Dear Diary,
I’ve been hanging with a slacker thirty-something dude named Todd for four months now, living in the mountains, growing beards, growing hair, and collecting dirt-stains on our bodies while I’ve been wearing nothing but a plastic garbage bag over worn-out, tissue thin boxer shorts.
A few days ago, we hitchhiked into Manhattan to Todd’s townhouse mansion. Todd is an extremely popular and successful motivational speaker and writer.
When we arrived at the doorstep of his mansion, I was aghast. And awed. The place reached up into the cold gray sky with Christmas decorations in every window.
The door opened, revealing a beautiful young woman with long blond hair and an angelic face exquisitely accented with a Popsicle cold expression.
Todd’s face lit up.
TODD: Sharon…
SHARON: Where have you been?
TODD: I’ve… I’ve been in the mountains.
ME: Sharon, you are responding to your husband from a place of material things. In the mountains, we came to learn that the material world is a road to hell and unhappiness. You were not in the mountains so you wouldn’t know this.
SHARON: Who is this?
ME: Answer Todd from your essence being. You may not understand this at first, being as how you are the kind of person who cares only about things and trinkets and gadgets.
SHARON: Is this another one of your bottom feeder “friends”, trying to leech money off of you.
TODD: Eric has been a good friend to me.
ME (to Sharon): We didn’t need money where we were. And we don’t need money now. One day, perhaps, you’ll grow to feel like we do, and not be so ugly and gross on the inside.
Sharon ignored me and turned to Todd.
SHARON: The board is ready to have you committed, and they’ve signed over control of all our assets to me.
ME: Sharon, nobody cares. Assets… they’re just things. Things to buy your widgets and doodahs and curly fries.
TODD: Why would the board want me committed? I am not crazy, Sharon.
ME: Sharon, you and this board are concerned with things that no one cares about, or that matter.
Sharon kept her attention on Todd.
SHARON: You’re not crazy? Are you kidding me? You’ve spent the better part of four months with a man in a garbage bag.
ME: This is all I need. It’s all anyone who is truly enlightened needs. I’m practically naked under here.
TODD: Sharon, let us in. We can talk about this inside.
ME: I can help you two work something out. Not financially, but emotionally and spiritually.
SHARON: Go back to your mountain.
ME: Sharon, if I had one wish I could ask a genie right now, it would be to make you see how money is making you miserable. Let it go. Trust me, your disgusting selfish self will thank me.
SHARON: Leave.
ME: You might have control of Todd’s assets but you don’t control who’s allowed inside his mansion.
TODD: Eric, I’m afraid she does. Sharon now controls all my assets.
ME: I’m just talking about all your money, and your food, and a roof over my head.
TODD: We have to leave. All of it, it isn’t mine anymore.
I pondered for a moment.
ME: None… nothing…
Todd shook his head.
I lunged for Sharon, reaching my hands toward her throat.
ME (to Sharon): I’ve been freezing in this bag for four months, you cow!
Todd yanked me back.
SHARON: Get this scavenger off my property.
I grabbed hold of her hand, and a bracelet.
ME: Just give me this bauble, just to pay off a few things.
TODD: Eric, let go!
SHARON: Todd, I will call the police.
I released her.
ME: Maybe you can just buy me a few things for Christmas. I’ve made a mental list.
Sharon slammed the door in our faces.
I turned and spied her through the living room window, marching past. I vaulted from the front steps onto the living room window ledge.
ME (shouting at Sharon): Just buy me a few things! Canned meat, a second-hand sweater, a second-hand pair of boxers!
For the next ten minutes, I scaled from window ledge to window ledge, following her from room to room, begging her to buy me stuff.
ME: You have so much money, and all I want are a few things to enjoy... to covet.
Sirens blared as police cruisers screeched onto the street.
TODD: Let’s get out of here!
I came hurtling down from a bathroom window ledge.
ME: I feel so empty!
We scuttled into an alley. When we were at a safe distance, we stopped, panting, and I turned to Todd.
ME: See you later.
TODD: You’re leaving me?
ME: You have no money. I don’t have time for this crap.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Le Message
Dear Diary,
I’ve been living in the mountainous wild somewhere in the State of New York for over four months now with a newfound, thirtysomething, slacker-looking friend named Todd. I ran away from my pregnant wife after duplicitously making her spend all our money and bankrupting us. I now wear a plastic garbage bag over my threadbare boxer shorts.
Two days ago, Todd and I decided to leave for a “quest” which he has assured me will net us each millions in cash. Todd is a motivational speaker who ran away himself after getting down. He now feels refreshed and has asked me to join him on his latest big money endeavor.
This morning, we hitchhiked into Manhattan, heading for Todd’s mansion townhouse. In the backseat of the car, I asked Todd what this “quest” was all about. I did this between two major bouts of the giggles (we do this often, never knowing what we’re laughing about). The driver who picked us up kept giving us nervous, terrified looks.
