Kermit arms
March 14, 2016 - 8:45 p.m.

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You can tell he's important because he's clean. His tweed jacket looks expensive, and his combed back hair looks soft an shiny. There is not a speck of styrofoam, a fleck of MDF dust, a smear of grease anywhere on him.

He walks slowly and with purpose, like an elephant. And like an elephant, you don't get in his way.

He doesn't make eye contact, and you don't want him to. He makes the decisions.

He is from The Office.

~

"Hannah," I say. "Hannah, I'm dying today."

She stops. The wind is catching her paper suit and making it billow like a hump back.

"What's up?"

I tell her. I tell her about sitting at my desk, all the sanding. I tell her about the organic sculpts coming in. I tell her about her boyfriend, the carpenter, sent to make latex and leather samples of plants, a job I should be on.

He looks so confused by it all. The work he turns out is mediocre at best.

"I know, I know," she agrees. "I'm pissed off at him about that too. He should never have been put on that job."

I'm almost crying, with my sanded hands, and my unused talent.

I keep paintings under my desk that I work on at lunch, just to relieve the pressure of not making anything.

"Have you talked to the boss man?" she asks, shielding her eyes against the sun. "He really needs to put you on that job. This is bullshit."

I haven't. I should. I need to.

It all hurts so much today.

~

When he arrives, he walks silently. He walks past my desk without turning his head. Sometimes he has his hands in the pockets of his pristine dark wash jeans, but mostly they just hang by his side, waiting for his phone to ring.

The Big Boss waits on him like a nervous butler. They speak quietly, the Big Boss is fervent and anxious.

Decisions are made. Then he turns and leaves as quietly as he came, leaving chaos in his wake.

I feel the ripples, but never the full impact.

~

"Hey," I approach my boss at break time. "Can I bring in my portfolio on monday, so you can have a look?"

"Oh yeah!" he says, kind of joking. "I forgot you can make things!"

"Yes," I say, not very amused. "I can."

"Say, you'd be good at those plant samples!"

"Yes! I would!"

"Great! You help Peter. Make up a bunch. The artistic director will come around and choose some on Monday."

I'm so happy I think I'm going to throw up. Not sanding!

~

I see him, the clean one, come in. He drifts around until the Big Boss notices him, and they begin to confer.

Me, I take my lunch.

~

Friday after work I stop at Poundland. I drift up the aisles, picking up stuff to make weird plant samples with.

Spikey balls, styrofoam eggs, cotton balls, playpen balls, raffia, loofahs, pantihose...

Monday morning I bring in my loot, and we get to work. Sample after sample, dripping green and brown latex, hanging from a drying rod.

I fucking love this. Stretching my brain. Pouring over the design photos, the inspiration photos, trying to determine the Exact Look the production designer is going for.

I make a bunch of samples like the photos, then some others that I just like.

~

The Big Boss stalks the length of the break table, like a stork among frogs. He's rolling a cigarette as he walks. I haven't seen him eat in weeks.

"Rosie!" he says. "The production designer liked your samples. He's chosen two of them to be on the set. Where did those balls come from? Make a list of what you need, and we'll send the runner out to buy it."

And he's out the back door, twisted cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Two! Two of my samples! He only chose three pieces over all, and two of them were mine!

~

"Yaaaaaaaaaaahhh!" Hannah waves her arms in the air like an excited Kermit. "Rosie's making thiiiiiings!"

I couldn't have said it better myself.

.

Rosie.

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