If You Want Pt 01

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," I told him matter-of-factly. "And I've heard some really dumb things in my day."

"It's true," the new guy replied. "It's not a very

useful

ability, but it's more than most people can do."

"Are you really doubling down on this? You really expect me to believe that you have magical powers?"

"I don't know that they're magical, per se. They might be genetic, kind of an X-Men kind of thing? Or maybe I'm possessed, or cursed, or... who knows. But I assure you, it works."

"OK. Just so we're straight, you expect me to believe that you have a super power, and that said power is the ability to make people do what they already wanted to do. That's what you're telling me," I said dryly. I swear, people take one look at me - pale blonde hair, pretty enough face, ample curves - and assume I'm some kind of moron. Still, this was next level insulting.

"That's right. Don't believe me? Try it. What's something you want to do right now?"

I rolled my eyes. "End this stupid conversation?"

He extended his hand. "Done."

I shook my head in disgust. I almost gave him one last parting shot, but I figured he at least shut up when he was told. Friggin' new guy. First day in the office and already making himself look like an idiot. I moved to another table and ate my lunch in merciful silence.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Superhero," I said as I strode into the break room the next day. Looks like we were on the same schedule. I usually took an early lunch because my job consisted of half data entry and half reviewing other people's data entry, and by 11:00 I was already bored out of my damn mind. New Guy was probably in here this early because he'd already made himself the laughing stock of the office and was dodging derision.

"It's Grant, actually," he said, raising his coffee mug in greeting, "and I never said I was a superhero. Just that I have an ability."

"Ugh. Please don't start with that weird shit again, OK? If that's what your dating coach told you to do to spark conversations with women, you should ask for your money back."

"Oh, and she's a funny one, too, folks - look out," he said, laughing good-naturedly. "Come on, it worked yesterday, didn't it?"

I slipped my bagel into the toaster. (I know, I know, I was putting on a few and I could probably do without the carbs, but whatever. My last boyfriend had been a total fitness nut and I was happy to be out of the gym.) "Worked? First of all, it didn't work because I only did what I was already going to do anyway, which was to stop talking to weirdos. Second of all, it didn't work because it isn't real and you really need to lay off with that crap."

"What if I could prove it?" he asked, annoyingly not put off by my abuse. Not a surprise, though, that Captain Superdouche over here was used to people mocking him.

"Prove it? Your so-called power - not that I believe it for a second - is to make people do something they were already going to do. That's like me saying I have the power to make things fall to the ground at the exact speed of gravity."

"You could use that to make planes and helicopters and stuff fall from the sky. That'd be pretty powerful, actually."

I gave him an exasperated look. "No, dummy, they're already having gravity pull on them but they keep on flying."

"But you said the power was to make things fall. You didn't say it could be resisted by equipment."

"Of course it's resisted by their equipment! It's a goddamn airplane - I'm not going to make it fall just by..." I caught myself. "How on earth did you even drag me into this idiot tangent? God, I'm going to sound as crazy as you if I keep this up."

"Look, all I'm saying is-"

"I know what you're saying, and I'm tired of hearing it. So if you're going to give me what I want today, how about you use your power to make yourself shut up."

"My power only makes you do what

you

want to do. I can't use it on other people. But I can voluntarily pipe down, if you like."

My bagel popped up. I snatched it out of the toaster and quickly smeared on some cream cheese. (Shut up! I've only put on, like, ten pounds. Or so.) "Save it. I

want

to eat at my desk. Undisturbed. OK?"

"You got it," he said. With that, I stalked back out of the break room. The nerve of this guy.

Three more days Grant and I bumped into one another over our lunch break, and every time, he kept it up. I was ignoring him now. The man was clearly nuts. Worse, he'd made

me

look nuts - I'd asked some people on the elevator if they'd heard about the new guy and his crazy tales of superpowers, and apparently nobody had. I asked him over lunch why he hadn't told anyone else, but he'd shrugged and said I was the only one who liked to eat as early as him.

That was the last we spoke. It was best to ignore him. But now, three days later, I was stressed and angry and he just had to go picking up on it. "You look like you're having a rough day already, Mallory. Something bugging you?"

What the hell. Give him one more chance to seem normal. "Yeah, there is. Do you work at all with the TRF-10 forms?"

