- ibntumart
- Mar 18, 2007
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Good, bad. I'm the one with the power of Shu, Heru, Amon, Zehuti, Aton, and Mehen.
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College Slice
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Forgotten Employee Part 2 posted:
PART FOUR
"They’re ON TO US”
Those four words, ambiguous in meaning, was what greeted me as I opened up Microsoft Outlook one fateful Friday morning. My heart began racing, as I realized that the message had come from none other than James Alexander, my counterpart in Texas. Anybody being "on" to our scheme of hiding under the radar scopes was undoubtedly trouble, trouble that would manifest itself in the very next Email that I opened.
It’s never a good sign when the name in the "From" field is followed by an identifier in brackets... and, as I would learn, it was even worse when that identifier was "RECRUITER". I double clicked on the message, plainly entitled "Question"
FROM: Nosy McInmybidness [Recruiter]
TO: Moonshine
Subj: Question
Hi, Moonshine. My name is Nosy and I’m currently doing a budgetary survey of the Detroit operation. Unfortunately, some of the paperwork for you seems to have been misplaced. I can’t seem to place you anywhere on the company organizational chart. Might you stop by when you have a minute so that we can sort everything out?
A flush of heat swept over me, as well as a slight nervous jitter that would only be calmed by the massive ingestion of nicotine into my nervous body. With trembling hands, I lit up a cigarette right at my desk, and sat back to ponder what my move was. A multitude of discovery scenarios had played out in my head in the months leading to this unexpected twist, but they all involved the temporary stream of bullshit that would spray from my mouth should somebody ever, in passing, ask what it was exactly that I did. Nothing had prepared me for a meeting. Therefore I decided on the smartest possible thing to do - ignore it like that lump on my balls.
I quickly deleted the Email, logged onto the SA Forums, and tried to clear my mind. It seemed to work for a few hours, as I was lost in complete bliss... then that goddamn box popped up. The temptation to click "No, I do not want to read this new mail that has been sent to me by somebody that is most likely hell bent on my demise" was overcome by curiosity, and my thumb subconsciously flecked the enter button to display what was surely another Email from Ms. Nosy. My worst nightmares were confirmed by the subject line: "RE: Not Read: Question".
The bitch had read receipts enabled. Those all so sneaky checkmarks that for years have exposed management to the sheer number of "Must Read Notices" that go promptly into employee’s deleted items folder had once again surfaced to bite me in the pale white rear end. The body of the message was even more ominous.
"I see that you are in. I will come down to your office to discuss. West side, first floor, correct?"
The irrational side of my brain begged me to supply her with fake directions. I rationalized the thought, believing that it would indeed buy me time - but realizing that it would only dig the hole deeper. I assessed my options for escape. And yes, tactically my mind works as a cross between BF1942 and MSPaint...
I was without sufficient weaponry to meet her head on, and she was coming towards me from one of my only two possible exit routes. The only other escape route was down the hallway, and out to my car. Unfortunately, I was unaware of how much time I had left, or if she was hanging outside my closed door right now. It seemed an awfully big risk, to hightail it down that dark corridor, past the rows of unoccupied, locked offices, and off to freedom.
It was going to be close. I needed to get to my door, down 60 feet of hallway, and out the side entrance before she rounded the corner. I knew that, as a man, I needed to face adversity in my life - it was either do or die. This was a test of courage and manhood, and there was no backing out. I just had to shuffle quietly thirty feet down the hallway, and off to freedom - with the strong possibility of being caught in the act. It was truly a character defining moment as I stood with my hand trembling on the doorknob, not sure if the Recruiter was standing on the other side. This was a defining moment...
So, like a jittery little adolescent squirrel, I scrambled to the other side of my office, and went right out the loving window. No qualms about it, without even thinking twice, I slid the frosted pane up, and climbed on through. Unfortunately, I neglected my considerable body mass, and fell directly on my rear end as I slithered through the cold metal frame.
Shaken, but safe, I crouched low to move away from my window, then glanced around to make sure that I hadn’t been seen. Safe in my secrecy, I walked around to the other end of the building, and got in my truck. Tearing out of that parking lot at the speed of light, my only thought was to get as far away from that place as possible - and deal with what may come on Monday morning.
So, six hours later, I’m at the bar, stirring over a rapidly warming beer (I didn‘t have much taste for alcohol that afternoon), and pondering my problems. I had used the pay phone to call my wife to let her know I would be home late (as I had forgotten my cell phone back in the office, and needed to return for it). I had absolutely nothing in mind of how to counteract this situation - I had figured that perhaps I needed to start making phone calls to Vice Presidents down at the corporate offices, doing damage control, and trying to rebuild what was left of my sidetracked career. I had resolved to do that on Saturday, but first I needed to get back to the office and get my cell phone.
