Jeff walks past me, arching his back and rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder. “So how are you running your chunk blocks?”
I turn to see Allen – my double-wide cube mate, my introverted source of wry amusement – lean into his chair, raise both arms above his head and settle into a clasped hand cradle at the back of his head. “I haven’t. I’ve been working on the gooey.”
Allen is working on a gooey.
I laugh aloud, which they both ignore. Being a highly trained perfessional and knower of many things, I understand that he is referring to a GUI, and not a gooey, but I prefer my own interpretation.
And I shall insist upon using it.
The truth is that I am daily confronted by things that I do not understand. Gooeys, for example. The popularity of Looney Tunes leather jackets. The people who walk barefoot downtown. The woman on the bus whose hair maintains seemingly permanent three-inch black roots in a sea of white cotton-candy fluff.
There is so much to know.
Jeff leaves, and I turn to Allen.
“How do you do it?” I say. “How do you know so much?”
He smiles. “Do I?”
I frown at him. “Are you saying you don’t?”
“Well I know I know the difference between a GUI and a gooey,” he says.
My mouth drops. “What? How do you – “
He holds up a hand. “Pearl,” he says. “Please.”