It had been an exhausting morning of surfing the web on company time, but I had managed to accomplish something. I listed the Tornadex on Craigslist in the hope of finding a sucker, sorry, buyer to take the thing off my hands. The light was at the end of the pandemic tunnel and I needed to unload this industrial strength, turbine powered wind machine before everyone who bought extra fans last year flooded the market.
I got up, stretched and loosened my back and decided to put off work a bit longer with a walk around the office. It was a good time to see what the other sixteen of us who had been back at work were up to.
I took a hard right out of the office and stepped into the open arms of Wilson.
“Who needs a hug, you big nut,” he said, tightening the embrace.
The shock wore off and I squirmed and tried to free myself.
“Certainly not me,” I said. “Please let me go.”
But he didn’t. In fact, he tightened his grip and started rocking me like we were dancing at the prom.
“Okay, enough,” I said. “This isn’t 2019.”
“Haven’t you heard the news?” he asked.
“No, if I had I would have known about the psychotic hugger on the loose. Now please let me go, my mask is falling down.”
“Mask, smask,” Wilson said. “The CDC says we can hug again. Come on, physical contact is okay.”
“I’m sure they didn’t say that. They’re more cautious than a neurotic fifty-year old learning to drive.”
“No, it’s okay,” Wilson said, refusing to loosen his grip. “You’re vaccinated, I’m vaccinated. What’s not to like about a good old hug?”
“Plenty,” I said, working to free myself. “Look, behind you, it’s Dr. Fauci, and he’s pissed.”
Wilson gave me a last uncomfortable squeeze and let go. “There, didn’t that feel good?”
“Not particularly,” I said. “Please show me this CDC news.”
We went back into my office, sat down and Wilson scrolled to a page on his phone from the CDC and handed it to me. I was staring at a diagram with rows of stick-figure houses with green and orange dots inside them.
“Why is the CDC giving us a SAT math problem?” I asked.
“No, no,” Wilson said, “it’s just the latest confusing public heath guidance.”
“Of course.”
“Read the legend. You and I are the green dots. We’re vaccinated. It says no prevention methods are necessary.”
“And somehow you interpreted that as the okay to hug indiscriminately,” I said.
“Oh, you’re splitting hairs. All this isolation has skewed your view of the benefits of hugging,” he said.
I looked at the little house chart. Maybe I was missing something. Maybe hugging was officially approved.
“I mean, who are you going to believe,” Wilson asked. “Me, or the CDC?”
“Please don’t make choose,” I said.
Wilson slapped the desk and got up. “Come on, let’s go on a little office hugging tour. See who else is around and what they think.”
Like many of Wilson’s ideas, this one immediately struck me as being a not very good one. But there actually was something intriguing about it. Almost everyone in the office has been vaccinated, and maybe we were all ready for physical contact again. Or maybe not. Either way, it was a far better use of my time than working.
A moment later we passed the break room. Ashley was at the microwave, humming a song as a little carton of something slowly rotated while being zapped. Wilson made a beeline for her, arms open and full of pep.
“Does someone need a hug?” he yelled, like an over-caffeinated Mr. Rodgers.
“Whoa, whoa, what are we, in the executive mansion?” Ashley said, waving him off. “I’m just fine without a hug, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Wilson asked
“Never more so in my life,” she said, taking the piping hot container out of the microwave and deftly using it as a buffer between her and Wilson as she passed him.
“Are you part of this?” she asked as she passed me.
“I’m his attendant. I need to get him back by one,” I said.
“Well, you’re doing a fine job,” she said, leaving.
Wilson was undeterred by the rebuff and we headed around the office, looking for consensual hugging opportunities. He was quickly oh-for-five. Stephens, who was hanging on by a thread after the holiday party incident, had begun to shake violently when Wilson approached, and he waved his hands as if fending off an attacker. I couldn’t blame the man, really.
We were just about out of candidates when Wilson had a brain drizzle.
“Let’s go find Big Mike,” he said. “He alway looks like he could use a hug.”
“That’s not at all what he looks like. He actually looks like someone who would hurt someone approaching with an offer of a hug.”
Wilson was nothing if not determined and we set about to find Big Mike. Given the man’s erratic behavior of recent months, I had no idea where to even begin searching for him. Mike was still on probation after operating a speakeasy in the sub-basement of the building, and then of course there was the fire he set in a drunken stupor during our end of the year calendar burning.
I hoped Wilson would tire of this little quest and we would go get lunch. Unfortunately, Mike appeared down the hall, stepping out an office.
“Mikey,” Wilson yelled.
Mike turned around and Wilson sped toward him.
“Did you hear the good news?”
“No more Zoom meetings?” Mike asked.
“No even better, we can hug again.”
“But we never hugged before,” Mike said, as we approached. “Is this like one of Roz’s new get to know your colleague things? I think I liked the virtual happy hour better.”
“Come on, how about a hug?” Wilson asked, with open arms.
Mike looked at him, then began to crumble, first a sniffle then a tear. It was like watching Mount Rushmore cry.
“Oh, okay,” Mike said, wiping away a tear. “It’s…it’s been so long.”
He wrapped Wilson in a hug and lifted him off the ground.
“Awwww, this is good,” Mike said.
“Okay, that’s our hug for today, Mikey,” Wilson said. “You can put me down.”
Mike looked at me. “Come on, group hug. Let’s all hug this out.”