Eloise

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies."] Numbers numbers numbers. Numbers tumbling through Eloise's head all day long. Dewey Decimal System. Dewey Defeats Truman (but not really). John Dewey teaching math. She was sick of numbers! When she was through with her 9-5 job, she'd get into her used 1951 Packard (288 cubic-inch 8-cylinder engine) and drive to the market where she'd pay 17¢ for a loaf of bread, 92¢ for a gallon of milk, then she'd fill up her 14-gallon gas tank with gas that cost 21¢ per gallon. Maybe she'd stop off at the post office on her way home and get 3¢ stamps. She was 32 years old (387 months), she could do long division in her head, she liked pie and pi, and she went to sleep at night not by counting sheep, but by considering prime numbers. She was a hot number, a social security number, a census number, a phone number, and a number of things she shouldn't mention. After her errands, she parked her car in front of her apartment on 124 Seventh Avenue in Mt. Vernon, and climbed the stairs to the third floor, where her two cats, Prime and Pi, greeted her. A world without numbers, that's what she longed for. Numberless. Zero. Wait, zero's a number too. Damn. What she really longed for were letters...

(Part 2) The next day during her lunch break, Eloise walked down to the HR Department and found her friend Hilda's office. "Got any openings?" Eloise asked. "Let's see," Hilda said. She opened a file cabinet and began to flip through some folders. Eloise said, "I don't want anything that has to do with numbers." "What? But you were a math major! You LOVE numbers!" "No, I HATE numbers," Eloise said. Hilda laughed. "You named one of your cats Prime, and the other Pi. I don't think you hate numbers." "You don't understand," Eloise said. "I dream about them. I can't get them out of my head. They chase me in my nightmares. They have long legs, fangs, and halitosis. I can never run fast enough. But thankfully, just as they reach out their crooked digits to grab me, I wake up." Hilda said, "Digits, good one. Well, I dreamt about Rock Hudson last night. What a hunk! Now THAT'S a man!" "You're right about that," Eloise said, "So, what openings do you have?" "I got one right here," Hilda said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the folder. "It's in the editorial department of the magazine. You'd be working with my hubby William." Eloise was interested. "What's the position?" Hilda said, "Copy editor. How are you with words?" I LOVE words!" Eloise said, "Letters are the new numbers! And there are only 26 of them!" "Okay, I'll get you in. You owe me one," Hilda said.

(Part 3) Eloise aced the interview and began her new job two weeks later. She had her own office with a wall lined with books, dictionaries, and the latest edition of the Chicago Manual of Style. A picture frame holding a photo of her two cats sat on her oak desktop. Her nightmares had subsided, as had her obsession with numbers. Lorenzo from the cafeteria dropped by on her first day to bring her a piece of cake. "Welcome, my sweet braciole." "Thanks, Lorenzo. But I'm kinda busy." He made a pouty face and left. She thought, Why can't single men be interested in me instead of married men? Someone like that dreamy new actor Rock Hudson. She sighed, picked up a red pen, and set to copy editing an article on bomb shelters people were building in their suburban backyards. She flipped through the typewritten pages to see how long the article was. Eight pages. She wondered what the word count was. She sighed again and looked at the photo of her cats, recently renamed Dee and Jay. She went back to the article, adding a comma, correcting a typo, and changing a "your" to "you're." Okay, she had to admit it to herself, she missed the comradery of her old job, sitting in one big room with all the other girls. What was Brenda talking about right now? How was Barbara, and her rebellious husband Andrew? The Dewey Decimal System was boring as hell, but so is this article. At least she wasn't alone before. She was part of something. She was in on the jokes. Now she was missing everything, and they were going on without her, coming up with new running jokes she wouldn't get. Or blowing off steam to each other, as they complained about their husbands and boyfriends, and she wouldn't be in the know anymore. She looked back down at the boring text on the sheet of paper in front of her, changed a "then" to "than." Maybe I made a big mistake, she thought.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this Overhead Reduction week's "As the Pegasus Flies."] Two days later, Eloise was back in Hilda's office. "The grass isn't greener," Eloise said. "Uh oh," Hilda said. Eloise continued, "Last night I dreamt that a giant M was chasing me down the street." Hilda asked, "Did it catch you?" "It did. And it was a serif font, and it stomped on my head with its stinky serif feet," Eloise said. "Your dreams are scary. Last night, that hunk Raymond Burr was in MY dream." "Okay, so you have better dreams than I do," Eloise said, "So, is my old position still open?" "But William said you were catching on fast, doing a good job." Eloise said, "Well, I HATE letters! They're illogical. They don't make any sense! They're unpredictable! They're at the mercy of the whim of the writer! Words suck!" Hilda said, "I'm getting the feeling you don't like letters." "NO!! So can I have my old job back or what?" Hilda said, "I didn't even bother to fill it. Go! Go back with the rest of the girls! Go have fun with your logical numbers!" "Thank you!" Eloise said. That night Eloise dreamt that a ferocious number 8 was attacking her, and she couldn't have been happier. She woke with a smile on her face, said hello to her cats Pi and Prime, and got ready for work. Soon she'd be driving her '51 Packard to 1 Reader's Digest Road, and be she'd be back in the fold with her friends, back where she was comfortable, back where numbers ruled.