Office Politics

She walked by my cubicle without so much as a glance.

Nice.

Three years together, two years of being just plain coworkers on top of that, and it ends like this.

Snubbed.

I stood, peeked over my back wall.

“Medlin.”

He glanced up, raised his eyebrows in reply.

“Hand me a donut.”

His eyes returned to his screen but his hand held up a Powdered Sugar Delite.

"Thanks.”

I accepted the donut, held it gingerly, trying my best to avoid sugary dandruff.

Fifteen feet away, she stood at the copier, her back to me. I could hear the CHUNK Wok-Wokka CHUNK rhythm of collating papers.

I judged the weight of the Powdered Sugar Delite, the distance to the copier, the folds in the dark navy blouse she loved so much.

I let it go.

It hit the bulletin board, leaving a halo of sugar on the Equal Opportunity in the Workplace poster, bounced off the top of the copy machine and landed on the break room counter.

She didn’t move.

Her collating job finished. She gathered her papers, plucked the donut from the counter and whirled around.

As she walked past me, she slowed ever so slightly, opened her full lips and shoved the donut into her mouth, licking her lips as she glared into my eyes.

She disappeared around the corner.

I frowned, then shouted. “Made you look!”