So Rick got perp-walked out today, hand-cuffs and all, apparently for dipping into the employee association account to the tune of a felony-level little sum which, if not for Shelby, we’d never have known about (although you’d think, after three years, we’d have known about it). And if not for Shelby, who’d have guessed that Ashley’s “29th” birthday was really more her twenty-fourth “29th” birthday? Not me. We’d also never have known that Sarah’s bruises weren’t really from a car accident, like she’d said. Turns out a seat belt imprint on your throat can mimic a pair of hands around your neck—which, according to Shelby, are the same size hands her ex has.
Thank goodness for Shelby. If not for Shelby, we’d never have known that Marissa in billing hasn’t spoken to Kelly in production for almost three years. Apparently, it’s something about Kelly’s husband who used to coach Marissa’s son’s soccer team, but wouldn’t him enough field time. Marissa said it was because Kelly’s husband didn’t like “little Jackie” (pleeeze!), and Kelly said it was because little Jackie couldn’t keep track of which end of the field he was supposed to kick the ball to.
And then there’s the mysterious case of Jonathan’s hunting buddy… If not for Shelby, no one would ever have known that Jonathan’s “hunting buddy”—the one he meets up with a few times a year for a “guys only” hunting weekend—really isn’t qualified to be on that weekend (if you get my drift) although there’s no intel yet on “his” identity. (Not that Saint Wifey has a clue, either.)
No doubt Shelby will uncover further information. We wait with baited breath.
Shelby came to us about six months ago, our latest company intern, a perky little thing, if you like that sort. But she talks non-stop; I don’t know how she ever gets any work done. Still, I guess it makes some semblance of sense that she’s a social media major—she certainly is social. But she talks incessantly: politics and sports with the guys—as if anyone really cares whether the QB for a certain team really does or doesn’t retire this time—and she gets the girls all rabid about which stores jack their regular prices before the “Really Big Sale”. Even the queen bees from HR (who have access)—she even gets them chit-chatting about stupid stuff.
Which leads me to believe Shelby could chat up a telephone pole if she really wanted to. (Who knows what she talks to when no one else is around?) Last week in the break room, for example, she actually had Meghan (the HR queen bee) melting down over some boyfriend or other—and the dead pine tree in my yard is more communicative than Meghan is. I didn’t even know Meghan wasn’t still married. Or maybe she is…
I’d really part with a fair amount of cash to know how Shelby does it. Like yesterday, she let slip that Cam in accounting was interviewing for a new job.
“He tell you that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”
“It’s the tie. Cam never wears a tie.”
It’s bizarre what Shelby knows—she’s either got some kind of super-human spider-sense or she’s a bonafide stalker. Although I don’t know which is creepier. Still, if not for Shelby, we would never have known half the stuff that goes on behind the scenes around here. It’s such a shame that she had to go and fall all the way down those concrete steps in the basement stairwell. I’ve always said those stairs were too steep and that one day, someone was going to fall down them and break their neck.
Now we’ll never find out who Jonathan’s “hunting buddy” really is.
Copyright © 2022 by Cynthia Noble