Just Reminiscing…

One rainy Tuesday, the dastardly Mr. Panty Waist appeared in the office, bleary-eyed and a little tow-headed (though not at all in an adorable way), around 9:45 a.m. This monumental event in itself rendered the entire office silent for a good 30 seconds because, didn’t he know? It was still morning! Did his clock stop? And we had only been there 45 minutes ourselves! And…well, it was nowhere near time to go home, was he having a breakdown of the nervous variety? Was he confused (this was sort of like asking “Hey, was Liberace gay?”)? And had he slept in a hedge? (Mr. Panty Waist, not Liberace – he was way too fabulous and sparkly for that.)

We sent the intern to the closest window to stick her head out but she reported no flying pig sightings or any ominous black hole in the sky attempting to suck the Earth in. (I seem to remember she did spot some idiot streaking down Rockefeller Plaza, however, his little white ass bobbing up and down in a sea of gray suits, but that’s par for the course in NYC).

We naturally, then put the news channels on just to be sure we shouldn’t be donning gas masks and making for the fire escape or calling our loved ones to say goodbye, since can you believe it? Mr. Panty Waist is in the building before noon!

We did check with each other also. “You do see him don’t you? I don’t have a fever do I? I did do a lot of acid in my teens!”

As previously discussed, Mr. Panty Waist only did mornings on the most extreme occasions and those happened only a couple of times a year at best. Usually it meant he’d forgotten some important project, remembered the night before that GAAAH, it was due the next morning, peed his pants, run around in circles frightening the kids, had a tantrum including much sighing, foot stamping and pouting, called each of his team at home who all had caller ID and quietly ignored him, then spent an unhappy hour learning how his alarm clock worked.

This particular Tuesday he gazed at us all in much the same way I imagine Neil Armstrong looked around him in wonder before plopping down onto the Moon’s surface.

“What is this strange parallel universe?” he seemed to be thinking. “What are all these people doing here in the middle of the night?!”

Then he took off his coat and commenced whining and we all remembered why we liked the fact he never usually came in till mid-afternoon.

“I need coffee. Why is there no coffee in the machine? Where’s my pen? I need my pen. I have a meeting with Cruella. *SIGH* I don’t want to go. Find out if it’s absolutely necessary. I have work to do. I can’t meet with her when I have important…papers to do things with!” Whine, whine, whine. I’m playing my tiny violin you big, bedraggled fuckstick.

He’d then stop in his tracks. Something isn’t right you see. He hasn’t quite figured out what it is yet but he knows…

At last he sees it. There is no sign whatsoever of his Skankariffic Blonde Ass-kissing Sidekick (SBAS) or SBAS Jr., her younger clone, both of whom typically show up late morning and pretend they’ve been there the whole time, and to do this project, he needs to delegate and delegate fast and they are his only targets.

He blinked a few times trying to figure it out. Where are they? Are they in the bathroom? Are they at the client’s?

At this very moment the phone rang and I answered it. It was the SBAS herself with her morning inquisition to find out if Mr. PW was miraculously in yet, expecting the obvious answer.

“Yes, he’s here.” I said. I hated the SBAS, I may have hinted at it before.

You could hear her mind have a panic attack, “SHIT! Shit, shit, shit!”

“He has a project.” I added. “An emergency project.”

“Well…tell him I’ll be in about…noon.” She said and I could hear her frustration. “I have an urgent errand to run that I can’t change.”

“Oh yes, your hairdresser called to confirm your 10:30 appointment” I told her.

“I…well don’t tell him that, just say I’ll be there as soon as I can.” said the SBAS, totally busted.

“Was that her?” Mr. Panty Waist said, loping out of his office looking anxious. (Hell imagine how he feels looking in a mirror!)

“That was her.” I said. “She said she’ll be in straight away to help with the project. Well…right after her haircut.”

I could hear the Evil Queen a few cubes away, splutter coffee on her desk.

He looked most displeased.

“Where is [SBAS Jr.]?” he then wanted to know. SBAS Jr. was infamous for excuses. Big ones, small ones, elaborate ones, obvious ones, highly inventive ones – she had an excuse for every day of the week. Here are some genuine ones she submitted:

“There was a fire on our street and the fire department said we had to stick around in case they needed access.”

“My dog ran off while I was walking him. I have to find him, I might not be in for a while.”

“I woke up and my tongue was green so I got an emergency doctor’s appointment, I think I’ll have to work from home today!”

“I sprained my ankle falling downstairs.”

“My husband is having palpitations.”

“There’s a truck overturned on the Turnpike so I’m going to be in traffic for a few hours.”

