery.
“Trust me,” she told it, “I’d rather be digested than being where I’m sitting now.”
She pushed the enter button to confirm she was ready to work, and so began the drudgery. “Hello,” she said, putting on her best Lisette voice. “Could I speak to Mr. Chapman, please?”
A couple of hours passed and Charlie’s soul was beginning to feel dangerously similar to how her coffee must have felt with its dying slurp. There was still an hour more before she was allowed to go on her first break, and so she once again dialed out a new number, not knowing that this phone call was going to go much differently than what she expected.
“Hello,” said Charlie as the person on the other end picked up, “would I be able to speak with Mr. Morris please?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“How are you doing today, Mr. Morris?” asked Charlie, but not giving him enough time to answer before entering into her next segment. “Doing well, I hope. My name is Charlie. Mr. Morris, the reason I am calling is because The Pickle Jar Incorporate is reaching into the family home to conduct research to learn of what people most love about their pickles. If you wouldn’t mind lending us a few minutes of your time, your feedback would greatly benefit our findings.”
“Hmm,” was all that Mr. Morris responded.
Charlie waited, as she expected him to either reply with a yes, continued by ten minutes of senseless questioning, or listen to him yell at her about how he had better things to do. However, his response was neither.
“Well,” said Mr. Morris, “before I agree to answer your questionnaire, I would like to ask you your opinion about something first. After that, I’ll decide if I want to be part of your research or not.”
This was a surprise. Charlie’s never been the one answering questions while trying to question others before. She expected that this was probably some sort of prank and was going to deny his request and hang up. But something in the back of her mind told her not to and so she went along with.
“Um, sure,” said Charlie. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a little unconventional… but why not? Ask away.”
“Terrific!” exclaimed Mr. Morris. “So, a couple of days ago I was playing an online game with a friend, when suddenly I got a hunger attack. I told him I would be right back and went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. You still with me?”
“Yes. Sandwich. Got it.”
“I put together one of my favorites. Ham and cheese with Dijon mustard. I really like the kick that Dijon stuff adds to a sandwich, you know? Well, when I got back to gaming my friend asked me what I was eating. I told him: a ham and cheese sandwich with mustard. And do you know what he said to me?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“YUCK!”
Mr. Morris went silent for a moment while he probably expected Charlie to reply, but she didn’t know how to react. Was she supposed to be as offended as he was? The safest thing she could think of saying was “Oh.”
That set Mr. Morris straight back into his story.
“I mean the nerve of the guy! Am I right? So I yelled at him and said ‘YOU NEVER EVEN ASKED WHAT KIND OF MUSTARD I WAS USING!’ I was so angry that I logged out of the game and ate my sandwich alone.”
Is this for real? Charlie asked herself.
r /> “So, what I want to ask you,” continued Mr. Morris, “is what do you think I should do? Should I a) never speak to him again or b) did I maybe overreact a little and forgive him?”
A little? thought Charlie. That’s an understatement. Then she took a moment to gather herself before responding. Because how do you respond to a story like that over the phone at work? She needed this man’s cooperation to be able to keep her job. She definitely didn’t want to answer option A because she thought he was insane. But if she answered the latter than what if he got angry with her anyway?
Charlie decided to go the safe route and said, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what I would do.”
“You know,” said Mr. Morris, “I am passionate about my sandwich-making ability. You know why? Because I make a damn good sandwich! I used to cook for a living, you see, and when I have friends over I make the food. They love my food. I live for it. It’s my passion. So, Ms. Telemarketer, I asked your opinion because if you had a passion for something as great as I do for sandwiches then you would understand where I’m coming from. Do you have any passions?”
Charlie was speechless. For one thing, she couldn’t believe she was being questioned like this, especially about something so personal. Usually she did all the questioning. But she still tried to think of something she was passionate about anyway.
Gaming? Sure, she could say that, but once she thought about it, it wasn’t something she was necessarily passionate about. Passion is a strong word. She played video games because there was nothing else to do. She needed it to help fill the void that took up most of her waking hours.
Mr. Morris took Charlie’s silence as a no. “Life is meaningless if you’ve got nothing to live for.”
Charlie had never been told that so bluntly before.
“That’s your problem Charlie,” he said. “You need something to be passionate about – something that’s going to take you to the edge of the earth and back again. Something that is going to sear itself into your mind so deep that it's the first thing you think about in the morning and the last thing you think about at night. But anyway, seeing as how I can’t get your opinion, then I’m afraid I can’t be part of this survey of yours. So best of luck to you on all of your pickle endeavors.”
And with that, Mr. Morris hung up.
For a moment, Charlie sat flabbergasted at her desk. To be honest, she was a little offended. Who was he to tell her that she had nothing to live for? That she lived a passionless existence? She was sure there were many things that made her life worth living.
But as she thought about it, there was nothing of major significance that popped into her mind. There was her family and friends of course, but even then, she didn’t see or talk to them nearly as much as she should. For years she lived her life as simple as possible: sleep, eat, work, gaming, and repeat.
Am I really that pathetic? she asked herself.
She guessed that maybe she was. Although she didn’t want to believe it was true because she was happy. At least, she thought so. Was she happy living her perfectly boring life, working a perfectly detestable job and never leaving her apartment if she didn’t have to? As she thought about it, a hint of sadness crept into her heart.
Perhaps it was time to try new things.
It was time to find something to be passionate about.