TODD: For years, many of us in the motivational speaking and publishing industry--
ME (cutting him off): Wow, I’ve never heard you speak so eloquently and concisely before. For four months I thought you were a complete idiot and I hated you. I’m sorry.
TODD: I didn’t know that you hated me. That must have been a terrible feeling to carry around for all these months, freezing in your garbage bag. I’m sorry.
He reached out and we hugged each other then. Really hard. It felt freeing.
TODD: So… people in the motivational industry have long known of a message written thousands of years ago on a cave wall--
ME (interrupting): You know, during our four months together, I went to a cave once to pick out a rock to kill you with. I was just so annoyed with you. I think I was getting stir crazy. I’m sorry. Anyway, if I had known you were so informed about ancient messages on cave walls, I wouldn’t have thought you were worthless enough to murder with a rock.
TODD: Oh my God, and you held that in for four whole months. It must have crushed you.
ME: It did. It was unbearable, especially having to carry that rock around, waiting for the perfect opportunity to smash you with it.
TODD: Come here.
Todd took me into his arms and held me for a few minutes. It felt nice, just being quiet and nurtured.
TODD: Everyone wants to find this message in this cave so that they can publish a best-selling book. Legend says it can be found near Angoulême in western France, and that the message tells the truth about why we are here on this planet, what we are all meant to do with our lives and how to be happy. Forever.
ME: I tried to poison you once with pebbles and bark. I mixed them into your water canteen and waited all day for you to die, spying on you from behind trees and such.
TODD: I am so sorry. What a burden to have to hold onto. And all that waiting, that wasted time.
ME: I’m glad you finally realize that.
We hugged again, rocking each other back and forth for almost half an hour.
TODD: I plan on finding this message first and making it my next multi-million dollar success. I’m going to call it Le Message.
ME: Thank you for taking me on your quest. I still have that rock under my garbage bag as we speak but I swear I’m just saving it as a souvenir.
Todd took out his water canteen and put it to his lips for a drink, but then stopped.
TODD: Why is this rattling?
I wrestled the canteen from his grasp, rolled down the window and pitched it.
TODD: I think I’d like to have that rock that you’re hiding under your bag.
ME: On your head?
I’ve been living in the mountainous wild somewhere in the State of New York for over four months now with a newfound, thirtysomething, slacker-looking friend named Todd. I ran away from my pregnant wife after duplicitously making her spend all our money and bankrupting us. I now wear a plastic garbage bag over my threadbare boxer shorts.
Two days ago, Todd and I decided to leave for a “quest” which he has assured me will net us each millions in cash. Todd is a motivational speaker who ran away himself after getting down. He now feels refreshed and has asked me to join him on his latest big money endeavor.
This morning, we hitchhiked into Manhattan, heading for Todd’s mansion townhouse. In the backseat of the car, I asked Todd what this “quest” was all about. I did this between two major bouts of the giggles (we do this often, never knowing what we’re laughing about). The driver who picked us up kept giving us nervous, terrified looks.
TODD: For years, many of us in the motivational speaking and publishing industry--
ME (cutting him off): Wow, I’ve never heard you speak so eloquently and concisely before. For four months I thought you were a complete idiot and I hated you. I’m sorry.
TODD: I didn’t know that you hated me. That must have been a terrible feeling to carry around for all these months, freezing in your garbage bag. I’m sorry.
He reached out and we hugged each other then. Really hard. It felt freeing.
TODD: So… people in the motivational industry have long known of a message written thousands of years ago on a cave wall--
ME (interrupting): You know, during our four months together, I went to a cave once to pick out a rock to kill you with. I was just so annoyed with you. I think I was getting stir crazy. I’m sorry. Anyway, if I had known you were so informed about ancient messages on cave walls, I wouldn’t have thought you were worthless enough to murder with a rock.
TODD: Oh my God, and you held that in for four whole months. It must have crushed you.
ME: It did. It was unbearable, especially having to carry that rock around, waiting for the perfect opportunity to smash you with it.
TODD: Come here.
Todd took me into his arms and held me for a few minutes. It felt nice, just being quiet and nurtured.
TODD: Everyone wants to find this message in this cave so that they can publish a best-selling book. Legend says it can be found near Angoulême in western France, and that the message tells the truth about why we are here on this planet, what we are all meant to do with our lives and how to be happy. Forever.
ME: I tried to poison you once with pebbles and bark. I mixed them into your water canteen and waited all day for you to die, spying on you from behind trees and such.
TODD: I am so sorry. What a burden to have to hold onto. And all that waiting, that wasted time.
ME: I’m glad you finally realize that.
We hugged again, rocking each other back and forth for almost half an hour.
TODD: I plan on finding this message first and making it my next multi-million dollar success. I’m going to call it Le Message.
