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Lena’s Point of View
I was on my third gin and tonic when I pressed return.
That is my maximum — three cocktails in any sitting, whether they be dinner parties, long lunches, or devastating flights. I have always known my number and kept to it, which is perhaps why it surprises people when they learn that I have one. It suggests self-knowledge and restraint. It suggests a woman who has considered, in advance, exactly where she would like to stop and where she is going.
I had eaten well: filet steak on a garlic creamed potato, asparagus sautéed in butter, and a glass of Burgundy I had barely touched. The tender-stem broccoli had arrived already wilted too far, so I had left it. I ate what was worth eating and sent back what wasn’t. This, too, was something I had learned about myself recently — that I had standing permission to leave the broccoli.
The return key made no sound at all above the engine noise.
Thirty seconds later, the company HR system spat back three words in bold:
Transfer request received.