Clack... Clack... Clack...

I stared at the line of the email from the president of our company in stunned silence:

Subject: Star Tech Friday. Be ready!

Imbecile!

How could I have missed that? Why would I not have questioned it? I had no idea what to do now. What I needed to do was go home before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I should've turned and left when Sally at the receptionist's desk gaped at me. She didn't even grace me with her cheery, sing-songy 'Morning Tom!' Caught up as I was, I missed the sign. Then everyone else I passed also looked in disbelief. With each dumbfounded stare came the realization that I made a very grievous error, one that may be worse than showing up without pants. I needed an exit strategy that also minimized any further contact with my co-workers. The harm from those who witnessed my faux pas may already be irreversible.

"Well, hello Tom."

Not him! Dammit! "Please Steve, not now."

"Ohhh, I don't think there's a better time than right now, Tom. This is a day that will go down in infamy. Doesn't really matter if you're here or not. We'll be talking about this for years. Maybe even decades. This will forever be the day Tom Swit came to work dressed as a Klingon warrior…

"I… I thought it said 'Star Trek Friday…'

"And, of course, being you, and your obsession, you went with that and didn't open the email. The email that, you know, would've explained everything."

I'm doomed. My career, my life, all over with. 

"And how did you get Tess to allow you to do this?" Steve asked.

"Leave my wife out of this, Steve!" When Tess finds out, she is going to cut off my testicles, put my balls on either end of a string, and use them as a Clacker.

Clack… Clack… Clack…

"I'm not saying anything bad about your wife. Personally, I think she's great. God love her for marrying y-"

He stopped mid-sentence. Then he started laughing, pretty much evilly. It's not that Steve is a bad guy, per se, but he thrives on drama and controversy. It gives him purpose. Makes his life worth living. At least as long as it wasn't him. Stupid me for confiding in him. I dreaded what came next.

"She doesn't know!" Steve almost danced with glee. "Oh. My. Gosh! She went out of town to visit her friend! You told me about it the other day!" 

Clack…. Clack…. Clack….

Leave it to Steve to not be supportive. "She can't find out about this, Steve. She can't! I have to go home right now before this gets any worse." I grabbed my briefcase and started to get up, but Steve firmly put his hand on my chest and nudged me back in the seat.

"Oh, it's beyond worse now, my friend. Your inner Trekkie has you in a world of hurt."

"Trekker."

"What?"

"It's Trekker, Steve. Trekkie is considered derogatory."

"There's a difference?" Then he started waving his arms. "You know what? Nevermind. I don't really care. Your inner geek then. We don't have time to get into this now, Tom. What matters for you is that it is worse."

He did somehow manage to look concerned, which made me concerned. "How can it be worse than it already is?"

Clack…. Clack…. Clack….

"You still haven't read the email, have you?"

I heard that as more of an accusation than a question. Still, haltingly, I said, "No."

"Well, then, I'm going to stand right here while you do. I hope you don't mind, but I want to see you sweat." He crossed his arms and leaned against my cubicle wall. "Can you sweat through Klingon prosthetics and make-up?"

I clicked open the email, ignoring him.

"See Tom Swit sweat," Steve said. Then, "See Swit sweat. See Swit sweat. Say that ten times fast."

"Shut up Steve! I'm trying–" And there it was. A meeting. All executive personnel at nine o'clock. "I can't go, Steve."

Again, he chuckled. I hated that.

"Tom, you don't get it. If you don't go, you'll be fired immediately. If you do go, you'll probably be fired immediately. So, one way you WILL have to tell Tess you lost your job by showing up on a very important, no, CRUCIAL, day for the president and CEO of our company, dressed as a Klingon warrior. The other, you have the slimmest of all hopes of getting away with it."

All I could do was groan.

And, besides, you can't deny me the front row seat to see in action the most iconic Star Trek statement ever."

Since I was afraid to ask, I didn't.

Unperturbed, he said it anyway. "To boldly blow what no man has blown before, AND to do it so epically." Then he proceeded to whistle the theme music.

"That isn't what it says and you know it."

"Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam. Today is a good day to die," Steve said.

"You speak Klingon, and you call me a geek?"

"I used to date a girl who is weird like you. She found the language hot. It worked for me at the time. Regardless, I am not dressed as a Klingon warrior at work. And why a Klingon? You're what? Five-five, maybe one-hundred and thirty pounds at best? Hell, a ten-year old Klingon would be more imposing. Ferengi, I can see you as that. Not Klingon."

"Hab SoSlI' Quch!"

"Hey, Tom, no attacks on the family. I'm only letting it go because my mom DOES have a smooth forehead."

"Sorry, it's the only Klingon insult I know."

"Gotta go. Almost time for the meeting," Steve said.

He practically skipped out of my office.