They went on and on. And Mr. Panty Waist continued to fall for them.

“No idea.” I told him. “She doesn’t usually get in till later.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information so he slammed his door and sulked for the rest of the morning. There’s nothing a tardy procrastinator hates more than other tardy procrastinators. When they eventually both arrived looking a little pale and worried, he had a closed door meeting with them in his office where I hope he spanked them with a ruler and then had them do the same to him. And that the ruler had nails in it. Salty nails.

This entry has no point, except to reiterate my hatred for those people. Sorry to lead you all on and everything…


15 Responses to “Just Reminiscing…”

  1. Teri Says:

    I love your stories, no matter where they end up. could be the moon, doesn’t matter.

    you should write your “memoirs”, I’d buy it just for the “busting a gut” factor. Sorry for your past pain though.

  2. The Guv'ner Says:

    Haha well thank you. I was however, rambling for the hell of it. Sometimes it’s true: It’s better out than in. 🙂 That man would make a Saint curse.

  3. pistols at dawn Says:

    Those excuses are fantastic. I would have countered with, “Well, I can’t think of a good excuse to keep you employed here…”

  4. The Guv'ner Says:

    Damn straight 🙂

    She actually had some true beauties that were way more inventive but you know how it is, once you try remembering them they’re gone. Like Kaiser Soze.

  5. Chris Says:

    Salty nails. Neat!

    I have actually told my boss, “Sorry I was late. There was a mechanical problem. I couldn’t get my ass in gear.”

  6. The Guv'ner Says:

    Oh dude. I am SO stealing that! :):):)

  7. The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch: Says:

    You know your stories don’t have to have a point this is YOUR blog after all and we keep coming here and reading it because you are freaking hilarious whether there is a point or not. And besinde, this blog has a clearly defined theme.

    You seem to be on a roll this week by the way. Lots of posts and I’m loving it. I check every day to see if you wrote something new. It’s so exicitng when you do.

    End Gush.

  8. The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch: Says:

    Please forgive my typos – I’m typing from my husbands laptop in a Sheridan and I’m all goofed up from too many carbs.

  9. The Guv'ner Says:

    Sniff, lady. I think I want to marry you. And I don’t even swing that way. 🙂

    I’ve been sort of prolific this week only because my boss has been out of town and it’s been “write something or get up to no good” so they’ve been somewhat substandard but nonetheless cathartic. Yes indeed. 🙂

    I almost posted a third one earlier but decided it was better suited to my “Buckle Up!” blog. I mean hello, over saturation? I’m not Britney you know!

  10. Leonesse Says:

    If Pistols can do it, you can do it. Have a posting marathon. Although I am starting to get the heebies reading about all this corporate crap. I am semi-looking for a job and these stories, with my past, is not making it any easier.

    I am still going with The Secret on this one…. I want a job that pays me a ridiculous amount of money, allows me to drink beer and talk shit to the boss. I only have one of those right now and that would be the latter. You just can’t survive on giving your husband shit all day. I am not saying it’s right, just the way it is. I should get tons of money for the plethora of crap I try to instill in him. I mean, it IS my current job and I am going to get a glowing review under Shit Talking. It is time to be getting the big bucks!

  11. The Guv'ner Says:

    What I need miss Leo is a job that will let me have a freezer full of margaritas right by my desk, play loud music, not interact with any humans ever, less I choose to and provide me with free food and only interesting things to do.


  12. pistols at dawn Says:

    You know, Leonesse, some people like the fact that I post all the time. I don’t know who they are, but somewhere out there, I’m sure they exist.

    And I always enjoy the Guv’s musings on something or nothing. She’s almost always more entertaining than Short Circuit 2.

  13. Leonesse Says:

    FIVE ALIVE! I love how much you post, Pistols.

    Guv, I just don’t understand why people don’t give us what we need to be stellar employees. I certainly don’t mind working hard, but it is ever so much more fun with a microbrew in your hand. It’s not like I want to drive a school bus or anything. Sheesh

  14. Ms. Laaw-yuhr Says:

    This is a great great story, but your contribution of “fuckstick” to the lexicon is priceless.

  15. The Guv'ner Says:

    Miss LY: You know I forget where “fuckstick” originally came from, but I was watching “the Shawshank Redemption” the other day for the twentieth time and one of the prison guards used it!!!! I can only surmise I must’ve stolen it from there! However, I’ll gladly take the credit…ahem.

    Pistols: Short Circuit 2??? Screw you hippy. I’m worth at least an “Adventures in Babysitting”. (Urgh!)

    Leo: Pistols could outpost the US Postal service, I would not TOUCH that competition.

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