Becky, Part 6. But it wasn't just the not-funny tasting food that had her insides in a semi-uproar. Becky remembered parts of that conversation.

Those "parts" she though wished, she hadn't heard, but frankly, neither did the partially muffled phrases come as a surprise.  But still, those phrases and terms are supposed to be something out of a b-dystopian movie.  It was a friday evening last spring.  Becky was on her way home, when she realized, she had forgotten that sea-salad plate.  Oh brother, come Monday morning. that would have smelled real lovely, having sat out all weekend.  

So, she turned her little green datsun around and headed back.  She wasn't even half way in the lobby when she sensed something wasn't right.  And no, had nothing to do with so-n-so walking out with so-n-so - though if you-know-who found out, there'd be drama - complete with a big ongoing bill from the friendly neighborhood domestic relations office.  Yeah, yawn, people doing other people ...  Still, for a moment, Becky paused in thought ... the one individual was, supposedly, so big on ... well evidently, just moral flag-waving.

"Gonna vote dem come November!" Becky muttered, while slamming her thumb into the elevator button.  "F*ck!"  Her thumbnail was broken, down to the quick, and her "outburst" was met by a sidelong glance from someone getting off another elevator.

Muddled in second-thought, that the dems weren't any better than the repubs, she didn't take note of the firewall door being open.  She entered in, intending to grab the plate from the conference room, and leave - she'd wash it at home.  It was then she heard that muffled conversation...oh, this wasn't good.  

What Becky heard from inside a neighboring office, was enough to know.  But certainly not enough to prove.  And who would she tell anyway?  The police?  Hah!  They were so short staffed, to begin with.  To end with, what few remaining officers, who still believed the law was not just another commodity...well good luck doing your job with that.

Becky got right back on the elevator.   The plate untouched.  As far as Becky was concerned, they could call hazmat, come Monday.   She buzzed her car door to open, then, without stopping for her usual Friday night freeze-treat, she drove straight home.  A second and a half, in the door, she grabbed the nearest waste-can and vomited into it.

Becky's stomach hasn't been quite right ever since.

Enough time travel for today.  Goodnight.