Monkey Business. Sarah Mlynowski

“Who worked under your dad?”

      “There was a finance manager, collections manager, accounting manager, office manager…”

      “What did you do?”

      “I worked for collections.”

      Sexy. “Really? You demanded people pay you? Did you threaten physical harm?”

      “No, I called them.”

      I can see her in a tight black leather dress, black stiletto boots and a gun harnessed to the inside of her thigh. I’ll have to save that image for later. “Were all your dad’s leases in Arizona?”

      “No, he does leases all over the country.”

      “So let’s say we take your company and restructure it. You have five managers, but now they’re arranged geographically, each one overseeing an area. West Coast, East Coast, the central states, the South, and the Southwest. Would this structure better serve the company?”

      “Oh,” she says slowly. “I get it. So we’re going to learn theories that we can apply to answer that question?”

      “Right.”

      She nods. “I was a Philosophy major in college. We learned theories and tried to apply them. This I can do.”

      I stand up and stretch. “Glad to be of service.”

      “How do you know all that? Did you study business in college?”

      My mother wishes. “No, I did a liberal arts degree. But I read a lot.”

      We have a ten-minute break until the next class, which is in this same room. All the classes we have today are in the same room. I feel like we’re back in grade school. The teachers come to us instead of us going to them.

      “I’m going to get a coffee,” Kimmy says, standing up. “Want anything?”

      “I’m okay, thanks.”

      Professor Douglas arrives while Kimmy is still out. With his dark glasses, large bald spot and five-foot-five skinny frame, he looks more like Woody Allen than a professor. Short legs dangling, he sits on the front of his desk and sips his coffee.

      “Mmm,” he says. “They have a new flavor this year, hazelnut latte. I highly recommend it to anyone like me who suffers from severe caffeine addiction.”

      His audience laughs.

      “So am I your first class today?” he asks.

      “No,” says the tall blonde in the front row. “We had Professor Matthews first.”

      He smirks. “Don’t worry about him. His bark is worse than his bite. Although I wouldn’t get too close.”

      Ah, the wanna-be comedian.

      “He barked pretty loudly,” another student adds.

      Professor Douglas laughs a loud, room-filling laugh. “Yes, he does. And he never erases the board. Look at that,” he says, and points to the dry board. “You’d think professors would learn to clean up after themselves.”

      Layla jumps up. “I’ll do it.”

      Oy. What a suck-up.

      “No worries,” he says. “I got it.”

      Ah, and he isn’t afraid of manual labor. What more could one want in a professor?

      Kimmy walks through the door, coffee in hand, Russ beside her. She laughs at something he’s saying.

      I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. I shouldn’t be jealous. Russ has a girlfriend. He isn’t making a move on my dream girl.

      “Good morning,” Douglas says to them.

      “Morning,” Kimmy says. Did she just stick her chest out?

      Douglas yawns. “I guess it’s not morning for you. You suckers had to be here for nine. I just got up thirty minutes ago. But no worries, I’m highly alert once the caffeine kicks in.”

      I don’t know if I can take an entire semester of bad jokes.

      “So. Here we are. I’m Professor Douglas, and this is Intro to Accounting. Unfortunately, this is not a how-to course on how to launder money.”

      More laughs.

      Too bad. Now there’s a final I wouldn’t mind studying for.

      Kimmy and Russ are crouched over their meals at a corner table in the cafeteria on the ground floor of the Katz building. Large glass windows are behind them and I have to squint to make them out. “I thought I’d find you hiding here,” I say to Kimmy.

      “Not hiding,” she says, sipping her soup. “Just eating.”

      “Mind if I join you? What’s today’s special?”

      Russ shoves a forkful of beef into his mouth. “Meat loaf. Not bad, either.” He takes a packet of vinegar and dumps it over Kimmy’s fries. Now that’s gross. I thought I was the Grossman. Now that’s funny.

      “Will you two still be here after I buy my food?” I ask, trying not to appear anxious.

      “Sure,” Kimmy says.

      “Do you want anything?”

      “No, thanks,” they say in unison.

      “What d’ya want?” a mid-fortyish woman wearing a blue smock and a hair net asks when I reach the top of the food line.

      “Well, Stella, what do you recommend?”

      “How’d you know my name?”

      “I’m psychic.”

      She peers at me in disbelief. “You are?”

      “Not really. You look like a Stella. I can imagine myself as Marlon Brando screaming for you to come back to me. And you’re wearing a name tag.”

      She looks down at her chest. “So what’ll you have?”

      “What’s today’s special?”

      She leans in toward me. “The burgers are from yesterday and the meat loaf is from Saturday.”

      “I think I’ll have a grilled cheese.”

      Next, Carl, the guy at the cash register, calculates what I owe, and tells me to slide my student/debit card through the swipe machine.

      “You’ll have to type in the number,” I say. “I haven’t received my permanent card yet.”

      He eyes me with suspicion. “Why not?”

      “The bureaucrats lost my picture, again.” What am I going to do about this problem? I’m going to need to have a student card by exam time. But if I apply for one in person, I’ll be found out. And probably kicked out of school.

      Carl nods. Apparently he knows all about the bureaucrats. “It’s a mess up there, huh?”

      I carry my tray back to my table. Russ and Kimmy’s heads are inclined together in conversation. How did they come to be at dinner together, exactly?

      Russ says something, and Kimmy peals with laughter. Russ smiles and leans closer. If I didn’t know about Sharon, I’d swear that Russ is making a move on my woman.

      “So what did you two think of Stats?” I ask, depositing my tray.

      “Useless,” Russ says. “Professor Gold obviously doesn’t want to be teaching an intro class.”

      “Seems that way,” I agree. “She phoned in her lecture.”

      “What does that mean?” Kimmy asks.

      “It’s