So
I grab my office keys but leave my jacket and my ID on the desk for
everyone to see.Being the Overachieving Underperformer (OU) that I am,
I have mastered the art of stealthily sneaking out of the office to
attend to other, more important things.When you leave your jacket or a
bunch of other stuff on your desk, you make people believe that you’re
just somewhere around the office and when for some reason, the boss
finds out that you’re not in your office, you’d have a prefabricated
excuse of just being by the photocopier, making copies of stuff or at
Human Resources filing a complaint on the last paycheck you received.
I’m
so good at this shit it’s not even funny.I’m starting to think that
it’s the salesman in me.All the sales/marketing people I know are
sneaky little rats who are just a tad smarter than everybody else.I
mean we’re the elite for Chrissakes, the rules NEVER apply to us.
So
I made my way out of the office holding a heap of important looking
papers which, in actuality, are just random movie scripts I got off the
internet.The lady guard is eyeing me suspiciously as I go past the
reception area; damn it, I hate the fact that my notoriety precedes me
in this company.
“Manang,
I’m just going upstairs to submit these to [Insert name of
intimidating, senior management person here], she’s been waiting for it
the whole week.”
“Okay
se-er Mike.” She said lazily, jotting down something in her logbook.I
hate it when guards write something down in their logbooks.I swear,
every time I go in or out the freaking door, she logs it.I wonder how
her entries look like—is it like a blog entry where she goes:
“Se-er Mike
went out the door, he has that look on his face like he needs to go.I’m
assuming that he’s going to the comfort room to take a crap. But of
course I could be wrong.
Currently listening to: Nina – Lab mubs
Mood: Pensive.”
I
hate the elevator here in the IBM plaza.If there’s one thing I’m not
looking forward to besides work it has to be the harrowing experience
presented by an elevator ride in this building. For one, my trash can
looks cleaner than the elevators here which looks like a piñata that
got run over by a Mack truck—Candy wrappers and empty soda cans
decorate the elevator floor plus the whole thing smells like a damp
shoe with onions.
Miraculously,
I made it to the ground floor without a gasmask and I started to walk
to the joint where I’m supposed to meet Mark and Nisha.I walk past the
friendly neighborhood Starbucks where I see a couple of Call center
agents who work for our company.This whole Starbucks thing really
amuses me, it really does.In my opinion, this entire Starbucks
hullabaloo is a status thing more than anything.Theyserve overpriced,
over hyped, finely ground bullshit if you ask me.The economics of it
all baffles me too—I mean you’re a rank and file employee who earns $13
a day and here you are spending $3 on a fucking cup of fancy
coffee?Their salary is not commensurate to this lifestyle I daresay.The
only thing commensurate to the price of the coffee these oafs are
sipping on is the time they actually spend drinking it.Doesn’t it make
sense? You spend one and a half hours earning $3 so you might as well
spend 4 hours drinking it and be seen and envied by the people lucky
enough to see you.Oh joy.
I
finally reach the place where I’m supposed to meet Mark and I see him
alone seated in a far corner of the bar.I made my way to him and almost
made the waiter spill the drinks he’s carrying on a tray in the process.
“How
are you doing Mikey?Good to see you found your balls!What would you
have? First round’s on me.” Mark said as we touched knuckles.
“I’d have light beer please.” I told the waiter I pulled as he was passing by.
“I’m trying to get rid of this multi-tiered belly I got going on here” I added to Mark as I lit a cigarette.
“Man put that out, I just put on cologne.” Mark starts to gag.
“What
difference does it make Mark? We’re in a bar.You’re gonna end up
smelling like an ashtray anyway.And what’s up with the cologne?Is it
your turn to put the moves on Nisha this time?”I know he’s just trying
to annoy me.
“Fuck you.” He gave me the finger.
I popped my 4th
bottle of light beer and I realized that alcohol affects everyone
uniquely.But you can always tell when it’s starting to affect MarkHe
doesn’t get rowdy nor does he slur or stutter but he starts condensing
his sentences to the extent that nobody can extract logical meaning
from them anymore.“Fuck it up Friday?” he says.
