it was 5:15pm when i saw you.
you were at the end of one of those ridiculously long financial district lobbies. they've always reminded me of the scene in stranger than fiction when will ferrell is in an utter rush to prevent his eminent death, and is literally running the stretch of a fancy lobby to get to the guard to ask for karen eiffel.

some of those lobbies are nearly the length of a football field-- it's very inconvenient to people who might die after the stroke of a key. or those of us trying to get last-minute shipping overnight shipping labels.
you were so far away you looked sort of like a lego, and you pointed at your ear as the universal sign for "i can't hear you."
i jogged a little further and then shouted a little louder.
and as i got closer, i realized you were on the office phone. you gave me the "one second finger" and went back to your phone conversation.
being put on hold in real life wouldn't have bothered me at all if the call you were making had anything to do with business, but it was only a matter of minutes before i realized you were scheduling yourself a doctor's appointment on account of your queasy stomach and fatigue.
you didn't answer my question in words-- no-- you simply pulled out your keycard, pointed it at it, and then put it back in your breast pocket.
i should've strangled you with your phone cord the way they did at the very end of jay and silent bob strike back, but your desk was pretty tall and i don't really believe in unnecessary violence even if you're a suited dick.
all lobbies have a clock situated right on the front desk so we can tell what time it is when we're asked to check in as visitors-- it's handy in that way. but it's horrible and comedic when you're in a rush and have nothing else to do but stare at an inconsiderate security guard and a quick-moving digital clock.
"i can't," you said, "company policy."
a part of me was proud that you finally said words to me and not to your doctor-- but i'd hoped they would be different words. it was nearing 5:20pm and depending on the speed of the elevator and my legs, i would not make it to fedex if you upset-stomach game continued much longer.
you didn't seem to be affected by anything i was saying. in fact, you said this:
and then you gave the doctor your phone number so he could call you before your 3:30 appointment.
i took out my notepad and wrote that number down, promising myself i would call you later in the day and act as though i were that doctor canceling your stupid appointment.
but, unfortunately, i wrote down the wrong number.
and, after your ridiculous phone conversation and frustrating pantomime answers, i did make it to the elevator and the twentieth floor on time. i made it to fedex, too. so i suppose i don't need to have your doctor's appointment canceled.
but i ask that you change your ways. i understand that after 5pm you probably assume your job is done. but it's not: you're still sitting there at your little desk with your little uniform and keycard-- you're still on the clock. so, yes, while the scene may be dead and you might think it's a great time to make phone calls, don't let it interrupt your actual job. because after 5pm all of the doors lock and the elevator requires a keycard-- which means those of us in a serious rush to get business done are entirely in your hands. it means you need to be quicker than ever-- and it means your stomach ache can wait.
thanks,
president wishnack
p.s. the lady on the twentieth floor agreed that you are an idiot and said, "hopefully he has the flu all week." so, you know, think about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment