Guided by light, driven by dreams, and ready to fly.

Tag: #SusanAndOishi

  • The Validation Audit

    Susan Narrating – The Signal Co. Office

    It was Monday morning. Ugh.

    There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.

    My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.

    Welcome to my life.

    Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.

    “Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”

    If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.

    Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was.
    Macchismo D.
    My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.

    He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.

    After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:

    “Well, that was an epic fail.”

    Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.

    Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.

    “I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”

    Then we noticed her.


    Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.

    She walked over and said:

    “Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.

    All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”

    Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.

    Cassandra went on:

    “When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.

    I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”

    Then she looked at him kindly and said:

    “You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”

    “THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.

    Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.

    Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating

    Boyo and I were watching TV.
    We heard the stomping. My tail wagged.
    Susan had returned.

    She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.

    “Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”

    She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.

    Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”

    Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”

    Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.

    I placed a paw on my face.

    Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:

    “What good thing happened today?”

    Susan paused.

    “Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”

    I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?

    “Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”

    She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.

    I regret nothing.

    Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”

    Boyo scooped me up and said:

    “Galatians 1:10.”

    Susan blinked.

    “Is that a street?”

    He smiled:

    “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?
    Or am I trying to please people?
    If I were still trying to please people,
    I would not be a servant of Christ.”

    We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.

    Susan nodded slowly.

    “Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”

    She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.

    “Where are you going?” he asked.

    “To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”

    “Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”

    “Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”

    Boyo and I: 🐾🤦

    That Night

    We snuck out like spies in black.
    I brought my squeaky toy.
    She brought her drama.

    We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.

    Next Day – Susan Narrating

    In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident.
    The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.

    “If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”

    Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.

    Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:

    “I know it’s you. And the furry guy.
    Thank you.”

    And just like that—I was floating.

    THE END
    🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten)
    📈 Validation status: Internalized
    🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%

  • The Day It Rained Anyway

    Narrated by Oishi

    It was Friday evening. Susan and I were in the Signal Co. pantry, watching the clock like it owed us money. She was in a rush — we had to get to the mall because she was finally buying new sneakers. Pricey ones. She kept telling herself (mostly out loud), “You only live once, and I’ve been absorbing customer tantrums like a sponge—I deserve this.”

    Fair enough.

    We got home, and she immediately unpacked the shoes like they were the Crown Jewels. She sniffed them — deeply. I don’t blame her. New shoe smell is dangerously satisfying. She said, “I’m wearing them tomorrow. And it better not rain.” Then she hugged them like a teddy bear and went to sleep.

    Saturday Morning.

    She woke up praying out loud:

    “Lord, please. Let it be sunny. These sneakers are white. Pristine. Expensive. Your daughter humbly begs—please don’t let it rain!”

    I couldn’t help but think: Sure, Sus. Let the plants wither and the rivers run dry so you can debut your kicks in peace.

    But just as we were getting dressed… BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Then the rain came down like a telenovela twist.

    Susan flailed toward the window and cried out, “Whyyy, Lord?! WHYYY?”

    But then she paused. She saw the rainwater spilling into the pots, stray cats and dogs drinking, ducks waddling like it was a parade, and she said nothing for a moment.

    Narrated by Susan

    I sighed.

    “Thank you, Lord. You didn’t answer my prayer—and honestly, I wouldn’t have either. It was petty.”

    I imagined Oishi side-eyeing me: “God split the Red Sea, raised the dead, healed the blind, made the lame walk… and here you are asking Him to protect your sneakers from a drizzle.”

    And he’s right. Looking outside, I saw everything else thriving in the rain. I realized… the shoes can wait. The rain is helping others right now. And we can still go out when it stops. Or not. They’re just shoes. I can wash them. Or save up again.

    (I’m definitely going with Option A though: wait until the rain stops.)

    The rain didn’t stop.

    But it softened to a gentle drizzle, and Oishi and I stayed in, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa. 🌧️☕

    It wasn’t the day we planned.

    But it was… peaceful.

    The kind of peace that doesn’t need perfect weather.

    Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 🕵️‍♀️ Case File: The Missing Maeutang — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

    Narrated by Oishi:

    Every night, you can hear Susan stomping around like an elephant in front of the television, yelling,
     “I knew it, Oishi Badoodle — it’s the neighbor!”

    Turns out she’s binge-watching Law & Order: SVU again. And now she thinks she’s Olivia Benson — with a notepad, glasses, and enough confidence to act like she’s actually on the precinct payroll.

