Flat stock

I got to the second job earlier than usual. The plan was early in early out. I was on the first floor showing someone something when a large manila envelope was dropped off. It was addressed to ‘Tim’ and it was from someone whose name I didn’t recognize.

The staff pretty much knows the routine. Few people know about me, I keep to the shadows. The receptionist opens the envelope and brings it to the owner. Before I return to my upstairs office, I ask if I should worry about the contents. I didn’t get an answer but then I didn’t need one.

I was getting ready to leave when the owner called to me from her office.

“I’m going to need invites.”

“When do you need them by?”

She hesitated before she said, “They were hoping to do the mailing this weekend. I’ve been asking them for a week.”

“How many do you need?”

“I don’t know. I asked them for a list and this is what they gave me.” She pointed to a stack of papers, some were greeting cards. “I had someone working on it all day.”

“A thousand? Five hundred?”

“No, not that many. Maybe two hundred.”

“How fancy do they need to be?”

“They can be like you did for the Christmas event.”

“I don’t remember what that was.”

“It doesn’t have to be embossed or anything.”

I told her I could do it.

“I have to work on the wording. We’re you planning on coming in tomorrow?”

“Now, I am.”

“Can I call you when I have something?”

I just nodded.

I’ve known her over twenty years. A lot of people don’t like her. She sometimes asks a lot of folks. The trouble is: she trusts me and the event is for charity and at the event there will be a dedication for a mutual friend who’s in politics and he’s dying of cancer.

I guess I won't be meeting the guys after work.