observing this very moment

Two minutes ago, I was quietly working away on new Dick and Jane fabric designs when two cleaning ladies showed up to clean the studio.

The constant roar of the vacuum motor suddenly turned into a loud shrieking sound and I saw the hose sucking up ribbons by the mile. I don't want to embarrass her, so I acted like I don't notice.

"Act casual, act casual, act casual..."

My eyes focused on the computer monitor, I don't want to appear as if I can see her in the corner of my eye.

Now.

This very moment, as I type this sentence out, she has quickly turned off the vacuum. It is silent. And she is still pulling out the ribbon like there's no end to it. She's panicked. I can see her looking down, pulling it out, looking at me, looking back down, looking back at me and pulling again on this tangled mess. My eyes still focused on the monitor pretending to be oblivious to her.

click. click. click. goes the keyboard as I type.

She is wearing loud pink pants and a loud bright lime green shirt. It's all a blur to me with her arms flailing, pulling this massive amount of ribbon from the hose.

*snap*!

She just broke off the end. Or the vacuum just did it for her. She turns the vacuum back on. It is still making that loud shrieking sound. She turns it back off. Looks into the hose. Sticks her fingers in it. Shakes it. Turns the vacuum back on. It is still loud and furious.

"Act casual, act casual, act casual..."

I never look up.

She turns it off and grabs the broom from across the room. She is headed over to my desk. I lift my feet pretending not to see her. Then I scoot my chair as close to my desk as possible, still pretending I don't notice the elephant in the room. Then I turn and give her eye contact. She bashfully giggles. And so do I with a sympathetic expression.

We don't speak the same language. But we both acknowledged our unspoken secret.