Dear, Sweet Fact vs. Fiction (Corporate America, Round 2)
OK, so here’s the deal with this entry: I had a company-wide “town hall” meeting today at my job, where the highest of the upper management stopped by our quaint little hamlet to talk to the serfs & plebeians about how the company’s doing. Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot to tell about these things, though my experience at this event was probably a bit more exciting than a great many others who suffered a similar fate of being stuck at this thing with no personal time available to skip out on today and go get shitfaced at the bar adjacent to the movie theater in which this event was held.
So when the few in the office who didn’t attend asked about how the meeting went, I had the option to either go over the meeting minutes -or- lie my ass off. I chose the latter. What’s going to follow here are both versions of the events that transpired. You choose the one you like best.
2 blogs for the price of none! Enjoy!
1) “Holy shit, that meeting was amazing! I can’t believe you missed it! It was so cool…mind if I tell you about it? No? Awesome!
“So, as I was driving home last night, I got into a near-fatal car wreck. I lost control of my truck and jumped the median, finally coming to a crashing halt at the behest of giant tree. The front of the truck wrapped around the tree like it was giving the tree a hug, and I was ejected through the windshield and landed 40 or 50 feet away from the vehicle. Most of my bones were broken, and my face was a mangled, forever unfixable mess of smashed bone fragments, a missing eye, a caved-in nose and lips that were left hanging off of the teeth that were stuck all the way back there in the dashboard.
“As I contemplated the idea that there might well be a God and that I would be meeting this God shortly to be judged for my horrible masturbatory crimes, I noticed from my remaining eye a glimmer off to my left side. My neck flesh was pretty well sliced away from the spine, but I managed to move it just enough to see some kind of object, half-buried and glimmering from its place in the dirt. As I started being beckoned by The Light, I reached out with the last few moments of strength I’d ever have and retrieved a shiny, golden oil lamp. I had a crazy, irrational thought that was likely caused by the flood of DMT beginning to enter my brain, and I put that thought into my final action on this Earth by rubbing the lamp.
“And wouldn’t you just fucking know it, but a genie popped out! He was all ‘hey, I’m a genie and you’ve freed me, and you get three wishes! What would you like?’
“I said, ‘holy shit, are you an Aladdin genie or a Wishmaster genie? I’m not fuckin’ around with getting my soul placed inside your soul jewel that will one day beckon forth the Great Djinn Apocalypse…what? An Aladdin genie? Awesome! OK, I wish I was in perfectly good health once again -and- my truck was fine -AND- that I will now be the smartest man in all the universe!’
“‘Holy shit right back, man, I’ve never had anyone smart enough to pull the ‘and’ clause! That means you get all three wishes for the price of one!’ And a moment later, I was perfectly fine, my truck was great (and he even added a free oil change!) and I was the smartest man in all the universe!
“For my 2nd wish, I asked to be the most handsome man in all the universe, and the genie waved his hand while sexually gesticulating in my general direction, and bam!, I’m the most handsome man in all the universe!
“After that, I mulled over my 3rd wish for a moment and said, ‘you know, I’ve been starting to go bald over these past few years, and I really miss my old, wonderful hair. Any chance you can give me back my old hair and kick-ass hairline?’ A second later, my gorgeous, flowing locks were returned to me, and having been turned into the ultimate dreamboat in the whole multiverse, I bid the genie a fond ‘adieu’ for his kind nature and services rendered, went home and slept like a little prince!
“So then we had this meeting today, and it was so fucking incredible that I wet my pants just to complete my personal fetish cycle. Then, by the time the CEO was dick-deep in the end-of-session Q&A, my excitement had reached such a fever pitch that I actually ripped out all of the amazing new hair the genie gave to me, which is why I’m just as bald today as when you saw me yesterday…so, you know, you win some & you lose some, but that meeting was just such a candy-coated orgasm that I feel the hair was an even trade for the passion stirred so deeply in my soul. You missed a real Jonestown life-changer, my friend!”
And that was pretty much the best lie I ever told. Maybe not the most convincing, but easily the most fun. And certainly way more fun than just recalling the facts, as you’ll see in a second.
2) So, we were corralled into the theater, being stopped only once by a member of the corporate Gestapo henchmen who demanded to see our papers…ahem, our building ID badges…to verify that we weren’t fucking KGB spies or something. The jackboots and Luger pistols were a little over-the-top, but apparently they’ve been reading LAPD manuals on “command presence” (even in the truth, I can’t help but throw in a good little lie!) and wanted to put their new training to good use.
From there, we were directed to seats, filling in the gaps left by the early arrivers who told the system to go fuck itself and just sat wherever the Hell they wanted. I was seated next to a guy who I don’t know, but suspect might become my direct reporting manager. This makes me very glad to say that the worst thing I said for the duration of the meeting was, “oh look! They’re breaking out the stools for the Q&A! I hope they sing an a capella version of Extreme’s ‘More Than Words!'” The other side was an open seat for about two more minutes, when a lovely blonde sat to my right.
Where things got interesting here is that, as I mentioned, this meeting was held in an IMAX movie theater, and there was stadium seating with reclining chairs and armrests that adjust for convenience/obesity. Mine were down on both sides, so that I might relax in my seat without the awkwardness of trying to find a comfortable way to cross my arms for 2 hours.
My new pal The Blonde had other designs, though. In one of the strangest work-related situations I’ve ever experienced, she decided that she didn’t want any barriers between herself and I, so she moved the armrest up, leaving no barrier between the two of us. This tactic, one occasionally employed by sleazy men on bad 1st dates who are trying to force a certain closeness upon their prey…date!, is in my experience very seldom used by women. And never have I seen this one used in a corporate, company-wide business meeting.
She had dickbreath, so I’d have had to become a corpse for her to get any further with me. I didn’t want to give her any sort of “in,” so although I wanted to force a piece of gum upon her, I had to offer one up to three other people before I felt it would seem like a simple, innocuous gesture. Thankfully, she accepted, and the gum almost kinda-sorta helped.
Other than that, the meeting was a pile of horseshit with a few nuggets of interesting foreign material wedged into it. Issues were skirted, losses glossed over, minor victories overblown, and one of the dickweeds was so impressed with his ability to rhyme monosyllabic words that he seemed like he should have a handler and a short bus to enter post-meeting, where his animal crackers anxiously awaited his return. As a new employee, I was told that the meeting was “par for the course,” and that we’d have to endure one every three months or so. I prayed for death, then realized that I’d have some sick days racked up by the next time, and I could totally abscond from the entire workday, only to spend the time drinking at the bar adjacent to the movie theater. Good fight, good night!
So, which story is better? I know I prefer the first, but in a game of Fact vs. Fiction, who wins? The more I reflect, the more unsure I become, but I love that. It’s a cosmic blessing to have a reasonably eventful real story to tell folks, no matter how powerfully wonderful the fabricated back-up tale could possibly be. Hopefully, my life will continue to be ridiculous, banal and easily dissectible for comedic effect. Should that ever cease to be, I’m not sure I want to keep on going…but then, that’s something to write about, too.
Posted on 07/30/2013, in Tales of The Corporate Underbelly, Uncategorized and tagged Aladdin, animal crackers, assholes, business criminals, company ID Gestapo, company meetings, corporate America, Djinn Apocalypse, Fact vs. Fiction, failure in IMAX, gum, henchmen, I love my job, idiots, jackals, KGB spies, no cell phones, pretty blondes, self-righteous cum dumpsters, stadium seating, The Blonde, unwanted sexual advances, Wishmaster. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.