He nodded. "Yeah, some. I've seen them, at least."

"Then you know how detailed they are. And idiot me, I let myself get backed up on them because I accidentally put a big stack in the TRF-6 pile and they need to be entered and checked by the end of the day tomorrow, so between now and then I'm losing my mind trying to get them entered. And you know how they have all those duplicate questions?"

"Uh, no, but I do now."

"OK, so like page 1 it asks a current address, then again on page 3 it asks for mailing address, but the system doesn't even have separate entries because it's basically the same question, but somehow like a quarter of the time these morons manage to enter totally different data, so I have to go and figure out which one they really mean and

ARGH

. The urge to make me pull my hair out is the only thing keeping me from falling asleep from the tedium."

He frowned sympathetically. "That sounds pretty aggravating."

"I assure you, it is."

"Anything I can help with?"

I arched an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to use the Firmsoft system? I'd have thought you were still in training."

"Oh I am, but I didn't mean like that. I meant, you know... with my-"

I jabbed a finger into his bony chest. "If you say 'with my super power' I am going to shove this wrap up your ass." I paused a moment. "Besides, how on earth would that help me anyway? I'm already doing the work, ya jackass."

"Well that's what I was trying to say the other day," Grant answered patiently. "Sometimes

wanting

to do a thing and actually making yourself do it are two totally different things."

I sighed. "OK, I'll bite. What's the difference, exactly?"

"Well sure, all right. Say you want to lose some weight. You

want

to go to the gym, you

want

to have a salad, but actually making yourself do it can be pretty hard. See?"

I scowled. "Are you telling me I need to lose weight? Because if so, you can go to hell." Not to mention that this skinny bastard knew the trials of dieting like I knew the difficulties of hitting the toilet while peeing standing up.

"Oh gosh no! I'm so sorry - that was only an example, and since I was eating, it probably just popped into mind first."

My scowl grew marginally less intense. "Good."

"Anyway, if you want, I could, you know, make you focus, be efficient. Maybe get it done a little faster, a little happier?"

I snorted. "If you can make this nightmare fast and easy for me, be my guest."

"Done." He snapped his fingers, then laughed after a moment. "The snap was being theatrical. I'm not Thanos or anything."

"Who in the hell is Thanos?"

"Never mind. You enjoy your lunch, Mallory - I hope it works out for you."

I swear, it had

nothing

to do with Grant and his delusions. Talking it over at lunch simply helped me remember that I'm the master of my own fate. When I sat back down at my desk, it was with a renewed sense of purpose. Yes, the task was ill-conceived, boring and thankless. I wasn't going to let that get me down though. All I needed to do was come up with a system and stick to it. And that's what I did! I used the index numbers to sort them by department of origin, and from there all I had to do was filter results according to each department's priorities for the form!

I was making such good time, I even made a little game out of it. Maybe it sounds embarrassing, but I song the tasks to Mary Had a Little Lamb in my head while I went down the lines. "First we do the client name, client name, client name; then we enter addresses which are found on line twoooo..." And so on. It passed the time, and if it got too stale, I simply switched to a new tune, or found some small way to reward myself at milestones. A task that I'd originally thought I'd have to come early and work late that day and the next for, and I had it done by ten o'clock the second day after getting home on time the night before.

"Well?" prompted Grant at lunch, the smug bastard.

Sheesh. In a single word, this doofus managed to take my accomplishment high and flush it down the tubes. "Well what?"

"How'd it work for you? Great, right?"

"Please don't start with this stuff again, Grant..."

"Oh come on! Just admit that it went well. Admit that it worked and I won't bring it up ever again."

"Heh. Well if those are the stakes, then yeah, it worked like a dream."

He grinned. "I told you it would!"

"I only said that to shut you up!"

"You still admitted it."

"You're still talking about it."

"Ya got me." He grinned. "Well if you ever need another boost, let me know."

"Oh yeah, the next time I find myself wishing someone could sprinkle me with pixie dust to solve my problems, you'll be the first one I call."

