From 6:30 until around 10 every morning the newsroom runs like a well-oiled machine, computer keys smoking, scanning eyes proofing, driven staff members focused on the end product, but sometime after deadline, the wheels fall off.

I first started noticing our collective eccentricities the first day I forgot to take my company phone home with me. Maybe I didn’t forget. I’m lucky to get out the door in the morning wearing shoes that match, so keeping up with two phones really is too much to ask, and I eventually gave up, if you want the truth.

Next morning, I arrived before James, believe it or not, and noticed I had a missed call. I listened to the message and my face turned red.

“Hey, this is James. I’m on my way. We’re supposed to meet for that interview by 6.”

What interview? Where? What for?

I wondered what James looked like when he was mad. Figured I was about to find out.

About that time, James and his characteristic stack of yellow pads blew in the door. I cowered, motionless, behind my computer terminal, moving nothing but my eyes as he walked by to clock in. Maybe he wouldn’t see me.

“Good morning, Mandy.” Rats.

He walked back by, grinning. Or was that a grimace? He proceeded to his desk, sat down and started typing. Nothin’.

Perplexed, I went back to work. Decided he was just toying with me, though, and I couldn’t concentrate.

When I couldn’t take it any more, I just came right out and apologized for letting him down.

He looked at me like I was speaking Latin.

I explained I’d left my phone here last night, and had just gotten his message.

“I didn’t call you.”

Did so.

“No, really, I didn’t.” He thought for a moment. “I called Porky. We had an appointment.”

I opened my phone and read the number of the missed call in my log. It was James, all right. Now I had company in the state of confusion. Ha.

At least I hadn’t actually stood him up, that made me feel better.

It wasn’t long after I was sitting at my desk deep in thought when my cell rang.

This is Mandy.

There was an odd echo as James, sitting across the room, asked for Kevin, I just didn’t realize it.

Kevin’s on assignment, may I take a message or would you like his cell number?

I happened to glance up and see a giant question mark on James’ forehead as he hung up.

A few days later, I was supposed to meet Kevin at the library for an interview and pictures, after lunch. I went home for lunch and then headed for the library. Deciding I should confirm, I picked up my phone, went to contacts and selected what clearly said “Kevin.”

“This is Kandra.”

What?

More slowly – “This ... is ... Kandra.”

Oh, hey, I’m calling Kevin. Can you transfer me to Kevin?

I thought maybe Kevin’s desk number was in my phone.

Pause.

“Well, no. Not on a cell phone ...” (the ‘Stupid’ was silent but I heard it anyway.)

The joke’s on her though, because for some reason, she can never find me on the intercom on the first try. Every phone in the newsroom buzzes at least once before she finally gets me. Unless, of course, she’s looking for someone else. Then I get buzzed the first time.

We should probably have a staff meeting just to update everyone’s contact info.

We’re multi-talented, though. We can be dysfunctional collectively, or all by ourselves, it makes no difference.

For instance, Kevin should never be given bean-cooking responsibilities, unless blackened kitchen is part of the recipe. I found that out by sheer accident yesterday. I’m not really sure how something like that surfaces in casual conversation, but it didn’t surprise me.

Also, anyone working newsroom must be immune to off-key out-of-season Christmas carols and other unidentifiable noises – it’s in the job description.

This morning, Amy flew around the corner to make sure all her people were in one piece after a frightening sound resonated all the way down the hall.

Kevin is now banned from stretching at work, but no one has the number to call and tell him so.