professionalism #19

i had arrived early for the meeting. a projector had been set-up in the middle of the room and the usual tables were pushed to the back, along the wall. in their place stood neat rows of plastic chairs with metal wire legs, perhaps thirty of them in all, and a nervous little man with some kind of remote in his hand, chatting with The Boss.

this could be ugly.

i took a seat on the aisle near the back and surveyed the parade of brainless monsters and worm-ridden perverts that work in this place. sometimes they came in alone, but more often they shuffled into the meeting in clumps like blood-matted hair. it would be a goddamm miracle if i got out of this meeting alive. my head would soon be full of acid and the walls were already beginning to breathe. Good Lord, i thought, i should have waited.

i bent low, pretending to tie my shoestrings while i stuffed what was left of the drugs into my left shoe. suddenly, my head exploded with white light and the dull clang of flesh on metal.

“excuse me. oh i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you down there. are you ok? do you mind?”

i was shell-shocked. in her rush to get a seat, the Big Red troglodyte from Human Resources had slammed my head into the chair in front of me with her ass.

“what were you doing down there anyway? hmmm? i’m just gonna sit right here. are you ok? wow, you’ve got a big red mark on your forehead.”

i said nothing.

“what are you writing there?” she said.

“fuck off.”

“it looks interesting.”

“STOP BREATHING ON ME, YOU CRAZY OLD BASTARD!!!”

“ooooooo, someone has a case of the Mondays,” she said, turning the words into some twisted kind of two-note jingle. i remember resisting an urge to elbow her in the mouth and make a run for the conference room door. but there were people milling about, and i’d almost certainly be caught.

“woo. i hope they get on with this. this is so early, dontcha think? hmm? well…i’m gonna have to eat something. low blood sugar, ya know.”

low blood sugar? please. cut her and i bet she bleeds corn syrup. she proceeded to open up not one, but three bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. she handled them every so delicately, breaking them into smaller pieces before daintly putting them into her mouth, then chomping down with the violence and precision of a hydraulic vice. piece after piece she shoveled into that gaping maw, occasionally pausing only to yawn or suck her sausage fingers. she didn’t bother to close her mouth to chew.

“those good?” i say.

“mphblargsnarfgle.”

“yeah. they look like it.” you greasy pig. “the cornerstone of every nutritious breakfast.”

“you want some of these chips?”

“you have more to eat?”

“they’re really good.”

“really? i didn’t think you tasted your food.” i hoped she choked, that fuckin’ cow. there was a dull pain spreading across my forehead and a slow ringing in my ears. i was beginning to fear i had suffered a concussion or some kind of brain swelling. the walls were swaying back and forth now…there was no denying it. the Speaker took his place near the screen at the far end of the room. he wasn’t so much smiling as baring his teeth, sharpened to fine points. he was licking his lips, slicing his tongue and dripping his blood on the boardroom floor.

the man in front of me turned around in his chair and said, “are you ready?”

“TURN AROUND BEFORE I BELT YOU IN THE THROAT!!!”

“ooowee,” Big Red next to me said. i heard a low, distant rumble. “i think i need to excuse myself.” she started to crawl over top of me.

“back. BACK!!!”

“excuse me. excuse me Johnny. i have to go.”

“like fuck you do,” i said, and pushed her with my forearm back into her seat. “you’re not molesting me again.”

“GET OUTTA MY WAY,” she bellowed, “I HAVE TO GO!!!”

and with that she scrambled over me like a dog and scooted her ass down the aisle and out the back door. well fuck that, i thought, she’s not getting away with this.

i had planned to make it to the washroom before her and flush an M-80 down the toilet, bursting the lines, and forcing her to shit her pants. but she had too much of a lead on me, and her girth prevented me from passing her in the hallway.

i shoved her brutally from behind.

“what kind of a bully are you?” she said.

“YOU RUINED MY HIGH!!!”

“what are you talking about? get off of me!!!” she said, and slammed the washroom door closed. inches away from Ground Zero, i bore witness to a tortured gastric upheaval. her bowels unleashed a brutal, vicious kind of violence that is only familiar to those who’ve survived heavy, sustained hand-to-hand combat or frequent the ruthless cockfighting syndicate of southwestern Pennsylvania. i’ve done both, and let me tell you, that shit is fun.

after the initial burst subsided, there was relative quiet until i heard the toilet flush and the handle on the door click. she appeared in the doorway.

“hey!!! what the hell is this?” she said.

“everything come out all right?”

“you know…there is something wrong with you.”

“that may be. but you, you swine, you didn’t even wash your hands. you classless hound. i’ve got a good mind to bind and gag you and leave you in the janitor’s closet. let the rats have their way with you. KEEP YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM ME!!! never again send me interoffice mail. YOU’RE E COLI MARY!!!”

“ST. CLAIR. ST. FUCKING CLAIR.” it was the Boss. how the fuck did he get here, i wondered. i became transfixed on the hairs dangling from his nose.

“nice shoes,” i said.

“GET THE HELL BACK TO THAT MEETING. NOW!!!”

“relax. i’ve got the situation under control here. this lady, this Beast…check her hands. i bet she’s got shit under her fingernails. hey…where did she go? hey, COME BACK HERE!!! dammit. you know what they say…they can hide, but they can’t run.”

“WHAT IN THE SAM HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, BOY?”

“hey man…i don’t appreciate that ‘boy’ shit, you know. i ain’t nobody’s boy. make me all claustrophobic and shit. like it’s the Plantation days up in here or something. the way you say that ‘boy,’ i don’t know man…i might have a flashback to them slave days or something. might lynch a Cracker’s ass or two up in this motherfucker. you better watch yourself.”

“YOU BETTER GET BACK TO THAT MEETING!!! DO YOU WANT THIS TO GO IN YOUR PERSONNEL FILE???”

“hey…as long as you stay outta my shoe, i don’t give a fuck what you put in my file. but i want some representation, a lawyer. where’s the Doktor? SECURITY!!!”