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sick days dollywood
Naline is taking a week off in Dollywood.

She’s been sending me emails. I’m sensing a theme.

First, she has drunken fun…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 6, 2009 2:41 AM
Subject: Hahajs!

Alpo! You dick. Ha. Just joking man. I’m in dollywood. And drunk out of my skull. So, me and Pete went out and saw Dolly’s family perform. HA! “Perform” No, not sex, you perv!!!!!!!!!!!
Lazer, Nail me

And then, remorse…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 7, 2009 1.06 PM
Subject: Sorry

Alan. Whoa! Sorry about my email. Please delete. Okay? I’m having a nice vacation. No sign of Dolly. I’m staying in Pigeon Forge (it’s not as bad as it sounds)…The weather is great.

Then more drunken fun…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 8, 2009 3.09 AM
Subject: Allllllllllpo

Bury it dude and make me bark! HA! Just kidding!!! You rock alpo. Pete’s an asshole.

Followed by…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 8, 2009 2.19 PM
Subject: My apologies

Al, I’m really sorry. I just need to stay away from the laptop. Sorry. No more emails. I promise.

Then once again, more fun…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 9, 2009 1.43 AM
Subject: Hagh al tis si funy

ahahahahh… sorry, I know. But ti I ting is we shoul have sexy,fuck, al, you’re areal cute guy and I’m attracted toyou, but petes such an asshole…hahahahhh central refrigerators wtf lol

And finally an email that chills me to my core…

To: alantruitt@hamishindustries.com
Date: July 9, 2009 6.34 PM
Subject: Please Forgive Me!

Alan,

You must think I’m crazy. But I’m not. I just have problems with boundaries. Anyway, I’ll see you at Hamish next week. I broke up with Pete. He’s a premature ejaculator and has herpes in both places. He’s also very jealous. He really hates you, by the way. Maybe we can have lunch…?

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sick-days-chair-search
9.01am: Farook is at my desk. He tells me he wants to be more popular and could use my advice.

I ask why he’s come to me. He says that I “appear to be moderately well liked by most, and tolerated by the rest.”

What a sweet talker.

9.02am: I suggest that he lighten up, smile, say hello, and play the odd practical joke.

Farook says “Practical jokes?” He barks out a single laugh and leaves.

9.03am: I’m pretty sure I’ve made a big mistake.

9.15am: Swearing three cubes down. Word is “someone” dumped coffee grounds in Naline’s desk drawer.

Let the antics begin.

10.45am: Next victim… Me! I enter my horse stall to discover my mouse has been crazy glued to my desk. Bravo, Farook. Well played.

12.42am: Nutless Tom goes into anaphylactic shock. Apparently some crazy prankster put peanut butter in his egg salad sandwich. An ambulance is called.

Farook is nowhere to be seen…

1.36pm: Jack from Payroll enters my cube weeping. Someone has shredded all his reports and his family photos. When he leaves, I see the sign pinned on his back that says Fire Me.

2.54pm: Naline screams. I run to the office kitchen and watch Mike pull a blue lipped Farook out of the fridge. Apparently he emptied it, crawled in and waited for someone to open the door so he could spring out and yell at them.

4.12pm: Farook enters my cube. I say “You’re going overboard.”

He says “No I’m not. I’m making them laugh.”

He tells me he’s thinking of pulling the building’s fire alarm or slamming a coconut cream pie in Otto’s face.

He asks “Which one is funnier?”

4.13pm: Farook slams a coconut cream pie in Otto’s face.

4.14pm: Otto punches Farook in the stomach.

5.02pm: I leave the building. As I exit, I hear the fire alarm going off.

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sick days stigmata rock
First, I listened to Goth Mark’s CD.

Next, I went and saw his band, Mark and The Stigmatas.

Finally, he asked “Be honest, what do you think?”

I said “It’s pretty intense.”

I guess it’s the best ambiguous comment he ever got. He took it as a compliment.

Pretty Intense… I like that.”

Now whenever Goth Mark drops off the mail, all “we” talk about is his band…

Mark: Alpo, I meant to ask. What about Nausea Insomnia?

Me: About what?

Mark: Track three on my CD.

Me: Oh right, track three.

Mark: It’s not derivative of Alien Sex Fiend? Or Sartre?

Me: Nah.

Mark: Yeah. (sings) “Amnesia, hysteria/ I got nausea insomnia!”

Me: Yup. Whoa, look at the time.

Mark: Time To Fester.

Me: What?

Mark: Track six. Time To Fester.

Me: Right.

Mark: We opened with it.

(Silence)

Mark: Hey, have you joined the band’s MySpace Fan Club yet?

Me: I keep forgetting.

Mark: When you join, you should write a review on our page about how awesome we are.

Me: I’m not much of a writer.