ME: Thank you for taking me on your quest. I still have that rock under my garbage bag as we speak but I swear I’m just saving it as a souvenir.
Todd took out his water canteen and put it to his lips for a drink, but then stopped.
TODD: Why is this rattling?
I wrestled the canteen from his grasp, rolled down the window and pitched it.
TODD: I think I’d like to have that rock that you’re hiding under your bag.
ME: On your head?
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A Four-Month Getaway Weekend
Dear Diary,
I live in a cabin somewhere in the mountains of the State of New York with a new friend named Todd, a slacker-looking, thirty-something dude with an overgrown mop-top haircut.
I ran away from my newly pregnant wife over four months ago and haven’t looked back since. She was angry with me for 3 major reasons. These were:
1) Pretending to still be employed for most of the summer
2) Lying about being promoted to a position where I made unbelievable amounts of cash
3) Telling her to quit her job, get pregnant, and max out all our credit
Once my wife discovered the truth I booked it, ending up here in the wilderness where I’ve been living with Todd in a cabin with no power, running water, fireplace, insulation, or roof. Basically it’s a hunting cabin that burned down decades ago but half a wall still stands and we sleep against it at night in one big garbage bag, holding on to one another in an attempt to fight off hypothermia. I also wear the garbage bag during the day since I have no clothes, having stripped down to my boxers while bolting from my wife.
Last night, I had a hard time getting to sleep.
TODD: Stop rolling around. You keep moving the garbage bag and waking me.
ME: I can’t live like this anymore, Todd. It’s been four months. And there’s nothing to do here but hang out against this wall. And all I’ve eaten is the mushrooms and weeds that you find. I’m starving, Todd. And, goddamnit, I need a shower. My hair’s all greasy, and in some spots, it’s rock hard.
TODD: When we decided to move up here in the mountains, you told me that you’d help with gathering food and hunting but you haven’t done a thing.
ME: Living here wasn’t a decision we made. We got stuck here after getting kicked out of that truck that picked us up last summer because we couldn’t stop giggling.
TODD: I wasn’t laughing at anything in particular. I just had the giggles.
ME: So did I, but two grown men with the giggles in the enclosed space of a truck can get pretty annoying. Especially when the reason these two men are giggling isn’t so apparent to the driver who just picked them up hitchhiking, and one of the hitchhikers happens to be in nothing but really loose boxer shorts.
TODD (adding): Which keep falling because the elastic is so threadbare.
ME: I can’t do this anymore, Todd. I can’t. I haven’t done a thing in four months. I mean I know nothing about you and for four months I’ve been sleeping next to you in a garbage bag. Do you see what I’m getting at?
TODD: You’re not happy here? We’re free from all our problems here.
ME: It’s snowing, Todd. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed lately but I barely have anything covering my genitalia. If we don’t leave here, we are going to die.
TODD: Can’t we just stay a bit longer? I’m not ready to face the world yet.
ME: Todd, I’m not saying we have to go back to our regular lives yet. We could be transients someplace else… where I at least have a shirt or a towel or something. It’s just that I need something more in life than a wall that’s half burned down.
TODD: Where would we go?
ME: I don’t know. Maybe I can get some job making photocopies in an office or something. You can find a job too. What did you do before you ran away?
TODD: I was a motivational speaker.
ME: What the hell happened?
TODD: I got depressed.
I looked up at our half-burned down wall.
ME: You must have been really down.
TODD: I was successful too.
ME: And you lost everything?
TODD: No. I still have a townhouse mansion in Manhattan.
ME: What? And I’ve been sleeping against this wall for four months naked in a garbage bag!
TODD: I needed to get away.
ME: You made me eat a raccoon once, raw, and I think it may have still been alive.
TODD: You looked peaked.
ME: I’m outta here.
TODD: Where are you going?
ME: Your mansion. I need to thaw out.
TODD: I’m headed somewhere else. I now know what I need to do.
ME: And what’s that?
TODD: My quest. It’s time I finish it.
ME: Screw your quest. I’m dying, you moron. We probably have scurvy.
TODD: It’s what I was running from. I just got flustered.
ME: Flustered? You almost killed yourself here in these sadistic conditions. You make me so sick, I’d throw up on you right now if I had something in my stomach. Throw up: that’s what someone as pathetic as you deserves out of life. Get out of my face before I strangle you with my skivvies.
TODD: It’s a quest that will make us both millions of dollars.
ME (changing my tone): Let me grab my garbage bag.
I live in a cabin somewhere in the mountains of the State of New York with a new friend named Todd, a slacker-looking, thirty-something dude with an overgrown mop-top haircut.