    One sunny afternoon, Sus and I were walking in the park. I was excited — there was a carnival in the village, and I needed to see other faces besides Susan’s. Then we ran into Timmy, holding Mutang — you know, Maeutang, that weird-looking purple fish. He won second place during Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Second to me, of course.
     I am Sir Oishi Barkcelot. Champion. Shih Tzu. Icon.

    Narrated by Susan:

    One not-so-fine afternoon, Oishi Badoodle and I were walking through the neighborhood when we saw Timmy with his purple fish — Maeutang, I think? We waved hello, then headed to the carnival.

    Oishi and I had a blast. We rode the carousel, took selfies, laughed — life was good.

    But on our way home, Timmy ran after us, crying.
     Mutang was missing.

    Oishi and I gasped in sync.
     Sure, Mutang and I don’t talk, but he’s Oishi’s fish-friend, and that makes him family.

    I hugged Timmy and said, “No one — and I mean no one — takes our babies from us.”
     (Just to be clear, I was referring to Oishi and Mutang.)

    I asked if maybe Mutang just wandered off. Timmy looked confused and said, “He’s a fish.”
     I nodded. “And he’s purple. Anything is possible.”

    Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.

    We checked Timmy’s house. The aquarium was empty. I rushed home to change — blonde wig, glasses — the works. Oishi and I hid behind a plant for surveillance, though he seemed more annoyed by a random dog sniffing his butt than by the crime scene.

    We interrogated the fish market.
     No luck. Just smells.

    Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:

    • Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
    • Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
    • That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)

    Timmy sat on the couch, crying.
    “He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”

    I teared up. “I get it, Tim. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my Oishi.”

    Then I got serious. Maybe all those Bible studies with Yohanes and Brenda were sinking in.
     I said, “You know what I do when life spirals? I pray. Tell Him everything. He listens.”

    Timmy wiped his eyes.
    “Lord, please help us find Maeutang. Show us where.”

    Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.

    I scooped up Oishi — but not before I saw him quietly make a call. I swear he was on the phone.

    Oishi:

    Yes, I made a call. I rallied the squad.

    Sashmi the orange chihuahua.
    Bulgogi the blue horse.
    K-9 Unit from the guard post.


    And of course, me — emotionally exhausted but still majestic.

    At the carnival, we spotted a man in a ski mask holding Maeutang. Two other goons were snacking on popcorn and cotton candy like this was a movie premiere.

    Susan didn’t hesitate —
     She launched a throat punch while yelling “HIYAAAAA!”

    The ski mask man dropped Maeutang. Another goon lunged forward — but before he could reach the tank…

    Boyo came out of nowhere, punched the guy mid-air, and muttered,
     “Not on my watch.”

    Then K-9 sank his teeth into a third guy’s butt 

    Timmy grabbed the aquarium, tears streaming. Maeutang, also teary-eyed (don’t ask how), looked right at Timmy. Their love was real.

    Oishi (closing narration):

    We went home. Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was.
    To be fair, she did find Maeutang . She did it for me. I love her for that.

    Then I heard it again from the couch —
     “I knew it! It’s always the neighbor!”

    Paw to face.
    Not again, Sus.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾
    — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

  • Boyo’s Question – Ep.2 of The Questions They Carried

    What do you regret?

    Narrator: Oishi (This time, I volunteered.)

    Five years ago, Susan found me crying under a tree in the rain. Soaked, shivering, abandoned. She ran to me and picked me anyway.
    (If you want the full origin story, go read  “I Got You, Buddy.”)

    A few months later, Boyo moved in next door.
    The first time I saw him, we were playing fetch in the hallway. I noticed him right away. He always smiled. His eyes were gentle. He looked… cuddly. Like Susan, but with better manners.

    But there was something about him that drew me in.
    (Aside from the smell of treats, of course.)

    The Incident.

    One Saturday at 7 a.m., Boyo was blasting “Bed of Roses.”
    Susan was still asleep. Keyword: was.

    She shot up like a banshee, stomped out of bed like an angry elephant, her hair a war zone, her face like a constipated chimpanzee. Still in pajamas. Still half-dreaming of revenge.

    She scooped me up (I protested, silently—I knew what was coming).
    She banged on Boyo’s door.

    He opened it.
    And for a split second, I swear I saw fear in his soul.

