Chapter 22: The Stars

On Monday at 7:40 Otis ate half of a tuna sandwich in the lobby and put the other half down very slowly.

"This isn't yours," he said.

"It's Cassidy's. She packed it for me."

"It's got too much pickle."

"I'll tell her."

"Tell her I said it's a good start," said Otis, and he drank some coffee. "The elevator's making a noise."

"It's been making it for three weeks."

"That's why I mention it."

At 12:15 the whole floor stood around my desk.

Nobody had asked them to.

I had the sandwich on a plate with a ruler beside it and a price card in front: $6.00. Ingredients only.

Cassidy stood a little behind the intern's chair with her hands clasped in front of her.

The vice president had come down in person with a paper plate.

He had brought his own cracker to compare.

"Photograph," said the intern.

I took it from above and uploaded it to the wellness log.

Then I picked up the sandwich and bit into it, in front of everyone, and chewed for a long time.

It was white bread, tuna, celery, and a pickle that had been cut with a dull knife.

It was a little warm from the bag, and the celery had not been dried.

"Well?" said Cassidy.

"Wait."

"It's been a minute."

"I'm not done."

I swallowed, and wiped my fingers on the napkin, and pulled a sticky note off the pad.