I ran away from my newly pregnant wife over four months ago and haven’t looked back since. She was angry with me for 3 major reasons. These were:
1) Pretending to still be employed for most of the summer
2) Lying about being promoted to a position where I made unbelievable amounts of cash
3) Telling her to quit her job, get pregnant, and max out all our credit
Once my wife discovered the truth I booked it, ending up here in the wilderness where I’ve been living with Todd in a cabin with no power, running water, fireplace, insulation, or roof. Basically it’s a hunting cabin that burned down decades ago but half a wall still stands and we sleep against it at night in one big garbage bag, holding on to one another in an attempt to fight off hypothermia. I also wear the garbage bag during the day since I have no clothes, having stripped down to my boxers while bolting from my wife.
Last night, I had a hard time getting to sleep.
TODD: Stop rolling around. You keep moving the garbage bag and waking me.
ME: I can’t live like this anymore, Todd. It’s been four months. And there’s nothing to do here but hang out against this wall. And all I’ve eaten is the mushrooms and weeds that you find. I’m starving, Todd. And, goddamnit, I need a shower. My hair’s all greasy, and in some spots, it’s rock hard.
TODD: When we decided to move up here in the mountains, you told me that you’d help with gathering food and hunting but you haven’t done a thing.
ME: Living here wasn’t a decision we made. We got stuck here after getting kicked out of that truck that picked us up last summer because we couldn’t stop giggling.
TODD: I wasn’t laughing at anything in particular. I just had the giggles.
ME: So did I, but two grown men with the giggles in the enclosed space of a truck can get pretty annoying. Especially when the reason these two men are giggling isn’t so apparent to the driver who just picked them up hitchhiking, and one of the hitchhikers happens to be in nothing but really loose boxer shorts.
TODD (adding): Which keep falling because the elastic is so threadbare.
ME: I can’t do this anymore, Todd. I can’t. I haven’t done a thing in four months. I mean I know nothing about you and for four months I’ve been sleeping next to you in a garbage bag. Do you see what I’m getting at?
TODD: You’re not happy here? We’re free from all our problems here.
ME: It’s snowing, Todd. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed lately but I barely have anything covering my genitalia. If we don’t leave here, we are going to die.
TODD: Can’t we just stay a bit longer? I’m not ready to face the world yet.
ME: Todd, I’m not saying we have to go back to our regular lives yet. We could be transients someplace else… where I at least have a shirt or a towel or something. It’s just that I need something more in life than a wall that’s half burned down.
TODD: Where would we go?
ME: I don’t know. Maybe I can get some job making photocopies in an office or something. You can find a job too. What did you do before you ran away?
TODD: I was a motivational speaker.
ME: What the hell happened?
TODD: I got depressed.
I looked up at our half-burned down wall.
ME: You must have been really down.
TODD: I was successful too.
ME: And you lost everything?
TODD: No. I still have a townhouse mansion in Manhattan.
ME: What? And I’ve been sleeping against this wall for four months naked in a garbage bag!
TODD: I needed to get away.
ME: You made me eat a raccoon once, raw, and I think it may have still been alive.
TODD: You looked peaked.
ME: I’m outta here.
TODD: Where are you going?
ME: Your mansion. I need to thaw out.
TODD: I’m headed somewhere else. I now know what I need to do.
ME: And what’s that?
TODD: My quest. It’s time I finish it.
ME: Screw your quest. I’m dying, you moron. We probably have scurvy.
TODD: It’s what I was running from. I just got flustered.
ME: Flustered? You almost killed yourself here in these sadistic conditions. You make me so sick, I’d throw up on you right now if I had something in my stomach. Throw up: that’s what someone as pathetic as you deserves out of life. Get out of my face before I strangle you with my skivvies.
TODD: It’s a quest that will make us both millions of dollars.
ME (changing my tone): Let me grab my garbage bag.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
A Meeting in New York, Part 2
Dear Diary,
I was in the meeting room of the New York head office of the accounting firm I used to work at when I finally revealed to my wife that I had been fired from my photocopy guy job over a month ago and had kept my unemployment a secret from her, all the while (so that she wouldn't suspect anything) encouraging her to max out all our credit cards, quit her job and get pregnant. The full meeting room, and six uniformed security guards who apprehended us, watched on as my wife, wearing a newly purchased Christian Dior gown, tried to murder me with a squinty-eyed look.
I blushed, as I smartly sported a brand new Savile Row suit.
ME (shy-like): Were you about to say something?
MY WIFE: We're broke! We're completely broke!
ME: What would make you say that?
SECURITY GUARD #1: Let's go.
The guards led us toward the elevators.
MY WIFE: You pledged six hundred million dollars for a hospital to be built.
ME: I don't actually have to give it. I don't even know what the word "pledged" means anyway.
All six guards escorted us onto the elevator.
MY WIFE: It means you said you would give somebody six hundred million dollars.
The elevator doors closed behind us.
ME: You said you were going to join Kitty LaRue's knitting club and you never did.
