Friday, February 15, 2002

A vision came to me this morning as I was sitting in a Company Meeting in our lavishly tiled new Conference Room. I was starting to drift off into sleep, and would have made it if I wasn't having heart palpitations from the chocolate doughnut and large coffee that I had just ingested. Anyway, the line of drool dangling from my lower lip had just about reached the table-top (we have those large sort of tables that you used to paste on when you were in first grade. I'm surprised they don't cover them with newspaper and give us safety scissors too), and I was starting to dream of all the white-hot Curling excitement I had been seeing these past few days on the TV, when all of a sudden it came to me like a flash, burnt across the clouds (well, the metaphorical clouds since I was inside at the time): Office Chair Curling!

I leapt into action and grabbed the receptionist's chair. I stood for a moment in silent contemplation before launching her and her chair down the tiles, ever so slightly drifting to the right as she spun, spilling her hot chocolate in a pleasing arc of brown. I commanded two engineers to grab a couple of mops and start scraping the tiles like there was no tomorrow "WEEEEEIGHT!" I cried, even though I have no idea what that means.

Then, for good measure, I screamed "NOOOOO!" like I've heard the weird looking US Curling guy do sometimes.

The receptionist drifted to a stop mere inches from the center of the makeshift Curling target (in this case, the sleeping form of Captain Porno, an unmarried forty-five year old who has WebTV and is constantly talking about Anna Kournikova's underwear...don't ask). Light, if somewhat stunned applause was heard from my coworkers. Then, my nemesis stood up: The Stinky Guy from out in the Engineering Shop. He is universally feared in my company because, besides being really stinky, as his name implies, he will never leave you alone. He also tells long boring and patently untrue stories about how Danny Thomas stole money from him once (The Stinky Guy is like 70 years old), and how he invented the Atari 2600 and how he's really only working here for a giggle because he is obviously a multimillionaire. My guess is he has to work because he smokes eight thousand cigarettes a day and the price isn't in any danger of coming down. Oh and the last thing about The Stinky Guy: His teeth. I'm pretty sure they're wooden, and they always, and I repeat ALWAYS have food in them. At least I hope it's food.

Anyway, The Stinky Guy stood up and pulled up the chair containing The Product Manager Who Doesn't Know What Windows Explorer Is or Does, who leaned as far away from The Stinky Guy as possible before being launched down to the other end of the conference room at a fair clip. He crashed hard into the receptionist and Captain Porno, knocking hot chocolate everywhere, and all three went crashing into the walls, leaving neither of us with any points, and ruining our game.

Then, sadly, the meeting was over. As The Stinky Guy sauntered off into the distance, leaving little bits of food in his wake, I silently promised myself I would vanquish him in our next contest of Office Chair Curling.


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