Oops

Oops

“Timing is everything.”

-Shakespeare (Or was it Bob Hope?)

(Language) It’s the business world’s version of a frontal lobotomy. Sitting in a cramped cubicle for years crunching numbers until they all look the same. Accounting- one of the more meaningless activities contrived by man that provide a nice distraction from doing something that matters.

Bob had been chained to this mind-numbing task for seventeen years. He hated everything about it.

- The 35-minute drive in congested traffic into the city… especially in the winter… even more so when the car heater was on the fritz.

-  The three-block walk from the parking lot to his office building in winter.

-  The annoying lady at the coffee shop in the building’s lobby- “Another day at the old salt mines, hey Bob?” “Oh, do we have a case of the Mondays?” “Did you hear about the constipated accountant?” (Reluctantly) “No”. “He worked it out with a pencil….Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

- His coworkers… with levels of cut-throat competitive attitudes not seen since the days of the gladiators.

- The work- buried in unnecessarily complex income tax Statutes, Rules, and Regulations contrived by bureaucrats wasting away in cubicles just like his.

- His Boss… most of all, his Boss. Milfred Penneysworth, a shoo-in for the “Hall of Fame for Bad Bosses”, mean, nasty, a demeaning attitude, ignorant of most of the company’s tasks, and an obnoxious wife who visited often (“Oh, you’re still in the same position here? I guess you just need to work a little harder. You’ll get there, Bob. Maybe take some night classes or something.”), and lighting up big cigars throughout the day, sometimes right under the “No Smoking” sign… but having the good fortune to be born of the loins of the Company’s founder, Filbert Penneysworth. In the immortal words of Mel Brooks, “It’s good to be King.”

Bob’s life made stocking shelves at Walmart or doling paper out bags missing a burger or ketchup at the Drive-Thru at McDonald's look like exciting careers. His mind had withered away in that cubicle, but deep inside his soul, that thing that differentiates us from the toads, lizards, birds and monkeys, an ember of hope smoldered. For reasons unknown, one day that little ember of hope ignited into a roaring fire.

Some say it was Milfred’s particularly odorous cigar that day, or his suggestion that Bob show a little ambition by coming in on Saturday. Others believe it was Milfred’s pompous wife parading through the aisles, acting as though she somehow knew the subject matter better than all the worker bees while overdosed in nauseating perfume that hung in the air like the smell of livestock at the County Fair. Whatever the cause, the result was very much non-Bob-like. He would quit.

But after all those terrible years, Bob couldn’t just quit. He would quit with a bang, flair, pizzazz, and style. He would make a statement. Revenge. Payback. Bob unchained. It would be one final chance to express his feelings, nay his contempt, for Milfred Penneysworth, The event would be talked about in the elevators, hallways, and water coolers for years.

Bob strategized. He would wait until Milfred made his morning rounds, an arrogant stroll through the land of the cubicle dwellers done for no purpose other than nourishing his woefully unfounded ego. Timing would be critical in order to ensure maximum viewership.

Visualization- the technique employed by great athletes to build confidence and boost motivation. Bob envisioned himself hopping up onto his desk as Penneysworth approached and leveling a barrage of insults. He’d start with Milfred’s physical appearance, the low-hanging fruit of his verbal assault. Then a smattering of stinging barbs directed at his incompetence as a manager, nicely wrapped up with a couple shots at his wife. He would reach down, gather up whatever files were on his desk, and toss them high into the air. The coup de grâce- Bob would drop trou and moon Milfred while shouting, “Hey, Milfred, kiss this!” A gleeful Bob would then bid adieu to his coworkers and scamper out of the office. Oh, it would be a wondrous event!

But… the years of working under the smothering thumb of the mean-spirited Penneysworth had taken its toll. Just as an abused dog develops an integral fear of its oppressor, Bob felt a near crippling degree of trepidation in confronting the man at the top. He had to vent his frustrations and confront the object of his years of suffering, but he couldn’t.

Bob suffered through many sleepless nights. Maybe he would just quietly quit and put it all behind him. But the need to tell Penneysworth off tormented him. In the end, Bob reached a compromise with himself. He would pen a nasty letter to Penneysworth… really nasty:

Dear Mr. Penneysworth, you fucking piece of shit,

Where do I start? With how fucking stupid you are? Or how fucking ugly you are? Or maybe how you smell like a fucking pig?

The seventeen years I’ve worked here have been miserable thanks to you, you fucking idiot. You don’t know a fucking thing about taxes or accounting, and you only have a corner office because of your father, Fuck-Butt Filbert Penneysworth.

Everyone wants to puke when you walk around the office eating a Big Mac with ketchup and sauce dripping down your chin and onto your shirt. And maybe take a shower once in a while, you smelly, fucking piece of shit. And maybe stop at the hardware store and buy some hedge clippers and cut some of those nasty nose hairs.

Is that your wife who you bring to the office to make our lives even a little more miserable, or is that your family dog? Does she get her perfume at the sewage plant, or does she always smell like that? You two certainly deserve each other! I’ve never met your kids, but they must be an ugly lot. And as stupid as a pile of rocks.

So, you fucking piece of shit, I QUIT !

(I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but your wiener is probably only an inch long.)

Bob Farkle

Bob put the pen down and read the letter several times. Despite a smug feeling of satisfaction, Bob wondered if the letter was sufficiently harsh.

Bob’s co-workers could only guess about the reason for the wry smile and occasional chuckle as he spent his last day on the job. It was D-Day, as in Delivery of his epic missive. Bob waited until everyone had left, and under the dim light of a single outer hallway light, he taped his masterpiece to Penneysworth's door.