    Susan unleashed.
    “Do you know what time it is?! Do you think you’re alone in the world? That we’re all paranormal beings who can’t hear Bon Jovi at full volume?! I just fell asleep—LAST NIGHT!”

    She didn’t even breathe. Her mouth went full machine gun.
    Boyo? Speechless.
    Susan? Exited dramatically before he could say a word.

    Then she ranted for five. straight. hours.
    My ears weren’t hurting from the music. They were hurting from Susan.

    Mall Day, Siopao Drama, and Puppy PTSD

    Later, we went to the mall.
    We roamed. Ate siopao. She put me in one of those baby ride thingies. I felt like a prince. I loved it.

    Until she ditched me at the pet lounge.
    She wanted to watch a movie.
    She didn’t say the title, but judging from the timing, I’m guessing:
    “Food Factory: How Siopao Is Made.”

    Earlier that day, while we were eating, I noticed Boyo watching her mid-bite.
    Mid siopao bite.
    And I swear—I saw his heart leap out of his chest.

    I thought to myself, “Gross.”

    That siopao bite must’ve triggered something, because Boyo suddenly remembered.

    Turns out, they had met before — well, sort of.

    During a neighborhood outing months ago, Boyo had seen Susan and me from a distance, sitting quietly by the beach. We were both staring out at the mountain and sea like it was a private moment with God.

    Susan, in that rare peaceful form of hers, whispered, “Look at this view… what a Creator.”

    Her face looked… angelic.

    Very unlike the siopao-crushing, sarcastic hurricane that just yelled at him in her pajamas.

    Back then, Boyo was quietly eating barbecue alone, watching us — Susan with her awe, me with my glassy deadpan — and thinking, Maybe this world still has soft places.


    Who falls in love with Susan while she’s inhaling carbs?

    Chaos at the Pet Lounge

    Back at the lounge, I was surrounded by untrained puppies.
    Running. Sniffing. Chaos.
    One of them sniffed my butt for the third time and that was it.

    I barked like it was the end of the world.

    Luckily, Boyo was still at the mall. He heard me.
    He came in, checked me out, and left a note at the counter.

    “Hey Siopao Girl,
    Got your dog. He looked restless.
    We’re at my apartment. — B.”

    Bark, Regret, and Bed of Roses (again)

    At his place, we chilled.
    He cooked chicken. We ate. We watched TV.
    Then we heard stomping in the hallway and shouting:

    “BOYOOOO! Where is my badoodle?!
    Give him back to meee!!”

    (She climbed eight floors. The elevator was down. Respect.)

    Boyo opened the door.
    “I’m so—”

    But Susan stopped him mid-apology by pressing a finger to his lips.
    Then launched into a rant that barely related to the situation.

    Boyo calmly gave her a chair.
    Made coffee.
    Listened. Patiently.

    Then she randomly mentioned “regret.”
    And Boyo’s eyes shifted.

    He smiled and asked her, in his usual calm tone:

    “What do you regret?”

    Susan, being Susan, said:

    “I regret buying that choco mocha lipstick. It looks like dried blood.”

    Boyo tried again.

    “Something deeper.”

    She thought. Then said:

    “I regret not buying the last piece of siopao. I should’ve bought it. Now I have to cook.”

    I put my paw on my head.
    Classic Susan.

    She got up, mid-convo, and left to cook.
    She was that comfortable around Boyo… she left me with him.

    The Regrets Boyo Witnessed and the faith he chose instead.

    Once she was gone, Boyo scooped me up.
    Sat me on his lap.
    And spoke softly.

    “I used to be a nurse overseas,” he said.
    “I watched people die with so many regrets.”

    He went quiet for a moment.

    “I wasn’t part of the frontlines. I was the guy waiting in triage. Prepping shots. Changing dressings. I remember November 12, 2015 — the day the relief convoy never came back. We were waiting. The kids were waiting. But all we got was silence… and smoke rising from the ridge.”

    Then continued:

    “They regretted not telling people they loved them.
    Not giving enough time.
    Not living fully.
    Not putting God first.
    Not choosing joy over fear.
    Not choosing people over things.”

    I listened. And for once… I had no sarcastic comment.

    Boyo added:

    “In this lifetime, regret is inevitable — it’s not about avoiding it, but about choosing not to repeat it.”

    “Since then, I promised myself I’d live differently.
    Smile more.
    Be kind.
    Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s Susan.”

