COMMOTION

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The wording of a message received in the office the other day was so extraordinary that the recipient, an analyst named Lydia Matheson, felt compelled to stand up from her desk in shock. The message, which came from William Peel, a senior manager, read “I hate your report. Let’s discuss in my office.” Matheson at once concluded that that the lengthy review of water policy she had written over the course of the past two months and submitted the previous week—a review that she had hoped would be appreciated for its comprehensive research and levelheaded conclusions and  might well act to advance her up the ladder at the agency—had instead been judged to be substandard to such a drastic degree that her entire career was now in jeopardy. Peel was not even the senior employee to whom she had submitted her work. That was a woman named Helen Eldrige, who must have felt such disgust at its shoddiness that she sent it over to Peel for commiseration and then castigation. Matheson walked stiffly to the bathroom and cried in a stall, loudly enough that a co-worker named Julia Kendrick standing at the sink, who did not know Matheson well enough even to nod hello to her when the two passed in the hallway, felt compelled to ask if everything was okay. Matheson did not answer Kendrick and eventually Kendrick dried her hands and left. After a period of ten minutes, Matheson composed herself and took the stairs up to the ninth floor to meet with Peel. She entered his office to find him sitting behind his desk, smiling. “Oh,” she said softly, diagnosing sadism. Peel swept a hand across the room. “Have a seat,” he said. “Is something wrong? You look a little pale.” Matheson murmured a demurral. “As I said,” Peel said. “I have your report. Helen sent it over to me. Let’s discuss.” Matheson, suddenly clear on what had happened—a single word had been typed wrong, and in the process introduced an unintended, ruinous tone into an otherwise innocent message—barked a laugh. “I’m not sure it was a hilarious report,” Peel said. “But it was very good. You should feel pleased.” Matheson swallowed a sob in relief. Hence the strange message which had caused so much commotion among the inhabitants of the eighth floor was dissolved into history.