When it Hits the Fan Around Here, It Splatters Like a Mofo

Well another fun-filled day at the cubicle asylum is in the can.

Thank God.

They fired one of the guys out on the floor yesterday. Do ya'll remember Wendel? The one Bubbles was convinced had uncontrollable lust for her? Yeah, him. Apparently he didn't take this well and had some sort of psychotic meltdown. We got to work this morning to find that assorted employees had very disturbing voice mail messages on their phones. He left two managers and Bubbles each one. I was lucky. He left me two.

He's under the impression that all of the "office whores" are blowing, banging, licking and humping assorted members of the management staff in order to keep our jobs (yes, I cleaned up the actual vocabulary used for ya'll) and he had NO qualms whatsoever in telling us so.

For some reason he felt the need to tell me twice. It was the second of those messages directed at me which prompted the involvement of law enforcement. It was a day full of police reports, total building "lockdown", the switchboard operator having a hissy freakin' fit everytime the phone rang, Bubbles having her little "I'm so delicate, offensive language makes me cry" episodes and just a general stressful atmosphere.

I put my abilities to use and instructed the one cop in town the wonders of *69 and how to do reverse lookups of phone numbers on the web (I shit you not.) I was NOT thrilled when my tiny cubicle was crammed to full capacity with the ENTIRE office staff, gathered to listen to the messages on speaker phone. I just love sitting at my desk with twenty people crammed in there looking at me while we listen to someone calling me every nasty name you can think of, then describing various sexual acts in great detail.

Oooooo fun times in Frog Pond Holler!

What disturbs me most is that I didn't even know what this guy's name was. I'd never exchanged words with him and aside from Bubbles' earlier accusations, I didn't even know he existed. The only reason I can come up with for his singling me out is that he got mine and Bubbles names mixed up. Thanks to our wonderful automated phone system, he now knows my full name. We are the only household in Frog Pond Holler with my last name, it wouldn't be hard for a psychotic whack-job to figure out where I live.

There is now a huge butcher knife lying atop the entertainment center, under my copy of "The Big Tease." Who says my adoration for Craig Ferguson doesn't come in handy?

At around 4:15, the arrival of the Bubbahubbies began. We shut down for second shift and first shift had already left, so a few of the other ladies in the office called their hubbies to come sit in the office and discuss what all they were going to do to the psycho when they found him. This was meant to make us feel safe... I think. For forty five minutes I had to deal with them all strutting around with their chests out, showing how manly they thought they were (overcompensating for extremely small winkies, that's my theory anyway.) I'm pretty sure a couple of them had guns (no, I'm not joking,) forming a vigilante patrol throughout the property. Bubbahubbies just love to strut around mouthing off with weapons tucked in their Levis.

All that this spectacle of testosterone overload did for me was make me more nervous and ever-so-slightly piss me off. You see, living the past forty years as a Fat n' Fuggly, I've never had the luxury of feigning helplessness, calling upon some overall clad, knuckle dragging member of the NRA to come to my rescue. I learned at an early age that if I sat around waiting for someone to come to my aide like the fabled dainty damsel facing the fierce hungry dragon, I would most likely be devoured before anyone showed up. So I did what I always do in these situations, I pretended to be unaffected, adopting an air of disappointment with the reactions of my daintier, more feminine co-workers. I remarked on their silliness, mumbled words like "drama queen" and "over reacting."

I'll tell you a secret though. I really was afraid. I still am. And I'd give anything to know that there was someone who would rush to my side in those situations. I do get annoyed when the women in the office act helpless and call their Bubbahubbies, but it's just to mask my own jealousy that I don't have that option.

Psycho Wendel called back a few times throughout the day. He left a message for one manager with hints at the things he'd like to do to his wife when he finds her out alone. He called the switchboard once this afternoon and shared a few choice words with the operator.

There was a rumor going around among the menfolk that Psycho Wendel had been bragging earlier in the week that he'd done some time in jail about a year ago. He'd made threats at the last place he worked and was on his way up there to carry them out when he was intercepted by law enforcement and arrested. Upon hearing this, our police chief (who makes Barney Fife look like The Terminator) thought maybe he should do a background check on this guy (ya think?) He was shocked (I wasn't) to find that it was all true.

So um.. yeah. How was your Friday the 13th?

I think I'm going to make sure the doors are all locked and curl up on the couch with my butcher knife while I watch last night's recording of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.

Enjoy your weekend.