    And then, he laughed.

    “I’ll still play Bed of Roses.
    But I’ll be more mindful.
    I’ll live with faith. Not fear.”

    Dinner with the Ones Who Stayed

    Susan came back.
    She brought chicken.
    Boyo brought soup and dessert.

    She ranted about the movie.
    He smiled.
    I napped.

    And for a few hours, there was no fear. No regrets.
    Just us.
    Just joy.
    Just home.

    Writer’s Note (by Ember — Slightly Overcooked, Still Simmering)

    Hi, it’s me — Ember.
    The person behind Susan’s spirals and Oishi’s deadpan commentary.

    This episode? It’s personal.
    Not because I’m a nurse, a doctor, or someone with a front-row seat to life-and-death situations…
    but because I’ve had my share of regret.

    I’ve lost people I loved — and I didn’t always get to show that love the way I wanted to.
    And honestly? I still live like I have all the time in the world.
    Like the clock’s not ticking.
    Like there’s a memo somewhere that says I’ll live to 110.

    But there isn’t.
    And that thought hit me while writing this episode.

    So lately, like Boyo, I’ve been trying to really live.
    To make decisions based on faith, not fear.
    To be kind, even when I’m surrounded by difficult people and exhausting situations — which, to be clear, is very hard and occasionally makes me want to scream into a pillow.

    But I’m trying.

    If you’re reading this, maybe you’re trying too.
    Trying to be softer, braver, more present.
    Trying to say what matters before it’s too late.

    Let’s live better.
    While we still have time.

    Still rising, still barking.

    — Ember & Oishi 🔥🐾

  • Master the Art of Self-Control — Susan’s Way (Narrated by Oishi)

    1. When someone insults you, clench your fists, bite your tongue, and try not to blurt anything out. Also… turn the other cheek, as Jesus said.
    2. Pause. Think about siopao and donuts. Not because they help, but because carbs are a great distraction from violence.
    3. Meditate. Imagine yourself winning the argument flawlessly. I mean… meditate so you remain calm and spiritually aligned.
    4. Practice deep breaths before you accidentally retaliate with words that could melt concrete. Deep breaths. Breathe in grace, exhale petty.
    5. Smile sarcastically—wait, no. Smile genuinely. You never know, your unexpected smile might lift someone’s heavy heart. Even if their face deserves a sandal.

    ✍️ Writer’s note

    Ahhh self-control — the kind of thing that many of us struggle to master. And by “many of us,” I mean me. 🙋🏻‍♀️

    You’ll notice that Susan is still very much resistant to responding in kindness. Her first reaction is usually pride, ego, or the urge to throw a siopao and a donut. But the important thing is — she’s learning. Trying. And so am I.

    It’s not easy, especially when you’re dealing with people trying to be cute but clearly skipped the ‘logic’ queue in life.

    But we’re out here trying, praying, breathing (sometimes growling), and getting better one siopao at a time.

    See you on the next post.
    — Oishi, emotional support furball

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • Creation and One Reluctant Sunday School Teacher: Susan’s Genesis Crisis

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)

    It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.

    Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”

    Brenda walked in anyway.

    She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.

    I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.

    Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.

    Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”

    Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.

    With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling.
    “I’ll do it… for the Lord.
    I’ll do it… for you.
    I’ll do it… for Oishi.
    I’ll do it for the economy.”

    Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.

    Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:

    “Badoodle. Prepare yourself.
    We are entering uncharted territory.
    We are built for this.
    Yeah. We are built for this.”

    She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:

    “Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”

    Somehow, she found it.

    Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…

    She read all the way to Genesis 30.

    Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock.
    “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.”
    (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)

    She kept reading:

    “Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”

    And she paused.

    “He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”

    Sunday morning:
    Susan woke up early.
    Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one.
    She had her hair down. That was new.

    She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said,
    “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”

    (I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)

    The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.

    Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning.
    Classic.

    After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.

    And Susan began to teach.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note
    Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around.
    To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve.
    God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.

    Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.

    From the hearts of Susan & Oishi —
    🐾 Still rising. Still barking.

  • Susan & Oishi: The Signal Co. – Episode 3 – One Donut, One Memo, One Very Nervous Intern

    Narrator:
    Oishi (as if there’s anyone else classy enough for this role)

    As usual, Susan was at work — emotionally caffeinated, philosophically unprepared — and last night she dumped an entire story on me. I must now share it with you, dear reader, so I don’t suffer alone in silence.