“What?!”
“You had a date yesterday, did you fuck it up?” So that’s what he meant.
“No,
to tell you honestly, I didn’t fuck it up.Everything was swell, she was
really cool and things were even heating up in my car—until she told me
she’s married.” I told Mark.
“She’s married!?!?!?” He repeated louder than necessary.
Some old geezers seated at the other table turned around to see who mentioned the dreaded word.
“Yes,
unfortunately.She was very beautiful, kind of looked like Meg Ryan in
some angles.To be honest, better looking than the types of women I
usually get to take out.She’s really intelligent too; one of the few
girls I get to talk to about philosophy.”
“Is that so important to you?I mean you getting to talk to her about philosophy?”
“I’m
a guy dude, the most important thing for me is whether or not she’ll
jump to bed with me.” I said playing with my napkin, ripping it into
itsy-bitsy shreds, rolling them into balls and trying to shoot them
into a glass of water.
“So did you or did you not go to bed with the married girl?”
“No we went at it in my car and that’s about it.I might be the male sexual Sahara but I’m not gonna hump some other guy’s wife!”
“Didn’t it ever occur to you that she might be brushing you off?”
“I don’t think so.Her reactions didn’t come off that way.”
I
can see it coming—A lecture from Mark.This fool has this superiority
complex and always fancies himself wiser than me.Well sometimes he
is.But for years that I’ve been friends with this bloke, I learned that
when it comes to women and relationships, we’re in the same boat.
“Mike,
Mike, Mike; where did it ever say that you can’t have sex with another
man’s girlfriend, let alone his wife?” he says.“I mean your ex
girlfriend ran off with some Arab motherfucker didn’t she?” the idiot’s
so drunk he can’t even get his facts straight.“I mean she’s married,
sure, but when you’re making out and she reveals something like this to
you, do the math in your head brother.Put two and two together.” He’s
barely making sense.“She’s married and probably enjoys good sex unless
she’s celibate.You have to look at it as a challenge, a conquest if you
may.”
“I
don’t think so.” I replied.“When a girl tells you she’s married while
you’re making out or that she has HIV, you chalk it up as a loss, move
on and don’t bother spending more time on it than what’s
necessary.Trust me, I’ve met enough of women and their monsters to know
what they’re about.” I said.
“Mike, you’re my friend, but can I just say that you don’t know jack shit about women?”
“Fuck
you. I’d look at my own dysfunctional relationship first before I go on
dropping comments like that if I were you.”I’m starting to get
irritated and I can’t help throwing a jab.
Our
friend, the waiter passes by and drops off more beer.What a strategy
these guys have, keep bringing the beer until the customers get piss
drunk and leave you excessively large tips or until they make you
stop.It works on us.
“Mike!I can’t take this anymore! You say you love me but you never call me!” A familiar perky voice calls out from behind us.
It’s Nisha, and now the spotlight is trained on me with everybody else in the bar turning to look at me.Be still my heart!
“You’re
in my dreams Mike, you’re in my thoughts every waking hour.This feeling
is so wrong and Sergio would kill me if he finds out what’s going on
between us.But I’ve been dreaming of you and I want your body!” She
said in an oh so cheesy way I almost failed to stifle my laugh.
She
walks towards me.She really enjoys this shit; the perplexed gaze of
people in the bar following her every step.She stands right in front of
me and jumps unto my lap and sort of straddles my leg and gives me
intense tongue action amid the collective wooting of the crowd.
“I
need to breathe!” I said as I pulled away and gasped for air.Me, Mark
and Nisha burst into laughter and a few clapping hands echo through the
bar as people realize we’re just playing.
This girl’s an absolute riot.Shit I need another drink.
i would love to meet mark…. and see who is better: i bitchin him or him busting whatever is a good alternative to balls (obviously i dont have it)!
reading your entries are always refreshin', mikey. doesnt matter if they are absufuckinlutely dirty or sad.
.
Posted by maggie at July 12, 2005, 10:09 am