The parking lot was lit dimly by the orange glow of the low powered streetlights as I pulled back into the office building. I casually walked up to the front door, sliding my keycard through, and strolled into the office. I expected that nobody was there, and walked with the calm determination that expectation brought.
"Oh, poo poo... ummm..." came a voice from my left. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to look.
Sitting there, in the corner office, was "Paul" our Vice President of Marketing Strategy. Burning the midnight oil, it seemed... with a bottle of Boone’s farm wine, an opened jar of Vaseline, and a box of tissues sitting in plain view on his desk. His left hand worked fervently at the mouse button, in a desperate attempt to close down whatever had previously graced his screen. His bald head grew red as he struggled to keep up with the pop ups - a cascade of hot pink letters proclaiming "HOT TEEN BI-SLUTS" and "ANAL ORIENTAL CUM BITCHES" leaving a virtual blood trail that betrayed his rapid attempts to conceal what he had been looking at.
"Mr Moonshine," he started, his voice cracking. "I didn’t think that anybody was still here..."
"No problem, sir… I was just coming back in to..."
"No, I really didn’t know. Honest. I, um… I don’t get the AOL at home."
I was getting set to walk away, but I stopped, looking over at the slightly overweight man, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I’m sorry?" I asked.
"I don’t get the web thing at my house. I was just looking at pictures. You know, adult pictures."
I nodded and averted my eyes, but he continued.
" It just sucks since my wife left me..." I looked back up, incredulous that this man, who up until today I had only met in passing, was doing anything but closing his door and trying to forget the incident.
"I’m sorry," I repeated again. And that’s when the blubbering began. "I don’t know what to do, its been six months. I’ve never even dated before… for God’s sake look at me."
"Uh…"
"See, you can tell. I was married for eighteen years, I have no idea what to do. I can’t even cook noodles. Aw, hell, I have no idea what to do. I tried to do the whole single scene thing, but I’m a fish out of water if there ever was one..."
"It takes some time..." I tried to console him cautiously. He motioned me into his office, trying to force a smile. Against my better judgement, I walked in and sat down.
"You, you’re a popular guy, right? With the ladies?" he asked. I raised my left hand in response, showing him the wedding ring. He nodded, then looked up to the ceiling, as if searching for what to say.
"But you’re used to the partying scene? You can do the whole hippy-hop music stuff, right?"
I nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going. "Hip hop..." I corrected.
He smiled as if I had just unlocked a great secret for him... "I tried all that stuff, I’ve been to the nightclubs. I’m just doing something wrong." Said the overweight, balding Vice President who I had caught masturbating and drinking what most 14 year-old girls have grown out of, right in his office.
" I want to be able to go out and talk to women. I want to go out and drink beers and dance and have casual relationships, is that an unreasonable request?"
"I guess not..." I squirmed.
"Can you help me?"
My mind raced. I had no idea what he was asking me to do, but then suddenly something clicked in my head. I could turn this thing to my advantage.
"This... stuff tonight," I started, pointing at the computer, "this is all our secret, right?"
He looked shocked, "Of course... why?"
"I’ll help you out. But you have to help me out. Have you ever heard of Nosy McInmybidness?"
"Yes, she’s up from corporate auditing the facilites."
"Well, she’s all over me. You know I’ve been here for a while, you know I’m a good employee. How about you just tell her that I’m on your budget, in your department. That way she’ll get off of my case..."
He raised an eyebrow, smiling with the corner of his mouth, "That may be possible. And if I do?"
"If you do, I’ll help you get ‘back on your feet’, as far as the social life."
He reached his hand across the table, and said "Deal."
I looked down at his hand, then back up at him, grimacing mildly... he quickly withdrew it, replying "Oh, yeah. Right."
I got up to walk out of the room, then looked back at him. I smiled for a second. "MILFhunter dot com, sir. Username is xxx, password is xxx. Knock yourself out." With that, I walked out of his office, and back into the world of feeling secure with my job.
Come Monday morning, and on all the glorious mornings thereafter, I never again heard another word from the "Recruiter".
EPILOGUE
It was inevitable. I had been saved by a Vice President who played with himself in his rich Corinthian leather chair at work, I had to hold up my end of the bargain. And I did.