    It was Friday — the world’s emotional support day. Busy, but chill.
    The boss lady, Cassandra, had just called in a food order for the staff. She’s not always in the office, but she shows love the best way she knows how: carbs.

    Now Cassandra is so poised, even Jezzie Bell and Dinah get insecure just by breathing in her cologne mist. She walks by, and suddenly everyone’s fixing their posture and pretending their spreadsheets aren’t fanfiction.

    At The SIGNAL Co., gossip is a language. A lifestyle. Possibly an inherited condition.
    It was barely 8:00 AM when Yohanes crashed into the department like a news anchor possessed, shouting,

    “MAKE WAY! I am reporting live from Rome — I have pope-level information.”

    Susan, mid-donut.
    Brenda, the only one actually working, half-listening.
    Yohanes?
    Fully seated on Susan’s desk, wearing the energy of a caffeinated pigeon.

    “There’s a reshuffle coming! Someone’s getting transferred!”
    Gasp — Susan almost drops her donut.
    Gasp — Yohanes inhales like he saw his own funeral.
    Gasp — Brenda doesn’t gasp. She fact-checks.

    And then… Dinah.

    Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.

    She swoops in with that “just sharing, not saying” energy and drops this:

    “I heard it’s Pete from Accounting. Apparently he messed up the company taxes.”

    (No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)

    Let the record show: Pete didn’t mess anything up. He asked Dinah for her tax computations, and she didn’t submit them. So now she’s blaming him for the delay. Classic.

    Susan nearly faints. Yohanes looks ready to call CNN.
    Brenda, still grounded, says:

    “Pete is the spreadsheet. He once calculated his way out of a traffic ticket.”

    Dinah shrugs, throws her hands in the air and goes,

    “Well… maybe he’s getting old. Just saying.”

    Meanwhile, Jasper the intern approaches to give Susan her coffee.
    Unfortunately, Dinah’s hand is involved. A dramatic wrist flourish sends the coffee flying — all over Susan.

    And Dinah?

    “Ugh. Stupid intern. Why didn’t you walk around me?”

    Jasper is mortified. Susan is sticky.
    And Ishmael, the janitor, glides in like a mop-wielding monk.

    “Ma’am,” he says gently to Dinah, “he couldn’t have predicted your… hand choreography.”

    Enter Horatio T.
    HR rep. Memo collector. Passive-aggressive with a soul.

    He bursts from his office and booms:

    “WHAT IN THE NAME OF DATA PRIVACY AND EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS GOING ON HERE?!”

    Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:

    “He started spreading gossip about Pete!”

    Yohanes panics. Apologizes. Dinah smiles like a cat that deleted your files.

    But even Horatio — who writes memos for therapy — can see the truth.

    “ENOUGH. If there’s any transfer happening, I’ll be the one to announce it. I am HR. And FYI… no one’s being transferred.”

    Yep. It was Dinah. Making things up. Again.

    Later that day, Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda are whispering at the fire exit, still doing a full debrief. Then they hear two male voices from below.

    One says:

    “‘Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the LORD.’ – Leviticus.”

    Susan gasps:

    “Wait — who’s Leviticus?! Is that Pete’s replacement?”

    Yohanes:

    “Or the new Data Analyst?”

    Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:

    “It’s a book in the Bible. That’s a verse. From the actual Bible Leviticus 19:16 !

    They peek down and see… Ishmael.
    Quietly chatting with Horatio, who — surprisingly — sometimes seeks Ishmael’s advice.

    Turns out, the janitor isn’t just wise. He’s scripturally sharp.
    Horatio had asked how to handle gossip. And Ishmael simply quoted the truth.

     

    📄 MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)

    To all employees (even if you’re morally bankrupt):

    Gossip is part of our survival strategy in the office. Without it, how else would we bond over microwaved spaghetti?
    But let me make this clear—if your gossip causes harm, it will be your employment status that gets reshuffled.

    Let’s build each other up, not burn each other down.
    In accordance with company policy…
    And the Book of Leviticus.

    Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.

    Later that day, Susan and Yohanes didn’t gossip.
    They talked about the weather in Spain.

    And Dinah?
    Well… she was unusually quiet.
    Either she’s reflecting, plotting, or Googling “Leviticus.”
    Who knows?

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    Hey, it’s me — Ember.