MY WIFE: Knitting club? How's that the same? Sick children won't have to do without.
ME: What about your bouncy demeanor and your sparkling conversation? Kitty LaRue and the knitting club now have to do without!
MY WIFE: I quit my job. I maxed out all our credit. I got pregnant. All because you told me to. Eric, I don't even know where to begin. Our lives... they're completely ruined...
ME: Well, you said you'd join the knitting club and you didn't. You lied to me! To my face!
MY WIFE: Don't try to turn this around.
ME: You don't try to turn this around! I am really mad at you!
SECURITY GUARD #2: Sir, calm down.
ME: I was looking forward to all that stuff you were going to knit!
MY WIFE: Eric, what are we going to do. We owe thousands and thousands of dollars, not to mention the six hundred million. We have nothing. Nothing... Oh God...
ME: What am I going to do? I thought I was getting knitted goods for Christmas, and my birthday, and our anniversary. Oh God! Our anniversary!
MY WIFE: Eric! Listen to me! You don't understand what you've--
I shouted then, stepping all over my wife's angry words.
ME: Our anniversary won't have any sockettes! Or a shaker knit sweater with a big snowflake around the neck! What am I supposed to do now! Oh God! Oh God! Please listen to my prayers!
SECURITY GUARD #1: Sir! Calm down!
My wife looked into my eyes.
MY WIFE: I'll deal with you when we get home.
ME (hesitantly): We don't have a home, honey. Not anymore.
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby.
And I made a break for it.
I flew out the giant glass doors onto the sidewalk, and never slowed down. Or looked back. My shoulders collided into a few pedestrians as I loosened my tie. I threw off my suit jacket. I thought of how my wife was angry and hated me. I thought of everyone who ever hated me. I ran from all my debt, my responsibilities, and soon, my consciousness. When I came to, I was covered in sweat, down to my boxers, and lying on a dirt road in the woods, miles and miles from that meeting in New York City.
As the hot sun beat down on my glistening body, I put my head in my arms and cried. I really cried. All the disappointment, all the failures, all the times I almost had my first success at something, however small, but didn't. I bawled. I let it all out.
And that was when a transport truck screeched on all eighteen of its wheels as it came to a stop a fraction of an inch from my head. I looked up, wiping the tears from my face.
A skinny young man with a mop-top haircut jumped down from the passenger side and soon stood over me.
SKINNY YOUNG MAN: Dude, your body's glistening.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
A Meeting in New York, Part 1
Dear Diary,
Five days ago, my wife and I checked into the Plaza Hotel in New York City. It is one of the most expensive hotels in the country. I can't afford it since I lost my job as a photocopy guy over a month ago and have kept this a secret from my wife ever since. I lied to her that I was promoted to a senior management position at the accounting firm which actually fired me. I have been telling her all kinds of stories to keep her believing that I still have a job. She is now pregnant and without employment (both done at my suggestion) and would kill me if she ever found out I was unemployed, especially since I just pledged a donation for the construction of a new hospital for sick children during a surprise appearance on the TV talk show The View.
As I returned to our hotel room last Thursday afternoon, my wife confronted me.
MY WIFE: How are we going to afford that pledge?
ME: Listen, with this promotion, I have more room to breathe now. I'm not as restricted financially.
MY WIFE: You just pledged over six hundred million dollars!
ME: Is that how much I said? Oh God, that's hilarious. Look at you getting all upset. You're so cute. Six hundred million dollars is honey-roasted peanuts to someone like me now. And besides, head office told me to do it. They're footing the bill.
MY WIFE: What?
I could tell she was about to suspect that I really lost my job. I panicked.
ME: Head office is having a national meeting this weekend. Right here in NYC. Why don't you come? They'd love to have you.
This was completely true, except for the part of them loving to have her, or me for that matter, since I was fired in a scenario some might call hostile, or shortsighted, or even stupid, on my part.
The next day, I wore my brand new Savile Row suit, and my wife slipped into a Christian Dior gown and Tahitian pearls, both of which I purchased at the hotel boutique (charged to our room of course). I then called up a limousine to take us to the meeting in high style.
After we walked through the giant glass doors of the firm's high rise, I approached the front desk and told them I was here for the big meeting. Fortunately, my name was still in their database and we were led to the top floor where all the VPs, board members, and regional managers were seated at one commanding, oval table. There was only one seat left empty, and it was at the head of the table.
ME: Honey, why don't you sit. I'll just stand.
MY WIFE: I feel a bit overdressed.
ME: We're fancy people now. And we're classy.
SOME VP: Excuse me Miss, you can't sit there. That's our CEO's chair and he's late.
ME: She wasn't talking to you, so shut your swamp hole.
SHEILA: What are you doing here?
I turned, and saw Sheila seated at the table. Sheila is the manager of the branch where I used to work as the photocopy guy.
