Dixie Cup, Hold the Water

Marcy freaks out when the water's empty. We get Culligan here at the office. The dispenser is on the main floor in front of the reception desk, but curiously, the jugs are kept in a nook on the second floor. It is then either my or my colleague Ben's duty to bring a new jug down to replenish an empty one.

When Marcy sees that the jug is empty, she goes into minor crisis mode. I can't quite figure out why. Whatever the reason, she gets on the phone and repeatedly calls Ben and I until she gets a hold of one of us, regardless of her primary job position, which is to answer the phone.

This week's been an exceptionally busy week in terms of the volume of phone calls. Students come back from their break on Monday, so naturally this is the case. Earlier this afternoon, I went downstairs to get some more coffee. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the jug on top of the dispenser, empty. Marcy was on the phone. I saw my moment, reached out and grabbed it.

I skittered around the front of her desk, out of the room, and quietly up the stairs to my office. There, I waited for the phone call. Her name flashes on the phone's info screen. I ignore it. Fifteen seconds pass. It flashed again, I pick up the phone, punch another line, and call Ben. He's not in, so I leave him a message about Marcy's current mission to get me to bring a jug of water down the stairs in the next fifteen seconds lest the whole office die of severe dehydration.

I could hear the phone downstairs start to ring in short, regular intervals. I could see her getting more and more flustered, listening to the shrill shriek of the phone, eyeballing that empty water jug that was eyeballing her, sitting there in its plastic-y arrogance ready to disappoint the next potential person who might walk up to it and find it empty.

Ben, after all, was in his office, just busy and decided to ignore my call. He pokes his head inside my office's door frame.

"Did you need something?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say with a smile, "but it's not important."

Two minutes pass and I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. It's a rather flustered-looking Ben. He asks me something when reaching the top of the stairs but the only word I can discern is "fucking."

"What?"

"Did she ask you to get the fucking water?"

I laugh.

"No, but she was trying to! That's what I was calling you about."

He gives me a serious, agitated look.

"Why didn't you get the fucking water?"