Who DOESN'T love the office on a Saturday? Most of the time, the week is so full of vigilance, vigilance, vigilance over the shirk-a-days I call employees that I barely have time to get any real work done.
Unfortunately, our office is in the same space as a bank, so if you aren't firmly ensconced at your desk by 2:00 p.m., there's no getting in on a weekend. There is a security guard who can see me through the glass door, but he "has his orders," which I take to mean he has some sort of alliance with our Masonic janitor to keep me out of the building while they use it for God-knows-what. I found a POKER CHIP in the reception area one Monday morning.
Today, as I opened my lunch for a mid-day nosh, I was dismayed to discover I had left my yellow onion in the car. I love yellow onions, the way the aroma just lingers. I wasn't prepared to enjoy my lunch without it - I had planned this meal over a month ago.
I glanced at my watch - 1:57 p.m.. Knowing there wasn't much time, I grabbed Archimedes, my owl-topped walking stick, to prop open the side door so I could dash to the parking pavilion and retrieve my pungent bulb. I don't park far from the door on most days, as I have a reserved space (a perk I negotiated nimbly for with a disinterested Mr. Schwapp). This day, however, a pickup truck filled with CLEANING SUPPLIES was parked across no less than three spaces when I arrived, a trail of Colt 45 bottles making a telling trail of bread crumbs to the door. Because of this, I was forced to park in a handicapped space that nobody uses on the weekdays, so why it would have caused anyone a problem on the weekend is another suspicious quandry. Imagine my surprise, then, when I walked out to my automobile to discover a BOOT had been placed upon my tire.
I furiously retrieved my onion and made my way back to the door, only to discover Archimedes watching me from the elevator door at the end of the hall. Fortunately for him, the doors to the outside are soundproof, or he would have heard a volley of obscenities that would have made Slobodan Milosevic blush.
To compound my bad luck, I had left my cellular phone in my desk drawer. No matter, I thought, I'll just ask the security guard to let me in. But no! When I approached the front glass, a laconic hand merely pointed to the clock, which read 2:01 p.m.. My attempts to turn on the "Fogle Charm" were fruitless, and I resorted, I am ashamed to say, to bribery. I offered this man use of my parking space on weekends for a MONTH, blog! And this man chose to respond by walking up to the door, and saying, "Deal... if you can tell me my name."
Well, dammit it, it's his job to know my name, not the other way around! Needless to say, I erupted, and threatened to tunnel in from underneath the building, to which that walking high school equivalency exam responded by telling me where I could find a shovel (and before you ask, NO, you cannot find one there).
$330 and a haughty tow-truck driver later, I find myself sitting at home at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday night for the first time in who knows how long, watching television. What dreck! I'm going to have to remember to xerox my West Coast rolodex so I have a copy at home from now on.
Stay safe, Archimedes.
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