As soon as he got home, Bob popped the Champagne bottle he had procured for the occasion. It was, after all, a night to celebrate. Every so often, Bob would get up and do a clumsy version of an Irish jig.

On his last celebratory dance, he noticed the phone answering machine light blinking in the corner of the room.

You have three new messages.

- “Hey, Bob. It’s Fred. I just wanted to remind you we’ve got our line dancing class tomorrow night. I’’l pick you up around seven.”

- Bobby, it’s your mother. Aunt Lucy’s gall bladder surgery went off without a hitch. You should pay her a visit. You were always her favorite. And a lady at my Church group says her niece is coming to town for a week. I thought you’d be interested in showing her around town. She’s very nice and all the girls like her. And I guess she makes her own clothes. And that nosey neighbor of ours…”

Cilck.

- Robert, it’s Milfred Penneysworth. Listen, we’ve made up our mind on a manager for the office we’re opening in Hawaii. And I think you’re the man. It would be a big promotion for you with a very substantial increase in salary. And it comes with a company condo on the beach… and a car. I think it’s a Mercedes. Stop in and see me first thing in the morning. I’ll fill you in on the details.”

Oops.

Bob collapsed onto his sofa. Shock. Dismay. Disbelief. He tried to recall the wording of his letter. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. The tone was negative, but maybe Penneysworth wouldn’t be too offended. But he realized the “piece of shit” comments and the dog thing about his wife might be hard to overcome.

Bob beat himself up for the next half hour. He should have parted ways quietly with dignity. His mother often cautioned him with platitudes that would serve him well in life- “Don’t burn bridges behind you”; “Turn the other cheek.”; “WWJD?”; “Be nice.” He should have listened to her.

Hawaii, money, the beach, a Mercedes... gone. Bob resigned himself to a life of regret, depression, and what-ifs. Bob was headed for the champagne bottle in the fridge when it occurred to him. It was likely Penneysworth hadn’t read the letter yet. Hope. He only needed to retrieve the letter before morning and all would be good. Sunshine, sandy beaches, big money, and a cool car. Hawaii here we come!

The drive downtown was worrisome. What if Penneysworth had returned to the office for some reason? He was known to come to the office after hours, likely to get away from his beast of a wife. Bob couldn’t take it anymore. He parked on the side of the road and pulled out his cell phone.

“Hello, this is Milfred Penneysworth.”

“Mr. Penneysworth, this is Bob Farkle. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, Bob, I'm at home just watching a little TV. You must have gotten my message.”

“Yes, sir, I did, and I certainly appreciate it, Mr. Penneysworth.”

“You’re going to love Hawaii. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Bingo! Saved! Alleluia! Happy days are here again! Bob’s sense of relief was unmatched in the annals of human history. The letter hadn’t been read. No harm, no foul.

Bob buzzed the front entrance door to the building, and Hank, the aging security guard let him in.

“Thanks, Hank. I just have to grab something I left on my desk.”

“No problem. Must be something in the air. Mrs. Penneysworth came in just ten minutes ago to get something her husband left in his office.”

Sunk. Bob’s body went numb. He couldn’t think or breath. His first instinct was to flee, but Hank might think that odd. And maybe… just maybe she wouldn’t see the letter. Mrs. Penneysworth is a very short woman, and Bob had taped the letter, neatly folded into an envelope, about eye level for the 6’2” Milfred Penneysworth. And maybe she wouldn’t turn the outer office lights on, leaving the Boss’s door in relative darkness. And maybe he could get to the letter before she discovered it.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Aren’t you going up to the office, Bob?”

“Oh, yes, Hank. I’m on my way.”

The ride up on the elevator to the 5^th floor took forever. Facing Mrs. Penneyworth if she had read the letter would be terrifying, but with the position in Hawaii on the line, Bob had to take the chance.

Bob hugged the wall as he approached the office. A quick peek through the glass door revealed the field of cubicles in relative darkness, offering a bit of hope. He strained his eyes in search of the envelope taped to the boss’s door. It was still there!

He knew Mrs. Penneysworth had to be lurking somewhere, but he had a chance. He debated his best option- busting through the door and making a mad dash to the envelope or going the sneaky stealth route by slithering along the floor between the cubicles.

A shadow moved across the room heading for Mr. Penneysworth’s office. Oh my God, he had to get to that door before Mrs Penneysworth did! Two deep breaths… then two more…and Bob entered the office.

Mrs. Penneysworth turned immediately.

“Oh, Mrs. Penneysworth, I hope I didn’t startle you. I need to get something I left on my desk.”

“Oh, hello, Bob. I’m just getting something my husband needs tonight. You know Milfred. It’s work, work, work.”

Suspense. Bob could hardly get the words out. He feared Mrs. Penneysworth would notice his shaking hands.

“Uh… did you… uh… get it?”

“Yes, I got it. I’m just on my way out.”

Bob’s eyes shifted to the door to Mr. Penneysworth’s office. The envelope was still there. Bob closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep brief breath. Thank God, she hadn’t seen the letter!

“Are you ok, Bob?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Goodnight, Mrs. Penneysworth.”

“Goodnight, Bob.”

Visions of sandy beaches danced through Bob’s head as he watched Mrs. Penneysworth walk to the the door. With the door half opened, she turned toward Bob.

“Oh, one other thing, Bob.”

“What’s that, Mrs. Penneysworth?”

“Bob… we don’t even have a dog.”

Darn.