True to his word, Grant didn't bring it up again. As the office's two lunch time early birds, we still shared meals, but we found other things to talk about. We worked in the same office, so I gave him some tips and pointers for navigating office politics. We both watched

The Bachelor

and

The Bachelorette

, were both Eagles fans, even had compatible enough world views that we could talk current events without wanting to kill each other. The guy wasn't the best conversationalist, but he was pretty tolerable. Plus, he never tried to flirt with me, which was another big reason I ate my lunch before anybody else did in the first place.

The only thing was... try as I might, I could

not

get that energy going again. I didn't take it out on him - I'm not a total bitch, no matter what my ex says - but I was getting crabbier about my job by the day. It was so. Freaking. Dull. The more I tried to tell myself nothing had changed, the more my inner voice reminded me that for one glorious, fleeting day, it had actually been weirdly fun and pleasant. But even trying to do the same thing again, the buzz simply eluded me.

I vented to Grant about it after a couple weeks. Not to get a reaction or anything; he'd asked me how my day was and I was too demoralized to keep it bottled up. I had to hand it to him, the guy didn't bring up his supposed powers, even though I could tell from that furtive look in his eye he was thinking it. He sympathized, and we moved on. Except for the feeling. That stayed.

Now, I know it's stupid. I'm not exactly what you'd call gullible. I don't believe in god. I'm not afraid of ghosts or demons or any of that bullshit. Friday the 13th is just another day to me, and Halloween is only interesting in that it lets me wear something skanky without all the judgment. Still... there was this nagging little voice in my head that wondered if maybe - just

maybe

- Grant wasn't totally full of shit.

"I'll give you one more chance to prove yourself," I said one morning. Ugh. It was time for end-of-quarter compliance reporting, and I was swamped like before. I'd kept procrastinating in the hopes that that spark would return and I'd be able to breeze through it again, but each day the stack kept growing and growing.

Grant gave me an impish grin as he feigned ignorance. "One more chance to what, Mallory? I thought we weren't supposed to talk about that."

"Oh shut up. If you can make me not hate my job again, you can talk about whatever the hell you like. So can you do what you said or not?"

"If you want," he said. "That's how it works."

"I want. But if you are bullshitting me, I'm going to kick you in the groin tomorrow, capeesh?"

"Understood, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am. So are you gonna do it or what?"

"Already did." He grinned. "The hand-waving, finger-snapping... all theater. It's purely mental. Didn't even feel it, did you?"

But what I did feel was a surge of energy and enthusiasm for my work I hadn't had since... well, since the last time I invited Grant to do his thing. Yeah, yeah, so I can admit it. The guy actually can somehow do what he claims. I feel nuts even acknowledging it to myself, but suddenly I was working twice as efficiently, and, more bizarre still, I was

enjoying

myself. Don't get me wrong, I know my job is boring as hell. But all that day, I was bouncing in my seat with energy, smiling at every complete mundane task. It felt

good

.

The next day, I invited Grant to do it again. He said his power lasted right around a full day, so all I had to do was keep joining him for lunch and he'd keep me enjoying life as a data entry technician. (I think the company called it a "technician" because "drone" was too on the nose.) So join him I did. Like I said, he wasn't bad company, and now I was in such a great mood simply to be at work that pretty much everybody got a smile out of me.

Pretty soon my supervisor, Perry, started to notice. I was out-pacing the workloads of the rest of the DETs by half, at least. All on my own, I was coming in early and staying late. Work became the highlight of my day! And I was so darn chipper that some of the staff was starting to avoid me. Whatever. These days, it was the world outside the office that was stressing me out. Watching all my friends have their happy perfect meals and vacations and families on social media, the news always telling me the world was on the verge of collapse, finally starting to realize that distancing myself from my fitness buff ex had made me start going from plumply pretty to just plain plump...

"Oh come on, you look really pretty, Mallory," Grant tried to console me over lunch one day as I was venting. "Nobody else is looking at you and thinking judgmental thoughts."

I rolled my eyes. "That's sweet, Grant, but it's also bullshit. I used to get hit on all the time, and now sometimes I go days without some creep trying to get in my pants. I was a size 4 my whole life and now I barely fit in half my clothes."

"Well hey, there's more to life than appearances, right?"

The guy was skinny, yeah, but I doubted he'd ever been called hot. He was no troglodyte, but he was basically a wallflower. Like a stock photo, without the fake smile. "Feh. I'm always so tired by the time I get home I never feel like exercising any more. And I'm doing so good here that I'm always rewarding myself with food."