ME: I'm a VP now, Sheila. I've come a long way. You can't buy class like this. You're born with it. So get in line.
SOME ELDERLY, DISTINGUISHED LADY: What's your name? I've never seen you here before?
ME: Well I've never seen you. I'm too busy being a big honcho around here to notice a loser like you.
DISTINGUISHED LADY: I'm Lady Diamont. My father founded this firm.
ME: Glad to see nepotism is alive and well is this joint. I'll have to do something about that. In the meantime, why don't you pack up your desk and get out of my face, stinky.
LADY DIAMONT: Someone call security.
ME: Yes, someone do that. As I look around the table right now, I can see that there's some other deadwood besides yourself that needs tossing out.
I placed one of my buttocks beside my wife's on the chair.
ME: Honey, scooch over. I need to make a speech.
SHEILA: Here we go...
I had to make it look like I was really professional now so that my wife would buy that I had developed into a smart and shrewd businessman.
ME: Everyone, you are all being fired today. You will never work in this city again. Or country. I would like to take this opportunity to further advise to you to purchase tickets for yourselves and your loved ones for the next space shuttle, because you will never get another job on this planet ever again. I will personally see to that. You have my word.
I turned to my wife and smiled. I was so proud of myself.
Just then six unformed security guards burst through the doors.
ME: Security, finally.
I gestured toward everyone at the table.
ME: Take out this garbage.
LADY DIAMONT: That man is an impostor. Restrain him.
The guards rushed toward me.
I grabbed my wife's hand.
ME: Hostile take-over! Run!
I picked up our chair and launched it at the window.
ME: To the window ledge!
The chair just bounced off the thick glass.
And my wife and I were apprehended.
I looked up into my wife's confused face.
ME: I need to tell you something.
MY WIFE: What?
ME: Promise me you won't be mad first.
MY WIFE: Then don't tell me.
ME: I got fired from my job.
MY WIFE: What? When? This week?
ME: Over a month ago.
MY WIFE: As the photocopy guy?
ME: I know, I so loved that job too.
Five days ago, my wife and I checked into the Plaza Hotel in New York City. It is one of the most expensive hotels in the country. I can't afford it since I lost my job as a photocopy guy over a month ago and have kept this a secret from my wife ever since. I lied to her that I was promoted to a senior management position at the accounting firm which actually fired me. I have been telling her all kinds of stories to keep her believing that I still have a job. She is now pregnant and without employment (both done at my suggestion) and would kill me if she ever found out I was unemployed, especially since I just pledged a donation for the construction of a new hospital for sick children during a surprise appearance on the TV talk show The View.
As I returned to our hotel room last Thursday afternoon, my wife confronted me.
MY WIFE: How are we going to afford that pledge?
ME: Listen, with this promotion, I have more room to breathe now. I'm not as restricted financially.
MY WIFE: You just pledged over six hundred million dollars!
ME: Is that how much I said? Oh God, that's hilarious. Look at you getting all upset. You're so cute. Six hundred million dollars is honey-roasted peanuts to someone like me now. And besides, head office told me to do it. They're footing the bill.
MY WIFE: What?
I could tell she was about to suspect that I really lost my job. I panicked.
ME: Head office is having a national meeting this weekend. Right here in NYC. Why don't you come? They'd love to have you.
This was completely true, except for the part of them loving to have her, or me for that matter, since I was fired in a scenario some might call hostile, or shortsighted, or even stupid, on my part.
The next day, I wore my brand new Savile Row suit, and my wife slipped into a Christian Dior gown and Tahitian pearls, both of which I purchased at the hotel boutique (charged to our room of course). I then called up a limousine to take us to the meeting in high style.
After we walked through the giant glass doors of the firm's high rise, I approached the front desk and told them I was here for the big meeting. Fortunately, my name was still in their database and we were led to the top floor where all the VPs, board members, and regional managers were seated at one commanding, oval table. There was only one seat left empty, and it was at the head of the table.
ME: Honey, why don't you sit. I'll just stand.
MY WIFE: I feel a bit overdressed.
ME: We're fancy people now. And we're classy.
SOME VP: Excuse me Miss, you can't sit there. That's our CEO's chair and he's late.
ME: She wasn't talking to you, so shut your swamp hole.
SHEILA: What are you doing here?
I turned, and saw Sheila seated at the table. Sheila is the manager of the branch where I used to work as the photocopy guy.
ME: I'm a VP now, Sheila. I've come a long way. You can't buy class like this. You're born with it. So get in line.
SOME ELDERLY, DISTINGUISHED LADY: What's your name? I've never seen you here before?
ME: Well I've never seen you. I'm too busy being a big honcho around here to notice a loser like you.
DISTINGUISHED LADY: I'm Lady Diamont. My father founded this firm.
