I had a large report due today, so I planned to arrive at work about an hour and a half early. I had the report done almost a week ago, but I glanced at it every day this past week, putting a few finishing touches on it and making sure I was familiar with the data. The directors needed the information today and I wanted to be ready in case they called me in to discuss it.
I stood in front of the mirror wearing a blue Oxford shirt. It was the wrinkle resistant kind, the only type I buy, and it had a kind of houndstooth pattern woven into it. I had it altered to fit my frame, something I thought only rich people did until I found out how inexpensive it was. There's something about a custom tailored shirt. I felt a lot more confident wearing it. Perhaps it was how it fit or how I thought I looked, but whatever it was the shirt fit fantastically, and I couldn't help but wonder if Tracy would notice me in it. I looked at my face in the mirror. When did I become so preoccupied with this woman? I realized that many of my simple decisions were being dictated by how I thought she would react. "Stop being a stupid teenager" I commanded myself in the mirror, and immediately laughed at my own ridiculous verbal self motivation. What a childish thing to do, to talk to yourself in the mirror. I looked at myself and smiled. "You're a real idiot!" I said in my cheesy used car salesman voice, winking and pointing a gun-shaped finger at myself.
I held three ties in my hands, and alternated holding each one up to my neck to see how they looked. I wanted to look my best in case the directors wanted me to present my findings myself. "You're ALWAYS interviewing for your next job" my father would tell me, "whether you realize it or not." It was true, and something I tried to live by. I wouldn't say i was an overly ambitious employee, but I did want the directors to notice me so that one day they would think of me if a management position opened.
I selected a bold green tie with gold and blue stripes, and began tying it in the mirror when I heard another thump coming from the neighbors. This one seemed to shake the entire wall, and I immediately stepped forward, putting my ear to the drywall. I heard a muffled sound. Was it a moan? I pulled my head back immediately, ashamed that I might have overheard the couple next door spending a little "quality time" with each other.
Jeff was the only one in the office when I arrived, and he seemed all too eager to begin his socialization routine. As I logged into my computer he pulled out his iPad and opened the NY Times app. "It happened again." He said matter-of-factly. He handed me the tablet and I read the headline. "Woman doesn't remember being pregnant, attacks police officer." Reading the first paragraph it outlined how some woman gave birth to a baby in a prison and four days later went crazy during her daily shower, beating up a bunch of nurses and biting a cop. "What does this have to do with Zombies?" I asked Jeff, almost annoyed that he was wasting the time I so carefully planned to spend on my report. "Keep reading" he said eagerly, and handed the iPad back to me.
"Authorities claim she was high on bath salts." Jeff flicked his finger across the screen and the photo of a woman appeared. "What?" I asked, wondering how this was making his point. "She seems kinda normal to me, little grumpy maybe..." I pushed the tablet back into his hands and tried to get back to my work. The woman was a mess, not happy at all, and looked like she had been beat up more than once. Her eyes were swollen and black, her lip cut in two places. "Looks like she got roughed up a bit." I said, but Jeff immediately protested. "She's a Zombie, just like the guy in Florida! The government is having a hard time covering up such public violence, that's why they made up the bath salt lie." I glanced back at the iPad. "So they killed her?" Jeff stops and looks down at the article, unsure of the answer. "If she was a real zombie she'd still be trying to eat people, right?" I asked with a fatherly tone, hoping this last bit of logic would satiate his appetite for my attention. I certainly seemed to stump him, because he walked dejectedly back to his desk, mumbling something about sedation. I could tell my comment took the wind out of his sails.
The rest of the morning went smoothly. As people showed up Jeff would go to each, showing the article and making his case. Dwayne just laughed at him, the girl in accounting just smiled shyly, and Tracy almost punched him. "Get out of here with that crap!" She said loud enough for all of us to hear. She was standing in the doorway of her cube, pointing toward his desk as though commanding him to depart. He slunk back quietly, no desire to make a further spectacle of himself. As she turned back to her desk she glanced my way. Our eyes met and she seemed nervous, looking away quickly, like she was embarrassed that I saw the way she talked to him, but EVERYONE saw her talking that way. I don't know- I shouldn't get my hopes up.
Lucas wasn't here today. With the new bin system the trash cans actually didn't need emptying, but the bathrooms were a mess. Paper on the floors, and at least one if the toilets were clogged. I would have walked right out if it wasn't for the three bottles if arrowhead water demanding I spend a few seconds in front of a urinal. I washed my hands carefully and used a paper towel to wipe off the sink handles, then open the door.
As I arrived at my desk I saw the directors gathering in the glass conference room in the center of the office. Any minute now they would be calling me in. I tried to stay busy while controlling my eagerness. Opening my phone, I checked my twitter feed. An article about a string of violent attacks caught my eye, and I was about to read it when the phone on my desk began to ring. I picked it up and looked toward the conference room. "Yes sir?" I asked politely. "I'll be right in." I said with confidence. I hung up the phone and grabbed a stack of color copies and my thumb drive. "Showtime" I said to myself with a smile.
Hilarious title!
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