Yankee Swap

I had already been sitting at my desk for a good 45 minutes, completely hungover and unmotivated, squinting in the fluorescent lights, wondering why I was being paid for this job, when Shaw'na finally decided to arrive to work. She used to be Shawna from Long Island, but started working in the city and hated that she wasn't "really" a New Yorker. So when she moved to Harlem she changed her name to "Shaw'na" to fit in, and it was a real bitch to replace all her business cards with that apostrophe too. She annoyed me because she had a job even worse than mine at this lame printing company, but she was even happier than me at it. What made her so happy about supply ordering? She should learn to be miserable like me.

Anyway, on this morning when she sauntered in close to an hour late, something seemed abrasive. My stomach dropped when I watched her come in. She had her biggest knock-off Chanel bag on her arm and her nails looked freshly done. It was nothing new for her, but there was something that felt different in my gut. She had an aire like something was truly amazing, but how could that be right? It annoyed me. Our long, long weekend was over, and after five days off we were back here on a rainy Monday morning in midtown Manhattan with jammed subway commutes cause the 4, 5 and 6 trains couldn't get their damn act together.

"Hay girl!" Shaw'na said as she sat in the cubicle next to me.

"Hi," I said wearily. The lights burned, my coffee wasn't helping, and my hangover wasn't even reminiscent of a good night. It just was.

"No, no! When I say hay girl, you say..." Shaw'na prompted.

"Hay," I said monotonously.

Shaw'na never let us greet each other in any other fashion. I hated it. She was horrible in reading people, which was truly unfortunate because she irritated most people she came in contact with. Her bangs were brushed over from one side from way too far away and gave her a trashy, sleepy look. She flung her head to the right to clear the bangs from her eyes.

"That's right girl! Now why don't you take that post-it next to you and write down your contact information cause I don't know when we're gunna see each other again," she gave a frown which probably was sincere coming from her but looked over-exaggerated and borderline sarcastic. Still, my interest was piqued.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Are you taking a vacation?" I swiveled my chair slowly towards her, feeling more aware of my old makeup smeared under my eyes and hastily thrown-up hair.

"You could say that. A long, permanent vacation with no real intentions on ever coming back," she glanced around and then leaned in slowly. "I'm quitting today!" her eyes widened and mouth opened in a feigned surprise excitement, waiting for me to return the look.

I'm sure I looked surprised, but likely in a stupefied and dumbfounded manner. How the hell did she have the opportunity to quit?

"Over the weekend I did something truly earth shattering," she confided, throwing open palms up at me for emphasis.

Well this was new. I envisioned her having collected all the stray dogs in New York and putting them in her Harlem studio for safekeeping, but wasn't sure how that was going to warrant foregoing an income.

"Um, wow." I said. Was I supposed to respond further? Was I supposed to ask questions? Admittedly, I was jealous, so I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of my curiosity, and I also knew she wouldn't be able to go long without telling me anyway.

Steve walked by on his way to the kitchenette, and Shaw'na and I both broke off our little huddle and tried to act normal.

"Hi Steve," I said.

"Hay boy," Shaw'na called out at the same time.

Steve pretended not to have heard us, and he may have even started walking a little faster too.

"Okay, are you ready for this?" Shaw'na leaned in a whispered to me.

"Mmhmm," I answered, trying not to show how curious I was.

"Over the weekend... I... bought Staten Island!" she squealed and threw herself back in her chair.

"You bought Staten Island? What does that even mean?" I was missing something. I didn't even feel very excited, just very confused.

"See, over the weekend I went to City Hall and they were doing a fundraiser. Apparently one of the cabinet members had been let go and was very bitter, so even though I was just trying to buy an old Louis Vutton wallet left behind by Bloomberg, the cabinet member drew up a contract that actually said I was buying Staten Island for only $50. They found out too late, and the contract was entirely legal and binding, so now I own Staten Island and I collect all the incomes and own all the land and everything!"

Holy cow. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was the whiskey shot I had poured into my coffee, but clarity hit me at that moment.

"Shaw'na, can I see the contract?" I asked as politely and friendly as I could.

"Of course, girl!" she handed it over with pink acrylic nails.

I looked over it hastily, hmm'ing and haw'ing and raising my eyebrows and pointing to different things.

"Shaw'na," I said. "This line here says that you owe all the taxes from Staten Island, not that you own them. So you would actually have to pay all that to the federal government."

"Wait, really?" the disappointment was clear, and she immediately leaned over to see what line I was reading, but I jerked it away quickly.

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed. "I don't want that!"

"Neither would I," I said sadly. "But you know what Shaw'na, you've always inspired me and been my friend. This contract isn't signed yet. What if I sign it and take it over for you, and I'll let you have my job when I leave so you'll still get double the income."

I actually had no idea if that were true.

"You would do that for me?" her eyes were watery with gratitude.

"Of course I would," I said, putting one hand on her shoulder and reaching for a pen with another.

I signed the contract as fast as I could with a sloppy one hand. I stood up on my desk and cupped my hands around my mouth.

"Excuse me!" I shouted. My hangover was feeling a little less horrible by the moment. "I'm quitting this bitch! Peace out suckers!"

I threw all my personal effects from the desktop into my purse and was marching out past all my dazes and confused and miserable coworkers. I didn't bother going through the drawers.

It was a horrible thing to do. It was. I was not proud of it at all. That's why, on some nights, I still shed a tear for the wrong I did to Shaw'na from Harlem, as I relax on my gold-threaded hammock in my Manhattan penthouse apartment with views of my island just across the water. And to clear my conscience, I renamed it Shaw'na Island, and tourism has never been better.