ME: Glad to see nepotism is alive and well is this joint. I'll have to do something about that. In the meantime, why don't you pack up your desk and get out of my face, stinky.
LADY DIAMONT: Someone call security.
ME: Yes, someone do that. As I look around the table right now, I can see that there's some other deadwood besides yourself that needs tossing out.
I placed one of my buttocks beside my wife's on the chair.
ME: Honey, scooch over. I need to make a speech.
SHEILA: Here we go...
I had to make it look like I was really professional now so that my wife would buy that I had developed into a smart and shrewd businessman.
ME: Everyone, you are all being fired today. You will never work in this city again. Or country. I would like to take this opportunity to further advise to you to purchase tickets for yourselves and your loved ones for the next space shuttle, because you will never get another job on this planet ever again. I will personally see to that. You have my word.
I turned to my wife and smiled. I was so proud of myself.
Just then six unformed security guards burst through the doors.
ME: Security, finally.
I gestured toward everyone at the table.
ME: Take out this garbage.
LADY DIAMONT: That man is an impostor. Restrain him.
The guards rushed toward me.
I grabbed my wife's hand.
ME: Hostile take-over! Run!
I picked up our chair and launched it at the window.
ME: To the window ledge!
The chair just bounced off the thick glass.
And my wife and I were apprehended.
I looked up into my wife's confused face.
ME: I need to tell you something.
MY WIFE: What?
ME: Promise me you won't be mad first.
MY WIFE: Then don't tell me.
ME: I got fired from my job.
MY WIFE: What? When? This week?
ME: Over a month ago.
MY WIFE: As the photocopy guy?
ME: I know, I so loved that job too.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
So Screwed
Dear Diary,
It's been almost one entire month since I've been fired from my job and I've been keeping it a secret from my wife. This week alone, too scared to tell her the truth, I've lied to her that I've gotten a promotion and a signing bonus and I've offered her the opportunities of both quitting her job and getting pregnant, both of which she's taken me up on and completed. I've also told her to go ahead and spend some money on herself. She's maxed out most of our credit cards on maternity wear and baby gadgets. I've cheered her on in every store as she makes a purchase, and encouraged her to tip all sales staff and cashiers. We are so screwed.
During the past two days, as my wife has been shopping for a new house, I've pretended to go to work and then walked the streets of this city in a faux fur coat and raccoon hat, and a pair of extra thick snow pants, all of which I found for a steal at a garage sale and which I hide under mounds of restaurant trash when I go home at night. These past few days, my fur and pants have smelled putrid since they were not properly air-dried after I threw them into a public pool when I thought I didn't need them anymore, but now I do, since I really don't own anything else.
When I came home last night, my wife confronted me.
MY WIFE: I called you at work today and they said you didn't work there anymore.
I was so scared. And petrified.
ME: Not after today I don't. I just got promoted to the head office in New York City!
MY WIFE: What?
ME: That's where I was today. I just flew back. Pack our things. We're moving.
MY WIFE: I'll have to break our apartment lease.
ME: Pay them whatever. We have to leave tonight. Pack everything we own.
With not much credit to our names, we bought two airplane tickets, and at my insistence, reserved a room for a month at the Plaza, one of the most expensive hotels in the country.
This morning, after I left for my pretend new job wearing a brand new Savile Row suit, and eating scrumptious room service (escargot and a bottle of 1986 Bollinger champagne), I grew anxious that perhaps my wife was suspicious that I was fired from my "photocopy guy" job.
I went down to the street, grabbed my fur and snow pants from the trashcan where I hid them last night, and walked the streets, contemplating my next move. When I was told by a pair of police officers to stop loitering and "smelling up the place", an idea hit me. I ran to ABC studios where The View talkshow is taped.
As my wife turned on the television in our hotel room while receiving a massage, facial and manicure, and nibbling on caviar, she saw me being interview by Barbara Walters and Whoopi Goldberg and the rest of the fine ladies on The View.
BARBARA: This morning, before we started taping, this fine gentleman by the name of Eric appeared at our front door with an important message.
ME: That's right, Barbara. My name is Eric and I am donating some of my newfound wealth to the fine city of New York so that construction of a new hospital for sick children can begin.
BARBARA: Tell them the amount which you are donating, Eric.
ME (smiling): Three hundred million dollars.
WHOOPI: That is fantastic. Eric, you are one wonderful man.
ME: Thank you. But it's the least I can do. I just got a new promotion and I make lots and lots of money and I am not unemployed nor have I ever been fired.
BARBARA: We have Donald Trump on the line. He'd like to say a few words.
DONALD: Barbara, after hearing of this heroic man's contribution, I was inspired to match his donation with three hundred million dollars of my own.
ME: Well, I would like to match your contribution with another three hundred million dollars.
WHOOPI: That is absolutely terrific.
BARBARA: It sure is, Whoopi.