"Well," he said tentatively, "there is one thing we could do... if you wanted."

I arched an eyebrow, but I took his meaning a moment later. "Oh! You could do that?"

"I could, if that's what you really want."

"What I really want?" I pinched the muffin top squeezing out of my pants. "No, this is a really great look on me. You're sure there won't be side affects or something? I don't wanna, I dunno, burn out, or whatever."

He waved a hand. "For one, proper diet and exercise make you healthier, not less healthy. For two, if it starts to feel bad, you'll stop wanting it, and the power will stop working. Automatic self-correction. Shall we give it a try?"

I lost fifteen pounds that month. I'd always wanted to try going vegan, but had never been able to give up meat. With a nudge from Grant, I gave it a go for a week, and then that was one more part of his daily touch-ups. Nine hours at the office, one at the gym, one and a half on meal prep and cleanup, plus transit for all of the above, and my life was chock full.

I felt incredible. I had energy, a spring in my step, a feeling of success and accomplishment. Perry even got me a modest raise and told me as soon as a position became available, they'd be considering me for management. Already he was taking me under his wing, involving me in a lot of the departmental meetings and decision-making. I was being groomed, he said. He even got me to enroll in some business classes at the community college, paid for by the company! It was another couple hours three nights a week, but my social life would have to wait. For now I was simply glad to be getting recognition, to say nothing of my relief that I was starting to look like my old self again. Although now I'd lost so much weight that now some of my clothes were starting to get too baggy.

"Sounds like a nice problem to have," said Grant, taking a bite of his tuna sandwich.

"If you can afford it. Here it is the middle of summer and I'm wearing sweaters and loose dresses because my tight stuff makes me look like I'm a kid playing dress-up in Mom's clothes." I plucked at my top.

"Come on, Mallory. You look great, and you know it. That's for

you

, not us. What does it matter if your co-workers can't see it?"

"You so do not understand women, Grant." I patted him on the arm patronizingly. "Part of the point of looking good is because you want a little recognition. Let the boys get a little friendlier, the ladies get a little jealous."

"I apparently don't get women. I thought catcalls and wolf-whistles were generally considered a bad thing."

"I'm not saying I want to be harassed, you neanderthal. I'm only saying that we're visual creatures, and sometimes, yeah, we like to... I dunno, get visual."

"So if you want to dress a little more flattering, why not just buy some new clothes? I hear you're management track now - may as well invest a little moolah."

"Bleh. My parents are giving me crap for missing the holidays last year. So now, I have to fly home for Thanksgiving

and

Christmas, and that's eating all my fantasy management track dough. Not that they gave two shits about spending time with me when I was under their roof, but now that I'm fifteen hundred miles away, suddenly they want quality time. I wish I could just tell them to piss off."

"Why not? Got a big inheritance coming your way?"

"Nah. I have two brothers and a sister, and there's not gonna be much to split to begin with."

"So... why not...?"

I laughed. "Sometimes, Grant, I think you think your little power can solve every one of my problems."

"It's doing a bang-up job so far, right?"

"Damn, girl! I would never have the guts to try and pull that off - you putting in for a raise today or something?" my work-friend Valerie said as she popped by the break room. It was a second coffee run for her. My usual early lunch for me.

"Or something." I gave a humble shrug of my shoulders. Bared shoulders, as it were. Today it was a shoulderless blouse, two sleeves and a snug bodice held in place by breast and willpower. It showed a lot less cleavage than I had been lately, but it compensated by showing a wee bit of my dynamite midriff. Two months on my new workout routine, and the only reason I wasn't rocking a six pack was because I wanted to keep my figure a little more feminine.

After all, with the way I was dressing lately, I almost needed to.

I'd started out modestly, some new blouses, a few knee-length pencil skirts with one-inch heels. It flattered my new and improved figure a lot more than the old stuff. Plus, I had to admit it felt nice to be a source of gossip. My mistake was admitting that fact to my lunchmate, Grant. Two guesses what his solution to wanting to dress a little sexier was. I'd told him I didn't actually

want

to dress sexier, but he said if that was really the case, his power wouldn't work anyway. If I was simply being coy, however, he said he'd spot me the first new outfit I bought.