Sarcasm Alley

It all started with a call from a corporate nerd:

Nerd: You see who's going to be at Dallas Comic Con??

I'm getting this information as part of a message telling me I need to come into the office to pick up an upgraded communication link device since I'm what's called a "remote user". I had bullshitted with Jenson before so I guess he thought that give him license to share this sort of personal detail on which he gambled my sharing an interest. These sort of lonely souls crave any sort of connection. I should know.

Before I can answer he continues:

Nerd: Patrick Stewart! And - get this - Stan Lee!

Hell, I didn't even know Stan Lee was still alive but I'd obviously heard of his legendary name as a comic book creator. I had two choices: I could encourage Jenson with a show of false enthusiasm or torture him. I chose the latter, of course.

Asshole Me: Oh, no matter what they do it won't match that sci fi expo they had last March. Nothing tops Eliza Dushku!

And I halfway meant it too though if I got to meet Patrick Stewart I'd love to congratulate him on the greatest non-speaking movie role in the sound era. I got the expected wounded response.

Nerd: Eliza Dushku?

Oh, like he didn't know who she is! Or maybe he was merely thinking of comic book status alone.

Asshole Me: Hell, yeah! I'd rather meet Eliza Dushku than Jesus Christ!

That just slipped out as what I thought would be the ultimate trump card. Also, I knew he was a regular churchgoer.

Nerd: Jesus Christ! How could you possibly say that? Jesus can give you eternal life.

Asshole Me: Right! Jesus can give me eternal life - and Eliza can give me a reason to want it!

What can I say? I was inspired.

Now that's some inspiration!

But the worst was yet to come: A dreaded trip to the Corporate Tower in downtown Dallas.

****

I'm not a morning person so it was the afternoon before I made it in. I was dressed in T shirt and jeans, no way was I going to put on even business casual clothes just for a quick trip to the I.T. department of which I am technically a part. I do what's known as "drudge work" that's cheaper to outsource to home workers than house in an office. I'm just a lowly worm receiving orders from on high and most of the time I have no idea why I'm changing "A" to "B". I just know it feeds into the system somehow.

On the drive in I was mentally chiding myself for my perpetually negative attitude. I have a natural inclination to expect the worst and that has cost more than one pot of gold in my life, let me tell you. I'll never be one to say I have no regrets. So I was fighting the internal bitching of this strong voice insisting I was going to come across some corporate assholes who'd give me a hard time and resent the fact I even draw a paycheck from the same glorious corporation they do.

And I do work for a LARGE global corporation with international media concerns and all sorts tentacles reaching far and wide into more places than I care to know. People tend to glob onto that and use it to look down on you. Just fucking lovely.

Like an Egyptian ziggurat*

But I was determined to be "positive". I'd slide in and out completely unnoticed. No one will take offense to my presence. I was over-reacting as usual. Living too much inside my head. They're people just like you.

Yeah, right!

I had not achieved peace as I parked my crap car among all the shiny fancy ones in the cavernous parking garage. Walking passed them I wondered whose car belonged to whom. But that was soon interrupted by my Negative Voice.

"Bitch, they're going to hate you! You're getting closer! Bet the security card blows up when you enter it into the slot!"

"Fuck you! Your idiot ass already cost me Mary in her tiny bikini, shithead!"

Still I was nervous as I inputted my card at the employee entrance. I gave a failed smile to the guard perched at his desk as I made a hurried B line to the elevator. I pressed the Up button, keeping my eyes down, not daring to make contact. No matter how so-called positive I wanted to be I could not convince myself I wanted to be there.

Waiting for the infernally slow elevator I experienced one of those out-of-body experiences I so hate. This only happens to me! I start thinking: You're standing in a 21st century corporate tower with exclusively guarded access and yet you feel you walk in a post-apocalyptic abandoned building populated by ghosts of future passed. Forgettable words of artificial concern buzz around your ears. Nothing is real! Nothing is real! What will they do when they find out it's not real??

Ding!

Jesus fucking Christ about goddam time fucking elevator got here! Can't let anyone read my thoughts! Empty! Wahoo! These thought knives are stabbing me and I don't know if I can hide my anguish. Oh, God...

But just as the door closes, SHE rushes in. She of the corporate ilk with her fancy tight dress and high heels with hair tautly wound and perfectly placed. Assuming her to be a chauvinist I expected her to despise me even more because she stood taller than I in her fucking Jimmy Choo's. Plus, I must have shrunk another two inches in her presence.

Be positive! Be positive! Not everyone working in the Tower is a jerk. Remember that friendly fellow from two visits ago? He was way cool!

