Pink Martinis and a Box of Chocolates

December 27, 2007 at 1:50 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Seduction in the air? Did I fall off the wagon? Nah. Yesterday I said goodbye to Christmas. Seems I was a bit premature.

The boss is back in town, after a month in Spain. The ship sails okay without him, but the fear of Grinder only goes so far, and the man who signs the checks needs to pop in every once in a while, put the fear of the Lord into ’em, and smooth everything out again. I sensed trouble when I saw three managers hanging around as I arrived yesterday.

I went into the office, and Grinder was more gruff than usual. “I need you to stop posting those “funny” signs all over the place. It’s inappropriate, and I lost it this morning. If word gets back that I was cussing and sputtering about you, it’s true. I don’t mind you leaving obscene notes for me in the office, but keep it out of sight, okay?”

Hmm. “Okay… but can you be more specific? Which funny note got your goat?”

He chuckled. “It was the condom instructions taped to the cigarette rack. I saw that and snapped. Since your smartass cartoons capture details so well, I figured you had to do it. You or Aire.” He’s the true artist in residence extraordinaire, but not guilty in this case.

Neither was I.

“Um, not to be a snitch, but Elmo did that. Those have been up there for a year and a half, easily. I just noticed two weeks ago, when a customer started laughing about it. I’d assumed they were instructions on how to install the cigarette rack! He’s also responsible for the Vagina Slimes sign, but I took that one down.”

Grinder seemed appeased. “Well, I’ve taken everything down. Just don’t let it happen again.”

No problem. I’d already removed the modified Camel Snus sign, which read ‘Camel Anus- a Buttload of Flavor!” Whitney had seen that and went apoplectic.

Now I was curious to see what was left of our bulletin board. Oddly enough, all my stuff was still up, right where I left it. A picture of Larry Craig, captioned “Craig backs Bush’s Salmon Plan” (with wide stance). The picture of John Travolta in drag, pimping Durex condoms. Aire’s picture of a guy talkiing out of his ass, complete with changeable caption, culled from the Oregonian’s comics page? All intact.

I turned to Dr T. “Looks like I took one for the team. All my stuff is still here.”

“You should have heard the outburst. No, maybe you shouldn’t have…” he said.

At that moment Master P walked in. “Ah, just the man I want to talk to!”

Gulp. “Is this gonna be a nice talking to, or a bad talking to?” I asked with a hopeful smile.

“A good one.” He handed me a designer box of chocolates. (Time for your nap, diet.) “Merry Christmas!”

He handed boxes to the managers, spoke with Whitney, then Grinder. Then he came to me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” We went to the back of the store. “I understand you had a run-in with our little friend the other night, and he made some inappropriate comments?”

I smiled, assuming he was referring to my inebriated coworker’s request for backroom sodomy on Christmas Eve. “He was joking around. It was no big deal, and I didn’t mean for word to get back to you. We all clown around a lot, and if I’d been bothered, I’d have handled it differently and definitely. It really was no big deal. He was pretty lit up, but he left without incident.”

“We can’t have drunken employees stumbling around here, even if they aren’t on the clock. He really made an ass of himself at the Mothership. He groped one of the employees, and this one is NOT happy!”

Our conversation concluded with positive thoughts, and he left to bonus the other stores. I wandered back to where the managers were congregated. I asked to anyone in general, “So who got groped?”

“Jabberjaw! Can you imagine?”

“Eww,” I responded. “But as lonely as he claims to be, he might like the attention. I can see it now. Let’s just hope he doesn’t do like the girls did when Elvis or David Cassidy would kiss them. ‘I’m never going to wash this cheek again!'”

They visualized the scenario, gasped in mutual disgust, and scattered like roaches when the lights come on. It was time for me to get to work.

My first responsibility was to deliver bank bags to the Office store, near the waterfront. I walked in and was greeted by Dannyboy. “I have something for you!” As he rustled around, I saw a note from Lurch. He’d found the copy of Halloween I’d left for him. It was written on a brown bag, and read, “Thanks to the Secret Satan who gifted me the best horror remake ever!” Dannyboy handed me a bunch of CDs. “Tom was in, and left a bunch of these to be shared amongst the employees. I know you rarely work here, but he likes you, so I saved you the last set.”

It was the Pink Martini catalog. Thomas Lauderdale is a regular customer, and probably the nicest celebrity I’ve met. He will tip a dollar when buying a thirty cent pack of gum, and is always bubbly. His tale of being on Late Night with Conan O’Brien is a favorite. I slipped the CDs into the bag with Lurch’s note on it.

Filbert walked over and said hello. “What does Pink Martini sound like?” He just turned 21, and listens mostly to Def Leppard.

“Uh, easiest description? Lawrence Welk for stoners. It will fit nicely next to my Rob Zombie collection.” Dannyboy, a devout Christian, shuddered.

After a brief chat with the ATM guy, it was back to my store. The Porno Queen showed up late, and worked most of my shift. She gifted me with a ton of smutty DVDs headed for the recycle pile, gave me a Christmas hug, and told me a funny-as-hell story about her son, which, sadly, I can’t share with you. But she will be teased by her inner circle until the proverbial cows some home over this one.

And when I got home? Freewheelin’ had been by. His gift to me? A little tiny Build Your Own Stonehenge kit. God only knows how many times we sat through This Is Spinal Tap together. Dude, you rock. I will put it up next to my other cool jewel, the Blarney Stone Mizelle brought me from Ireland.

Now it’s time to put the work week to bed. I’ve got a busy weekend of goofing off to get to…

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1 Comment

  1. Banka Bags said,

    The bank bags you would deliver to the office store were empty, right? Nothing illegal going on here. I really enjoy your stories and blogs, even though it sounds fake at times. Keep up the good work.

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