About two weeks after the episode that still haunts my dreams, I convinced the wife and a few of her work friends to join me and Vice President "Midlife crisis" at the bar. The night began poorly, and went downhill from there. When we first walked in, I spotted him, sitting at a corner booth, tearing the label off a bottle of beer. We went over and sat down, and he perked right up - he was a talkative little bastard, I ended up learning his entire life story - except when a female walked by - at which point he would clam up like a four year old boy. I knew that it would be a difficult situation - especially after two hours and about 5 more beers when he handed me a napkin and asked me to "give it to that sugar bunny of a waitress." I nodded and stood up, looking down at the wadded up paper.
"You are a very beautiful woman. What time do you get off of work? Wave at me if interested."
I resolved about two words into the note that I couldn’t give it to anybody... so I walked to the waitress, and pretended like I was talking to her at the crowded bar, which seemed to satisfy Paul. As I was doing this, my wife came up to me and gave me the equivalent of "We’ve got to go...", so I had to think quickly.
"Hey, how does Sandy like Paul?" I asked her. Sandy was a co-worker of my wife, moderately attractive, if you like the ’bleached blonde 80’s pop star who got run over by a tractor’ look.
She eyed me curiously... "Why?"
"Have her come over here..." I said. My wife waved her over to the bar, and she stumbled half drunkenly towards us. I explained to her that Paul was really lonely, and was only looking for a friend to pay some attention to him for the night. I also mentioned that he was horribly rich (an assumption), and that he was really a fun guy to be around (a lie). She seemed disinterested at the beginning, but then she took a different approach.
"What’s in it for me?" she asked.
"What, like money?" I replied. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for pimping, so I was kind of rusty when thrown directly into the situation.
"I want one of your puppies..." she stated matter-of-factly.
I glanced at my wife, who shrugged. A week prior, our hounddog had had a massive litter of pups, and we were having some trouble finding buyers for all of them. Now, Sandy was a nice woman, with kids, but very poor... I didn’t see the harm.
"Um, okay." She smiled, then pointed at me, her finger waving drunkenly in my face.
"No sex.." she stated, then proceeded to turn around and walk towards our booth, sliding into the seat next to Paul. My wife and I ended up paying our tab, then sliding out of there for the evening, all the while wondering what the heck was going to happen. The suspense was with us all weekend, until I returned to work the following Monday morning.
The first message on my Inbox was from Paul. It stated simply "Your wife’s friend has GREAT hands."
I sat back, smiling. A puppy for a hand job, and the preservation of the American Dream.
All in all, a wonderful trade.
PART FIVE
"Hey, do you work here?"
What a loaded question, I thought with a pause. Now, technically, I "work" here - as in, I get paid by this company, in exchange for reading the forums and drinking Mountain Dew all day (at least, that's what my brain has rationalized). I understand that it is really a buyers market on people with my specific talents (IE, laziness and/or caffeine addiction) - so I better play it cool when questioned. I nodded yes to the man who had asked the question.
"Cool, dog..." he replied, whipping out a clipboard. I glanced around the dark parking lot, wondering why the gently caress I had chosen this time in particular to come out for a quick cigarette. It was about 7:30 at night, I was the last person in the office, and I had thought it might be a good idea to sneak out for one last smoke in the cool night air before heading out. I normally don't stay past 4 or 5, but today I was supposed to meet my wife for dinner at a restaurant near my office, so I figured might as well stay at work and gently caress around on the forums until the time came.
"What do you need?" I asked the man, pretending to be in a hurry. I'm not horribly happy dealing with... you know... random people in general. Especially when they want something.
"I got this delivery here for you guys..." he replied, thrusting the clipboard in my face. He gestured back towards his very old panel truck, idiling next to the loading dock.
"Shipping and receiving is open until like 5, man. I think you should come back tomorrow morning..."
"Aw, come on man, I'm already running late..." he whined, pushing the clipboard further into my face. I scanned his clothing and the truck, yet was unable to figure out what company he may work for. There was, of course, the chance that he was a spy. I took one last drag off of my cigarette and was about to reply when he cut me off...
"But it's CHRISTMAS, man."
"It's December third..."
"My KIDS don't know the difference..." the man almost pleaded. At this point, I started to get a little uneasy about the situation. I just nodded slowly and took the clipboard. The man smiled and pointed to the line where I had to sign... and I accepted the delivery as "Alexander G. Bell", because I'm not retarded enough to put my name on anything when it comes to this company.
In short order, I was presented with three boxes, ranging from very large to very small. As the man pulled away, I looked at the address labels, which were hastilly attached post-it notes with masking tape. They were intended for a co-worker who had been released back in October over a theft scandal.