    Just a little disclaimer:

    The people in this story? Fictional.
    The chaos? Slightly exaggerated.
    But the message? Very real.

    After nearly 20 years in different workplaces, I’ve seen how gossip — even the “light” kind — can spread fast and hit deep.
    I’ve been a Susan and a Yohanes.
    This episode isn’t just for laughs… it’s a gentle reminder:
    Let’s build each other up, not tear each other down.

    Thanks for reading.
    Thanks for growing with me.

    —Ember 🐾

    Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.

  • Susan & Oishi: A Tale of The Signal Co. Ep. 1 – Character Introduction

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)

    Oishi (narrating):
    I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.

    I’m surrounded. Literally.
    To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread.
    On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist.
    Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always.
    Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish.
    And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.

    Anyway.
    The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos.
    She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:

    “Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”

    Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.

    But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.

    That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%.
    So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust.
    This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly:
    Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.

    There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.

    Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.

    There’s 11 of them.
    So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important.
    Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.

    So listen up.
    Grab a fry.
    Let’s begin.

    Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess

    Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union.
    She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama.
    Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.

    She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas.
    She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.

    But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard.
    So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen.
    Because I love her.

    Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst

    Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does.
    He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”

    His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip.
    He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.

    He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity.
    Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,

    “I come in peace… but with details.”

    We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.

    Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk

    Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.

    He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone.
    His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.

    He doesn’t talk—he issues memos.
    He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.

    But here’s the twist:
    Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart.
    He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests.
    He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.

    We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.

    Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason

    Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.

    She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority.
    Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth.
    She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine.  
    And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.

    Brenda is the only one who can:

    • Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
    • Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
    • And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”

    She doesn’t say much—but when she does?
    It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.

    And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.

    Brenda doesn’t chase drama.
    Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.

    Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch

    He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse.
    His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year.
    He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)

    Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.

    “Don’t forget to file your W-2.”

    He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.

    But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete.
    He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic.
    But he keeps us legal. Barely.

    So we nod. We thank him.
    And we keep our receipts—just in case.

    Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis

    According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.”
    Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him.
    It’s deeply concerning.

    Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room.
    He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless.
    His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.

    He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,

    “Let’s close this deal, team!”
    with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.

    People love him.
    People trust him.
    And honestly? That might be the real danger.

    He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him.
    But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?

    For now, let’s just say this:
    Macchismo D. is dazzling.


    Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen

    If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.

    She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets.
    Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.”
    Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”

    Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched.
    She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave.
    Because if Dinah says:

    “I saw Pete at the store,”
    you know she’s about to follow it up with something like:
    “…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”

    She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.

    Nobody really likes Dinah.
    But nobody wants to be on her radar either.
    Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.

     Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren

    Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk.
    She glides.
    Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.

    Her red hair? Volcanic.
    Her lipstick? Same color as danger.
    Her vibe?
    “Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”

    She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward.
    She commands with a smile that says:

    “I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”

    Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice.
    She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.

    Her earrings sparkle.
    Her fingernails point like accusations.
    And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.

    No one’s sure what she wants.
    But they know not to get in her way.

    Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight

    Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn.
    He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”

    He doesn’t talk much.
    He doesn’t insert himself in gossip.
    He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.

    But here’s the part no one really gets:
    When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion—
    Philip steps in.
    Not loudly. Not dramatically.
    He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.

    Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense.
    He’s calm in chaos.
    Gentle with people.
    But firm when boundaries are crossed.

    He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit.
    The kind that protects without performance.
    The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.

    You’ll probably overlook him.
    But he’s watching.
    And if you’re one of the good ones?
    He’s already in your corner.

    Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings

    Jasper P. is the intern.
    You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.

    He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.

    He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:

    “Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”

    Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes.
    But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.

    And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand.
    Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.

    Jasper may be clumsy.
    But he’s trying.
    And that makes him important.
    Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.

    Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm

    Ishmael is… different.
    He doesn’t say much.
    He doesn’t need to.

    He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean.
    Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”

    He’s always there.
    Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.

    Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there.
    Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs.
    Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.

    People treat him like just a janitor.
    But those of us who watch—we know.
    There’s something about him that feels bigger.

    He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.

    They call him Ishmael the Janitor.
    But honestly?
    We don’t know who he really is.
    Not yet.

    And that’s the crew.

    Now you know who’s who.
    So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.

    The real office saga begins in Episode 2.
    See You!
    📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert: The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.