Page 34 of I Hope This Finds You Well

We’ve added some exciting profiles for you to explore.

I close out immediately upon seeing three of the same type of red-faced man in a too close/low profile. One of them has his knee on a canoe to show he’s outdoorsy, but his shorts sit tucked around his junk to show he’s violating as well.

Enough of that,I tell myself. But I am a masochist, I guess, because less than two seconds later, I head to the website and search for Rhondabear1960.

Her profile picture shows her with a big golden brooch on her blouse, pink blush smeared like sharp lines on her cheeks, and her hair curled out with even more bounce than usual. The background looks familiar, and I flash back to the work conference three years ago where the photo must’ve been taken. There was a banquet and a dance floor. I ended up at a table with people from Ontario whom I didn’t know, since I didn’t get invited to sit with others from our office. When the DJ played a Drake song and way too many office-panted men with tucked-in shirts started toward the dance floor, I got the fuck out of there and retreated to my hotel room with the two queen beds: a drinking bed and a sleeping bed. That’s where Rhonda’s profile photo is from.

Her caption reads:I’m the self-sufficient single mom of one very busy adult son. Looking for someone to fill my evenings and weekends with. I like to converse, sew, and plan parties. No sex freaks! I want someone to spend time with me for me. The sex will come after.

Whoa. Rhonda said the quiet part of dating profiles out loud. I stifle a giggle, even though the office is still pretty much empty. But just below it reads:

Companionship is all I want. Looking for someone willing to spend time with me. We can shop, go to movies, and all the other things life has to offer. Would be able to spend the holidays with you and your family. Grandkids very welcome. I would love to cook a big meal for them or do crafts together! I’m serious! Last Christmas I had too much food and no mouths.

Last Christmas, all I recall is Rhonda’s relentless bragging about her festive plans. She said Carl had booked her and him a week in Banff, where he took her to the fancy fondue restaurant on Main Street. At the time, it sounded a littleAmerican Psycho, but did she actually make it up?

I almost miss Rhonda pounding into the room behind me with her giant embroidered bag while her profile’s papering my screen. I snap the page shut just in time.

“Good morning,” I say, way too brightly.

For a moment she hesitates, odd expression on, before a smile forms on her face and she replies, “Good morning.” She takes a folder and heads to the copy room.

The manual clock strikes 8:15. Caitlin and Armin trickle in and settle into their desks, giving my turned-on monitor and nearly empty coffee mug a double take as they pass me, like me being early is some marvel.

Rhonda returns holding a stack of freshly photocopied papers. She goes over to Armin and proffers them.

“Morning, dear. I’ve finished the Q2 forms for you.”

Armin frowns as he takes the pages. “Rhonda, we talked about this. Can’t you just send me this grid in an email? When you give it to me like this, I have to retype everything and it takes twice as long.”

“It’s easier for me to work on a hard copy,” Rhonda says, nonplussed.

“Easier for you, maybe. Is it easier for all of us, though?” Armin splays out his hands toward Caitlin like he’s garnering support.

No support comes.

His gaze crawls toward me. I hunch lower in my chair, glad that I have my earphones on even though I’m not playing anything, and do my best impression of a focusing-on-work worker.

When I peep at him next, he’s riffling through another stack. “Why are you printing so much anyway? Why did you need to carbon copy this email from Marsha in finance, when we already have the digital version? Can’t you see this madness? The environment suffers when you don’t stop yourself from printing.”

“Oh, stop.” Rhonda squares her shoulders. “You young people talk about saving the environment but then don’t do anything but send a tweet that’s all for show.”

Caitlin nods way too hard. “That’s such a good point.”

Rhonda’s chest puffs up. “Thank you, dear.” She returns her focusto Armin. “You kids today spend more time trying to make people miserable online than making yourselves happy in real life. My son’s your generation, but he hardly ever touches his phone.”

Every time Rhonda and Armin disagree, it always devolves into a debate about generational differences. We then hear about how great Rhonda’s son is.

And we all suffer.

I pretend to stare at my screen, stone-faced.

Armin grates his bottom lip with his teeth. “But seriously, why are you printing so much?” He gestures at the many, many stacks of papers on her desk. “All this information exists online, and it would be easier for everyone if it stayed that way.”

“Not for me. Everything came printed before. That’s what I’m used to,” she mutters as she twists her erasable pen between her palms.

“If you aren’t able to keep up with the office, maybe it’s time to consider—”

“Retiring?Is that what you want?” And oh shit, now Armin has done it. Rhonda splays her hands out on the desk, the five pounds of costume jewelry rings clinking on her fingers as she pushes herself into a standing position—her jaw set, eyes wide as she can make them.