Occasionally, a Scott cannot be found. He gets lost. Floats. Sometimes for mere moments. The time it takes a dust mote to pass by. Sometimes for years. The lucky ones are found on holiday in the Bahamas. The unlucky ones appear on milk cartons before they are found. The locating of some just comes easier than the locating of others. There is always a reason to keep looking.
* * *
Scott No. 479 found out that he was capable of harboring great joy and great malice simultaneously. The thought crossed Scott No. 479’s mind that perhaps harboring both these emotions at once was not healthy. Or at least not something that a normal, well adjusted adult should do.
Scott No. 479 didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded. Nodded. Tried to keep eye contact and rubbed his hands together as a means of keeping himself from grinning like a fool. He had an image of a miniature Scott No. 479 inside his head doing a jig complete with dancing and chanting along the lines of “She’s gone! She’s gone! She’s really gone! The Twit from work is really gone!” After which the miniature Scott No. 479 broke into the running man complete with “booya” noises.
The Twit was speaking over the shouting and dancing inside Scott No. 479’s head. “As it turns out, I’m resigning. But they’re going to hire someone on for my position because you have that project coming up that you’ll need help with.”
The miniature Scott No. 479 stopped in mid washing-machine to point and yell indignantly. “I don’t need help with that project. I barely needed your help with this project. The answer is no, you turd, no, they won’t hire someone to help me; they’ll hire someone so that I can train them to take my job when I graduate. As I was supposed to be training you before you proved untrainable. Turd.” The miniature Scott No. 479 seriously considered spitting but thought better of it as he wasn’t sure he could do it without embarrassing himself.
“So I wish you well with that.” The Twit’s voice went up at the end as if she was asking Scott No. 479 some sort of question as if there was some sort of appropriate response he could give her.
“Screw that,” was the response from the miniature Scott No. 479. “Too bad you didn’t wish me well while you were still working here. Maybe that way I wouldn’t have had to do your shit as well as mine so that we would make the deadline.”
Scott No. 479 decided that he did not give a flying rat’s ass as to whether or not he was well adjusted so long as it didn’t effect his current part time employment, his GPA or his golf swing. Scott No. 479 made a mental note to learn to play golf in order to measure the latter of those three indicators.
For the first time in this conversation Scott No. 479 opened his mouth to speak. “So I guess I’ll see you around campus.”