I opened the door and started to kick the boxes inside, weighing my options. There was no return address, no shipping label, and no indication of whom the boxes were delivered by (crazy jittery guy driving a lovely truck). Anthrax or diamonds, I was clueless as to the contents - but curiosity ended up getting me in the end, and I manuevered all the boxes into my empty office. The thought of leaving these boxes outside the door of receiving crossed my mind - but they hardly seemed important, and were intended for somebody who nobody had seen in months. I proceeded to tear into the largest of the three boxes. Nothing could prepare me for what lay within...
Globes.
Not just one globe, but four globes. And a note. A cryptic note.
"Hope you HAve a GLOBErious HAliday!"
Yes. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over. Four spherical representations of the planet earth, all sitting on my office floor - accompanied by a note of questionable origin. I slowly moved over to the middle sized box, wondering what the hell could possibly be inside.
More globes. Two to be exact, yet this time without a note. Now, I don't work in any industry that involves High School History teachers, cartographers, or maniacal dictators. The purpose of the gigantic, plastic planets was lost on me at the time, but I continued in my opening process. As I tore into the smallest box, I was greeted with yet another note, this one a bit more lengthy.
"Figured you could use this stuff for a party. We haven't talked in a while, make sure to message me. - Candice"
Inside the box were dozens upon dozens of packets. Packets of... seeds. Wildflower seeds.
And, of course, combs. Fourteen Ace combs.
I stood up and backed slowly away from the loot, plopping down in my chair. A cold winter wind shook the plane of glass behind me as I stared blankly down at the assortment of "party" items on the floor. Globes. Seeds. Combs. Party.
I needed a drink.
But first, I needed some kind of kind reassurance that I was still sane. Just the slightest comforting voice that said to me "Hey, you're OK man. It's the WORLD that is hosed up..." I tried my wife on her cell phone - no luck. Without thinking, I dialed the number to my old office down south.
Now, I don't really work anymore, but there was a time that I was a manager of a very large department at this company. For years I hired, trained, molded, and sometimes fired dozens and dozens of people. Relationships were formed, relationships that carried on to this day. I still get EMails and phone calls from some of my old employees - asking for my advice on certain things. I knew that one of my dearest work friends was on the night shift that evening in our corporate office, so I dialed his direct line.
"Hey, I've got a bit of a problem..." I started, " I've come into possession of a goodly number of, um, random items."
"Like what?" My friend asked.
"Oh, like... um, globes."
There was a bit of laughter on the other end of the phone, then a quick reply "Probably for the management types there. Everybody has a globe."
This made me think. I closed my eyes and thought back to as many offices that I could remember in this company - and a startling revelation was had. EVERYBODY had a globe, but I never realized it until the motherload of earthly scale-modeling was dumped into my lap. I mean, really, how often do you notice a globe? When you see one, do you ever stop and wonder why its there? A decoration of sorts, or something more sinister...
"Hey, I've got a question for you..." I was snapped back to reality by the change of subject. My friend went into a long situation about a problem that he was having with a certain aspect of his job (the job that is done by the department that I used to run). I listened intently, then suggested a course of action that, although somewhat against the norm, would alleviate the problem in a timely and orderly fashion. My friend thanked me and hung up - and I walked out the door, leaving the random items sitting on the floor of my office, vowing to deal with it at a later date.
FIVE DAYS LATER
There's only so much that you can do with a globe, I had come to find out. I had taken one of them out and placed it upon my desk, and had been staring at it off and on for a day and a half. So far, the uses for a globe, as discovered by me through intense testing, were:
1. Spin real fast.
2. Use your index and middle finger to "run" across the equator. Try to step only on land (for added difficulty points).
3. Play "President of the United States". Spin globe real fast, close your eyes, point to place on globe. Repeat three times, declare the three indicated locations as your own personal "Axis of Evil" (Mine is Spain, Arizona, and the Indian Ocean).
As I sat, slack jawed, staring at the globe... something truly horrible happened. My door swung open, and standing at the entrance to my office, was a Vice President. I knew the man well, and had worked in close conjunction with him numerous times in my old position. I hadn't seen nor heard from him since my move to the remote satellite location in Detroit. I had no idea he was even in the state, let alone the office this morning (I was unaware there was an all-employee management meeting in town). I nearly froze in fear as my right hand subconsciously scrambled for the mouse, minimizing everything on my computer screen.
"Mr. Moonshine", he began, "how's it going? Long time, no see."
"Very well sir," I managed to form the reply. My eyes darted left and right, searching for anything incriminating in my office. Aside from OSHA posters from wall to wall, and a big pile of seeds, combs, and globes in the corner, everything looked almost professional.
"I've got a problem," he began. I gestured towards a chair across from my desk, snapping back as quickly as possible into whatever management mode I still had encoded in my brain. "Well, its everybody's problem. I think you know who I'm referring to."
