I work in an office that is probably best described as: "a closet in the basement." I am rarely seen, and, as such, I have a tendency to look like someone who is rarely seen. Today I am wearing a three-day beard, a T-shirt I stole from a San Francisco reporter in 1997, corduroy pants bought before I got married and a pair of worn-out sandals.
But don't get the wrong idea about my employer -- they're important big media types. As proof, one can regularly find big important-looking types sitting in the upstairs conference room, tapping presumably important things into laptops that probably cost more than my wife's car and saying presumably important things into cell phones that definitely cost more than my wife's car.
What's funny about the suits is the fact that they all seem to exhibit the same sort of animal-like behaviour.
Male suits insist on wearing white shirts. You can vary the colour of your tie, apparently, but a shirt that is anything but white indicates that you are still a low-peg suit who has yet to learn the Tao of The Suit.
When they have been released from the conference room, the male suits wander around in circles, like grazing cattle, one hand in pocket, the other hand pressing a cell phone to their ear.
The female suits move their jaws fishlike as they chat into their cell phones. They wear plastic grins and seem to be far too energetic, as if they have spent most of their day overdosing on illegal stimulants.
When confronted by a beardy basement troll, both sexes of the suit will go into a defensive posture.
The males will puff their chest slightly and slowly work their wandering cell phone conversation closer to the offending basement troll. By doing this, they are hoping the troll will pick up on the suit's important-sounding conversation, realise just how dramatically more important than the troll the suit is, and scamper off.
The female suit becomes very excited. Her head darts frantically and her false smile grows to comic, beauty-pageant proportion. If they cannot make you go away by pressing their cell phone to their ear, they will retreat to the safety of the herd, where they will pretend to be interested in whatever tedious, non-cell-phone conversation is taking place near the coffee maker.
One of the most amusing things to do to a suit is: walk in a straight line through the herd and pour yourself a cup of coffee, even though you do not drink coffee, and say: "Howdy, suits!"
One of my favourite words is "huzzah." Today I used the word but drew a confused look from my friend, so I grabbed my dictionary and found the definition: "an expression or shout of acclaim -- often used interjectionally to express joy or approbation."
"See?" I said to my friend. "I was approbating your trip to Chicago."
Then we both agreed that "approbating" sounds "kinda dirty." It's a bit like the word "uvula" (that thing that hangs in the back of your throat) in that it sounds obscene, but isn't:
"Mom, Dad: I've been approbating quite a lot lately, and now my uvula hurts."
I, uhm, I mean, Professor Wrestling was 3 for 5 in his Great American Bash predictions. He has confided in me that he's pretty sure he would be 4 for 5 if it hadn't been for Chavo Classic's getting the axe from the WWE.
How do I get picked to be a in a study like this one?
I am somewhat notorious for my poor memory -- I have trouble remembering what I did a week ago. So, I can understand being surprised by something that happened seven years ago.
Imagine the poor brother and sister in this story -- always hearing from their mother: "Why can't you be more like your younger brother? He's so quiet and always helps out around the house by eating flies..."
Great name for a band: "Strippers and Schoolboys."