I looked at the picture of Tess on my desk. I was hoping to hear her soothing voice tell me everything would be fine, but I only heard Clack… Clack… Clack…

I walked into the meeting last. Of course, all eyes immediately focused on me and I fought the urge to say something. Steve sat across from the only empty seat which, of course, belonged to me. I expected him to have popcorn and skittles for the train wreck he planned on watching. I know it's his nature, but I wished he didn't bask in it so much.

I took my seat just as our President and CEO, Mr. Greg Sampson, entered. He looked to see that everyone was there, but stopped when his eyes hit me. He almost appeared ready to say something numerous times as his lips started to move, but they didn't form words.

Clack… Clack… Clack…. Reverberated in my head.

Then, as if feeling he had to gain control and do something, he asked, "Who are you? Why are you wearing a costume?"

Sometimes when you've lost control and are heading for a wall, you have to accept that it's going to be bad. You can hit the brake and try to minimize the impact; or, like me, out of desperation, you floor it and hope for the best. I got in touch with my inner Klingon, that part of me that will face difficulties with courage and what little pride I had left, and decided to leave caution to the wind. I rose up to my full five-foot, six with the wig, knocking my chair to the floor where it clattered along the tile, and loudly proclaimed; "I am Tom, son of Tom, grandson to Richard of House Swit; participant of cosplay; champion of all games video; winner of participation trophy for track and field; medal of excellence recipient for grammar, punctuation and spelling; and president of the local chapter of the Conan the Barbarian Fan club!"

I paused for just a moment then, "I have read every science fiction book written by Asimov, Heinlein, Bradbury, and Ellison. I have watched every single Star Trek series and movie multiple times. Sir, Mr. Sampson, I exist to see the future now and applaud our company's move, your move, into aerospace. In my excitement I got a little carried away, seeing my costume as an inspiration to us all! I only wanted to be part of the future, to see Star Tech be the success that I know it can be!"

Silence filled the room. Except, that is, for Steve, who had his head on the table, buried in the crook of his arm, laughing hysterically, relishing the epic meltdown even he didn't see coming. Most of the others just looked confused; and some, like Jillian Sellers, had a face so twisted in contempt that some of her make-up broke off her cheek in large chunks and crumbled onto her black skirt. I thought it might take a good hour to mud that back up again.

Mr. Sampson's face, though, never changed. Not even slightly. I'm not sure a Vulcan could remain that stoic. Spock, at least, would have raised that eyebrow. But Mr. Sampson just stood and waited until sure I was done, then said, "I own a farm with twenty horses, and even they can't produce the amount of shit in a year that you just did in the last minute."

"Yes sir," was all I had left to muster.

"And you said your name is Tom Swifty?"

"That would be Swit, sir. Tom Swit," I said, correctively.

"Mr Swit, how is it you show up for work dressed like… well, whatever that is," Mr. Sampson asked.

Steve is sitting back up, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes dancing gleefully. I wanted to punch him. "Well, sir, I misread your email – the subject line anyway. I thought it said 'Star Trek Friday.' You know, like they have 'Dress Down' or 'Casual' Fridays. And I didn't open and read the email."

"Why not?"

"I never do." Ah shit! I didn't intend to admit that.

He looked ready to go off the deep end, but caught himself. "I suppose you're probably not the only one. I do send a lot, most for the sole purpose of morale building, but I believe most employees at least open them to be sure." He looked around the room, but many didn't meet his eyes. "Still, it's inexplicable to me that you actually believed this is something we would do."

"I'm, um, a little obsessed with it," I said.

"I see. And this speech of yours, exactly how long did you practice it?"

"I didn't. Once I realized my ignorance, sir, I wanted to go home. Only, not attending the meeting assured me of being fired. At least showing up, as stupid as I look right now, gave me a minimal chance of remaining employed. I didn't think I had anything to lose."

"Well, you do look stupid, Swit; and your impassioned speech did not inspire at all. Still, it was innovative; and I believe you're intelligent, but misguided."

Yep, misguided. That's me.

"I probably should, but I'm not going to fire you. I do expect you," he looked at everybody in the room, "all of you, to read my emails. Is that clear?"

Everybody agreed.

"Take your seat, Mr. Swit. After this meeting you will go home. I don't need more distractions here. Come back on Monday. I assume you know better than to wear that or anything like that here again?"

"Yes sir," I said, retrieving my chair.

I knew I dodged many bullets. A machine gun's worth of them. I felt relief at not having to speak to Tess about how I lost my job. I looked over at Steve who still gloated and whispered, "Qapla'," Success!

Then my cell phone vibrated. I saw a text from Tess: 'WHAT IS THIS VIDEO STEVE POSTED ON FACEBOOK! ARE YOU ACTUALLY WEARING…'

I didn't finish it. All caps. Not good. I looked over at Steve, who looked so smug and pleased with himself. 'Qapla',' he mouthed.

Clack… Clack… Clack… Clack…