I shook my head.
"Mr. Dipshit," he continued, and I nodded. Mr. Dipshit was technically my old boss when I worked at the corporate office - but he was the epitome of everything that you would not want in an executive position. He was clueless as to the specifics of the job, poorly groomed, racist, a liar and a crook - who took personal vendettas to the next level. He also despised me from the start, as I was constantly making him look bad - because of my longevity at the company, I was friends with quite a few people in senior management, and this always frightened him. Instead of coming to him, most would go behind his back and come to me - so he had been gunning for me the entire time that we worked together. However, given my current situation, I figured that he had all but forgotten about me. I was quite wrong though.
"Mr. Dipshit calls me yesterday and says that you're going behind his back and trying to purposely sabotage his operation..."
I blinked slightly and asked "he said what?"
Mr. VP smiled and continued "Oh, yeah - he's up in a roar. He swears that you're sitting here running the company from your desk."
I attempted to stifle a giggle. Mr. VP (who hates Mr. Dipshit as much as the next guy), nodded and said "And I told him that I almost guarantee that you run his department from your desk. I've talked to some of his people down there, and they all insist that you're always there to help them out - whereas most of the time they can never find him."
I sensed that the conversation might be taking a bad turn, so I tried to turn it back, "I never try to run anything. If people need help, I give that assistance - we're all on the same team sir. But, if Mr. Dipshit feels like I'm encroaching, I'll back off and let it be."
Mr. VP raised his hand and shook his head, "No, no. I want to make sure that things run right. I know that you're horribly busy up here, but I want to make sure that you're available for consultation, if need be."
I nodded, pretending that - in addition to my tremendous workload of posting on the SA forums - I would sacrifice and answer a couple of EMails a day, then asked, "But what about Dipshit?"
"Don't worry about Dipshit," VP replied, snickering, " He's got a hardon for you, Moonshine. In more ways than one ."
I tried not to show any emotion as my brain tried to rationalize that statement. He couldn't have meant what I thought that he meant, right? I mean, there's no way that a troll-like human being who's never been introduced to a Q-Tip or nosehair trimmer could be... no. No. No. Cleanse my thoughts.
"Heh" I replied, my worried eyes betraying my true feelings.
"I knew I could count on you, Moonshine." Mr VP said, as he stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped for a second, looking back at me. "What is your title?"
I snapped back to reality as soon as possible, and tried the soft answer "Still a manager..."
VP nodded, then pointed at my desk, "I'll make sure you get the management globe," he promised, then walked out the door.
EPILOGUE
My globe with the executive wooden stand appeared a few days later, and now occupies a place of honor in my small office. Every once in a while, when I leave my door open, people will walk by and glance in - and, although nearly imperceptable - I can tell that their posture straightens up a bit when their eyes come across that piece of furniture - that simple little object which says to the world "I am a monster of the corporate world. Within twenty seconds I can tell you the capitol of Madagascar. Now, fetch me some coffee."
The six original globes still sit, stacked up, beside my bookcase. What to do with them remains a mystery - I'm absolutely positive that one is earmarked for my SA Secret Santa, but as for the other 5, perhaps I'll just leave them on random people's desks at work. If the secretary in accounting seems to be having a bad day, she may just come in the next day to a bright, shiny, blue ball of plastic sitting on her desk. And maybe, just maybe, that will be all the motivation needed for her to continue striving on in the corporate jungle.
The seeds and combs have all been distributed by random sampling. In the spirit of the season, I went through our Microsoft Outlook address box and picked the random names of employees all across America, and sent them manilla envelopes filled with either seeds or combs, or a combination thereof - no return address, just little notes like "Merry Christmas, here's a comb", and "SEEDSions Greetings!". The poor man's Kris Kringle, I surely am - spreading wildflowers and well groomed hair companywide.
The phone rang bright and early this monday morning. I finished the paragraph that I was reading on ESPN.COM, and went for the phone.
"Mr. Moonshine!" came the voice from a cell phone.
"Mr. Vice President!" I replied.
"Just checking up on you - anything negative from Mr. Dipshit?"
Now, I had received a grand total of one EMail since the last conversation, and had solved that minor problem in a grand total of five minutes. But, he didn't have to know that...
"Well, there's a lot of stuff, but I'm keeping it in line, sir."
"Very good, continue 'Running the company', Moonshine!" he said with a laugh.
"Will do," I replied, and hung up the phone. I thought for a second, looked down at my cellphone, and proceeded to "run the company" in the most productive fashion that I could think of...
I beat my high score in "Snake".
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