But I could not escape the sense of impending doom when she pressed her destination floor. You see, the higher the floor the more your prestige and where I needed to go in the I.T. department was a good nine floors above her's. I couldn't see her face as I was pressed in fear at the back of the elevator but I could feel the burning sensation as her eyes spied the lit button I had pressed. Insatiably curious, she turned to check me out, to see if I deserved to ascend to such a lofty place.

She flashed a false smile to me, started to turn her back on me then...she stopped. I read her face: This guy's a lump of shit, a loser. I'm going to fuck him up good for sharing my elevator! This means war.

"You're casually dressed!" she remarked in mock envy.

Oh God, I've heard that voice before, where they eviscerate you with a seeming compliment only to convey their deepest contempt and unyielding scorn. I was bowled over, unable to communicate. She was smugly sure I could have no idea of what she was doing with her supposed vastly superior intellect. But I knew exactly what she was doing, I could script her word for word if need be. But how was I in my eight year old jeans ever going to convince her of that?

"Oh, nice outfit!"

I could have simply explained I work offsite but that seemed inadequate against the charge of loserdom she had leveled against me. Only later did I fully realize she feared me, that I could somehow be so high on the corporate chain I could get away with wearing jeans to the office like some mystical guru genius. If true, her whole little word would be invalidated. No way rebel scum like I could have more worth than she! She was right in selling her soul, dammit!

My mind was racing, sizing up her own wardrobe. I observed the careful planning, the relentless fastidiousness, just the right amount of sexiness balanced with the right amount of proper distance as if to say, "Off work I'm a steaming sex kitten but here I'm a world class professional. A winner wherever I go!" Every day she dressed for her wedding day.

Oh, hell, don't tell me she's one of those Corporate Cunts married to her job! If true, she's my natural predator in the wild, a cobra and mongoose trapped in an elevator. Fearing even to move my eyes I looked for the telltale signs. Yup, she was clad with all the latest technology, dripping with devices, even a fucking piece in her ear, a person of maximum efficiency. I do Important Things with these Important Devices.

Finally, I had to answer. "Yeah, I'm here just to pick up a device."

Too late I realized that was the wrong thing to say! I'd stepped directly on her toes, she of the Latest Technology I no doubt couldn't possibly understand. Now, I could see she was a person of some intelligence but once measured I saw her for what she was and I had no doubt my interest in her intellect would be severely limited. She's the kind of person who would drone on about her latest deals and projects and how clever she was and "Don't you want to hear all about my corporate success?"

Living that Bluetooth dream!

Seething, she inquisitioned me. "Device? What sort of device?"

I decided to appease her by playing the dumb user. "Oh, it's just some sort of communication uplink they said I had to get."

"Oh," she dismissively said, raising her left eyebrow.

I felt like I had just dropped my pants, she saw a two inch dick and then said "Oh" in a mixture of pity, disdain and permanent rejection. I didn't care, I let her have her "victory". Who was she to me anyway? Who would she ever be? But that sort of repressive thinking always bites me on the ass!

Sure enough, she moved in for the kill.

"You know - " Oh shit, that False Friendly voice again! " - it might behoove you to dress better when visiting the company headquarters." That's right, I'm a visitor, an outsider, obviously lesser than she, scolding me for improper dress when coming to temple. But it ain't no temple to me, lady!

Then the worst thing possible happened. As if pulled by a string I scrunched into the corner of the elevator as if every word she said were true and I was recoiling from her insightful veracity. I knew that was like throwing chum in the water but I couldn't stop myself, I could only observe myself like when I was waiting for the elevator in the lobby. She gained another two inches in height, lording over me in glowering celebration.

It is said in extraordinary circumstances one is capable of superhuman feats as the adrenaline kicks in. At that moment I had no doubt my life was in danger and too late did I realize the strategy I should take, that I should have played on her insecurities and let her think I really was a mystical guru jean genius. I'm just not wired that way without provocation unfortunately. We were getting close to her floor as I vainly attempted to regain my posture, fighting through the haze.

With one last superior sniff she asked. "Just what do you do anyway?"

Exaggerate! Fuck her up! "I'm a programmer," I bullshitted unconvincingly. You're buying that, right?

"Oh, really, what do you program?" The court prosecutor was amused by my testimony. The door opened and she was stepping off with absolutely no interest in my reply.

"I...A!" Damn, couldn't get the acronym out of my swirling head. "Artificial intelligence!" I had no way of backing it up if she asked me any further questions but she was long gone anyway.

See? I can be a clever too! I can...oh, hell...I lost...she'll be bragging to her sex-in-the-city friends later how she put me in my place...as if he could compete with me, haha!...I despised her corporate brainwashing and pseudo esteem...if she ever got fired it'd be like getting a divorce to her...she's probably upstairs giving head to some executive to solidify her conquest over me in her mind...I hate her...I want to fuck her...and then throw her away.

Neither of our lives had a meaningful relationship. Nobody won.