In the Continued Wake
of the Events. |
Traylor's Thoughts
In the Continued Wake of the Events
I
have no intention to make light of or undermine any of the sacrifices or
losses experienced on 9/11. What follows is an attempt at levity.
In the continued wake of the events when the American
summer was in the process of relinquishing its welterweight belt to fall, in
an absence of confrontation, another terrorist act occurred, which received
no press.
Monday morning rudely interrupted my weekend, as it
does every week. Arriving at work, I was greeted by the sixty-story metal
and glass office building in downtown Chicago, which anchors my cubicle.
The week began as many of its predecessors, until I realized my building, my
company, the entire 34th floor, my morning conscious dependent
had been shattered, by what I could assume to be an organization of hedonist
nihilistic individuals acting with self imposed unaccountability.
As a corporate buffoon I began my day as most, brought
my laptop to life, then rose to retrieve an eight ounce Styrofoam cup of the
addictive medicine which millions of individuals ingest every morning to
banish the residual cobwebs lingering in their capitates. When I opened the
kitchenette refrigerator I was appalled, not by what I saw, but by what I
didn’t see, the pure white complement that lowers the dark tones swimming
through my current glass of liquid, whose base was harvested by Juan and his
unnamed burro. Not to worry, this isn’t the first time this has happened.
Let me explain; there are three kitchenettes on the 34th
floor, each equipped with a refrigerator. At the end of each week the
building support staff leaves two 20-ounce bottles of non-fat milk in each
refrigerator. 3 refrigerators times 2 bottles per refrigerators = six 20
ounce bottles of kemps fat free skim milk. At any time during the week I
have always found enough milk to satisfactorily commingle with my morning
amphetamine.
It was odd that on a Monday there was no evidence that
any milk been there at all. Never the less, I ventured to one of the other
three kitchenettes to filch a bit of my colleagues dilutant. As I swung the
door to the second fridge I had a feeling that I can only assume was akin to
Geraldo opening Al Capone’s vault. Two refrigerators and nary a bottle, not
even a 9/10ths empty bottle left by some rude bastard who couldn’t quite
proliferate all of the contents so left it as a tease to all those who would
subsequently reach for the near empty bottle.
Third refrigerator, now the third refrigerator is like
the less socially desirable women who is still hanging around the bar at
3.30 trying to make eye contact with any y chromosome. I swagger
confidently to the secluded third kitchenette, having never been let down by
the cubic dorm sized refrigerator in this small area ˝ the size of the prior
two visited sanctions of snackery. I was beaming as I bent over to open the
small suctioned door – nothing- and to my chagrin it hits me. Terrorists,
yes terrorists, in my two years of employment in this office there has never
been a precedent or inclination of this type of malevolence. As the
recognition of what had transpired washed over me like filth on beer slide
nights at the university of anywhere USA, I was both saddened and scared.
Cats, part of the bane of the male existence had once
again smitten me. I can’t confirm exact times, nor do I have any concrete
evidence as to the “ins and outs” of the job, but I know with every
corpuscle of my being that the rapscallions behind this treachery were none
other then a well organized syndicate of cat terrorists. How do I know it
was a group of cat terrorists, well Johnny Sherlock Holmes I think it is
pretty obvious. As you know from movies, cub scouts, and many outdoor
barbecue contests cats do not have opposable thumbs. Opening a refrigerator
door let alone trying to play barn storming on an old joy stick Atari would
be impossible for these jerks.
So if opening the doors to the refrigerators is near
impossible then it must not be cats. That is what they want you to think.
How did they open the fridge? I think it is pretty obvious, it is well
known that cats hang out in alley ways, and what else is in alley ways --
dumpsters, what goes in dumpsters, garbage, who brings out the garbage,
that’s right- building maintenance. Who has access to all the kitchenettes
in my building? The very same maintenance personal that take the garbage
out have partnered themselves with these vile beasts.
I have tried to pin down our rotating three maintenance
support staff Emil Jr., Kazimeirz, and Leopold on the goings and why they
would agree to perpetuate such an evil. None of them speak English so it
always results in an awkward exchange. Every time I try to get them to
discuss these issues it always ends the same, each of us staring at one
another, me with a desperate look trying to find some recognition of
understanding and them just looking apathetic and confused. Needless to say
it uncomfortably culminates as I just smile and try to show them how I can
still do a backbend. I am not sure if the backbends help but I read
somewhere that eastern Europeans were huge fans of gymnastics, so maybe,
they will see me as someone they can trust and confide.
My greatest idea to bring down this consistory of
miscreants was to somehow infiltrate their inner circle on a low level then
move up through the ranks, undercover, until in a position to bring down the
whole organization. I had story boarded the whole infiltration operation
for weeks and finally arrived at the perfect stratagem. I was going to hang
out in the alley and try to befriend one of the more socially approachable
gang members. I had hoped to pin a catnip addict or one that owes money for
fish received on loan but possibly lost the money betting on balls of twine
and their precarious movements outside a fabric store. Once in with one
member I would woo them with my charm and fabricated hatred for
establishments such as my company. This would allow me to move up their
social ladder. I would have to sacrifice a few principles on the way but
that would be the price to pay for success.
Once trusted enough to be included on the planning and
transaction of their activities I would reveal my plan of how we, the cat
terrorists, were going to get the biggest score of our lives. This would be
the overtaking of all, yes all, the Wisconsin dairy farms. For this
operation we would need amongst other things, dynamite, 200 helium balloons,
a chili crock pot, some alligator skins, flan, Neosporin, seventeen pairs of
blue children’s galoshes, medieval suits of armor to fit a 6 member
Clydesdale team, tennis racket grip, thirty seven sack lunches, an
industrial mixer, and 11 bean bag chairs of varying texture and color.
Once they accepted my plan I would suggest a party, not
just any party, a west coast rap pool party. This would allow me to get my
new cohorts inebriated to the point of confessing their crimes into my
hidden anal microphone. Having their confessions on tape I would be able
to sell them up the river, like some of the worthless crap on ebay.
My one oversight, I am not a cat. I don’t know what I
was thinking, speaking of which I am drunk right now.
email me at
traylor@tipsybottle.com
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