Joy of joys, Joy is back from her vacation and once again manning (womaning?) the reception desk at work. She has a wonderful sense of humor and I love talking to her. She also likes my sense of humor — or at least that’s what she says when she isn’t rolling her eyes.
Today I came from my desk with blood oozing out of my thumb. I said to Joy, “Did you know you aren’t supposed to staple your thumb?” She said she did know that. I walked away grumbling, “Why is it nobody ever tells me these things and lets me find out the hard way?” Joy’s laughter followed me down the hall.
Later, when I was all band-aided and no longer posed a rosy-red threat to the AP checks, I passed Joy’s desk on my way back from the copy machine. Rye was there with her. I stopped. I looked at Rye and pointed at Joy. “This is Joy,” I said. Then I looked at Joy and pointed at Rye. “This is Yoj,” I said. Rye nodded.
As I walked away I heard Joy say, “Yoj?” And Rye answered, “Uhm. Joy backward. That’s my name when I sit here.”
Joy said — in that tone that questions one’s sanity — “Ooookay.”
I backed up two steps so I could look around the corner and see Joy. “I heard that!” I said. “And I am not silly.”
“So you say,” Joy answered.
I’m still contemplating what she meant by that.