The Copy Machine, Part 59

This morning clean desk with extreme (and never to be seen again) efficiency. The Contessa watches. At one point says that I am moving too fast. Say, What does that mean? (while scrubbing vigorously at coffee stain on formica) Says that the activity is making her dizzy. Ask her if there is something else that is making her dizzy. Admits that she drank the better part of bottle of Modavian dessert wine discovered at back of closet -- says she thinks somebody brought it over to party last year and she hid it for a rainy day. Wine very tasty, like warm herbs and it even enabled her to watch Desperate Housewives and not want to throw things at the tv, but now she is dizzy and depressed. Sighs. Says she'd better go make copies of packets for the Vice-Boss's presentation to Dean. Comes back with hand on forehead. Very red. Says, Now she is dizzy, depressed, and the copy machine is broken. Am still infused with sense of efficiency, so march back to copy room. Confirm diagnosis. Fix copy machine with firm look. Firm look fails. (Question: how, after long weekend of rest, is machine broken? Would like to think it is Spite, but am trying not to give human attributes to inanimate objects.) Begin to feel dizzy and depressed too even though drank only seltzer night before. Call Minolta. Several hours later man with moustache comes into office asking for copy machine. The Contessa asks, where is Romeo? Romeo, the mustachioed man says, was only pretending to fix the machine. (Enter existential train of thought -- if machine worked after Romeo leaves, how was it not fixed?) The Contessa says, Poor Romeo. Ask her if she knows what pretending to fix the machine means. She says No. She frowns. Says, It is probably a euphamism for selling drugs. Or running a prostitution ring. Says darkly, She doesn't care about that -- now there is one less man to flirt with. This an extremely revisionist view of the past. Do not remind her that once when Romeo came she went to the bathroom and hid for half an hour.