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...