I heard her the minute I walked into the store. That laugh--it came from all the way back in the offices--an infectious, rolling harbinger of joy. It percolated…bubbled…resounded throughout the building, bouncing off the marble tiles. Acoustically engineered ceiling panels did little to muffle its approach.
The manager who had unlocked the door to admit me grinned. “Dorrie’s back!” we said in unison.
Doris, or “Dorrie” as she’s affectionately called, is a bit of an institution at the store. She had been gone for over six months on medical leave, nursing a knee injury she’d acquired on the job. It’s hard to measure what her absence meant to store morale, but I’m sure we all felt the void. Like a balloon that had deflated long after the party was over, we’d become so accustomed to its limp existence, no one thought to reinflate or discard it. And now with, Dorrie’s return, that balloon was floating, waving, bouncing again.
“Welcome back!” I cried as she rounded the aisle.
“Did you miss me?!” she cackled, wrapping me in a bear hug.
“You’ll never know how much.”
I retreated to my department, leaving the rest of the staff to the morning associates’ meeting. But I could hear the hoots, hollers, and hilarity that accompany Dorrie wherever she goes.
My day brought its share of heat-related crabbies and crackpots—when it gets to be 110 degrees everyone resents having to leave the comfort of air-conditioning. Tempers become shorter as the mercury rises higher. But somehow, none of it affected my mood. I smiled a bit more. My step was a bit lighter. Laughter came easily. Dorrie was back, and all the world loves a clown.
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