Mark: I’ll write it for you!

Me: Please don’t.

Mark: Oh… I’m thinking of changing the band’s name to Pretty Intense.

Me: Makes sense.

Mark: You don’t mind if I use it?

Me: It’s all yours.

Mark: Thanks! You should write some lyrics for the band. Your words. My music. Anyway, no mail for you today. Think lyrics. Later, man.

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sick days otto talk2
Just had lunch with Otto.

Where do they keep the antacids around here?

Int. Fast Food Restaurant – Day

Alan and Otto sitting in booth. They’ve just finished eating their burgers and fries.

Me: So, Otto-mobile.

Otto: I don’t find that funny, Alan.

Me: Sorry. Can you pass me a napkin?

Otto: A napkin?

Me: Yeah, you know, for wiping your mouth.

Otto: I know what a napkin is.

Me: Great. Can you pass me one?

Otto: You don’t have your own?

Me: Uh, no…

Otto: What happened to your napkins?

Me: I forgot to get them. Luckily you grabbed some napkins. So, can you ‘lend’ me one?

Otto: Are you sure you don’t have any napkins? Have you looked under your tray?

Me: Yeah, Otto. I’ve done a pretty exhaustive search.

(Beat)

Otto: I can’t help you.

Me: Excuse me?

Otto: I have 3 napkins. If I loan you one, I’ll only have 2.

Me: And…

Otto: And, I like to have at least 2 back up napkins.

Me: Sounds sensible, but… Come on, Otto.

Otto: I don’t think so.

Me: Otto, just give me a napkin.

Otto: Sorry, but if I give you one, I set a dangerous precedent. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me for a few fries and then a bite of my cheeseburger and a sip of my strawberry shake …

Me: Fine…

Otto: Maybe you should get a napkin holder… To help you organize…

Me: Thanks, Otto…

Otto: Or monogrammed napkins…

Me: Okay, Otto…

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sick-days-hamish-industry-hats
I’m on the Hamish Industries Softball Team.

We’re called The Window Pains.

Our captain is Farook from Accounting. He asked me what position I wanted to play. I laughed and said “towel boy.”

He said I could be towel boy and outfield.

It’s gonna be a long season…

We played our first game last night against Bob Jones’ Revolving Doors.

It was everything I expected. Hot beer and cold chicken wings; sweaty co-workers slapping each other’s rumps, and Otto’s nonstop trumpeting of Gary Glitter’s “Rock N’ Roll.”

“Ba na na na… Hey! Ba na na…”

The first time I went up to bat, my Hamish teammates and pals were all shouting “You’re the man, Alpo.”

By the 7th inning it was “Oh great, here comes the strikeout king.”

Mike compared my striking out at the plate with my success rate with the ladies. The “limp bat” jokes quickly followed. Everyone found them very funny.

It was a long dark night of softball.

Everytime I said “Is it over yet?” drunk Mary Margaret would respond with “You’re such a turd, Alpo.”

But things got interesting in the bottom of the 9th

We were winning.

They were up at bat.

Two out, bases loaded, full count, and me in the outfield checking my blackberry. (I know; a typical baseball cliché.)

That’s when I heard the sound of a crack and people yelling.

I looked up. The field lights were in my face. I stuck up my hand to block them out. I accidentally caught the ball.

Next thing I knew the members of The Window Pains were carrying me across the field and cheering my name.

I kept asking them to put me down and let me go home, but they didn’t hear me.

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sick days cube vultures
Given the circumstances of Typhoid Mildred’s recent departure, people have been more restrained than usual in their cube plundering.

Usually the vultures descend quickly and start scooping up staplers, rulers, mousepads – anything that isn’t bolted to the floor.

Of course it’s just a matter of time. Once someone makes a move and unplugs her desk fan, all bets are off.

The larger issue will be who gets Mildred’s cube. It has indirect light and a partial view of a corner of a window, so in Hamish terms, it’s a very desirable piece of real estate.

Word is that the lobbying for her cube has already started on the QT. Innocent emails of inquiry to Clark and casual hints dropped at the water fountain.

It’s kind of creepy. Her seat isn’t even cold yet.

While I have no intention of claiming a stake (it’s a fixer up ‘er and likely haunted) I do have an interest in who gets it.

My worse case scenario has Otto moving in. Or Farook. Or Mike. In fact, when I think about it, there’s no one in the office that I can imagine being able to co-exist with for any length of time. I’m not sure what that says about them – or me.

I might be okay with a photocopier. It’s hard to say. They can be noisy and draw a crowd.

Mildred wasn’t the most engaging neighbour but she was quiet, professional and made me laugh. Plus, she kept other people out of our corner of the office. And she made me tea once.

Oh. My. God… I miss Mildred!

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