ME: Yes, and I was never fired from my job as a photocopy guy. That never happened, just in case any of your viewers think that ever happened. Because it never did, even if some people might be growing suspicious that it ever did. People loved me as that photocopy guy and they never asked me to vacate the premises after I told everyone where they could go, and just generally, hurt their feelings.
More calls came in. And more people wanted to donate money. And I said I'd match all contributions. It was marvelous. I felt invincible. And exhilarated that my wife probably wouldn't find out, for just a little while longer, that I lost my job.
It's been almost one entire month since I've been fired from my job and I've been keeping it a secret from my wife. This week alone, too scared to tell her the truth, I've lied to her that I've gotten a promotion and a signing bonus and I've offered her the opportunities of both quitting her job and getting pregnant, both of which she's taken me up on and completed. I've also told her to go ahead and spend some money on herself. She's maxed out most of our credit cards on maternity wear and baby gadgets. I've cheered her on in every store as she makes a purchase, and encouraged her to tip all sales staff and cashiers. We are so screwed.
During the past two days, as my wife has been shopping for a new house, I've pretended to go to work and then walked the streets of this city in a faux fur coat and raccoon hat, and a pair of extra thick snow pants, all of which I found for a steal at a garage sale and which I hide under mounds of restaurant trash when I go home at night. These past few days, my fur and pants have smelled putrid since they were not properly air-dried after I threw them into a public pool when I thought I didn't need them anymore, but now I do, since I really don't own anything else.
When I came home last night, my wife confronted me.
MY WIFE: I called you at work today and they said you didn't work there anymore.
I was so scared. And petrified.
ME: Not after today I don't. I just got promoted to the head office in New York City!
MY WIFE: What?
ME: That's where I was today. I just flew back. Pack our things. We're moving.
MY WIFE: I'll have to break our apartment lease.
ME: Pay them whatever. We have to leave tonight. Pack everything we own.
With not much credit to our names, we bought two airplane tickets, and at my insistence, reserved a room for a month at the Plaza, one of the most expensive hotels in the country.
This morning, after I left for my pretend new job wearing a brand new Savile Row suit, and eating scrumptious room service (escargot and a bottle of 1986 Bollinger champagne), I grew anxious that perhaps my wife was suspicious that I was fired from my "photocopy guy" job.
I went down to the street, grabbed my fur and snow pants from the trashcan where I hid them last night, and walked the streets, contemplating my next move. When I was told by a pair of police officers to stop loitering and "smelling up the place", an idea hit me. I ran to ABC studios where The View talkshow is taped.
As my wife turned on the television in our hotel room while receiving a massage, facial and manicure, and nibbling on caviar, she saw me being interview by Barbara Walters and Whoopi Goldberg and the rest of the fine ladies on The View.
BARBARA: This morning, before we started taping, this fine gentleman by the name of Eric appeared at our front door with an important message.
ME: That's right, Barbara. My name is Eric and I am donating some of my newfound wealth to the fine city of New York so that construction of a new hospital for sick children can begin.
BARBARA: Tell them the amount which you are donating, Eric.
ME (smiling): Three hundred million dollars.
WHOOPI: That is fantastic. Eric, you are one wonderful man.
ME: Thank you. But it's the least I can do. I just got a new promotion and I make lots and lots of money and I am not unemployed nor have I ever been fired.
BARBARA: We have Donald Trump on the line. He'd like to say a few words.
DONALD: Barbara, after hearing of this heroic man's contribution, I was inspired to match his donation with three hundred million dollars of my own.
ME: Well, I would like to match your contribution with another three hundred million dollars.
WHOOPI: That is absolutely terrific.
BARBARA: It sure is, Whoopi.
ME: Yes, and I was never fired from my job as a photocopy guy. That never happened, just in case any of your viewers think that ever happened. Because it never did, even if some people might be growing suspicious that it ever did. People loved me as that photocopy guy and they never asked me to vacate the premises after I told everyone where they could go, and just generally, hurt their feelings.
More calls came in. And more people wanted to donate money. And I said I'd match all contributions. It was marvelous. I felt invincible. And exhilarated that my wife probably wouldn't find out, for just a little while longer, that I lost my job.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hiding My Secret Life From My Wife
Dear Diary,
My wife still doesn't know that I've been fired from my job as the "photocopy guy" (at an accounting firm) for over three weeks now. For the first two weeks, I hid out in a café near my former place of employment while entertaining myself with garage sale goods. I've now been banned from all this city's cafés because all are claiming that my "stuff" takes up too much space inside their establishments and leaves none for their "paying customers" (an exclusive club of which, apparently, I'm not a member of).
Every day since this all-city, all-café ban, I've been taking the subway with my wife as she goes to work and I get off at my station, pretending to go to my own job. I then make my way to an alley where all my garage sale wares are hidden underneath tons of restaurant trash, and proceed to lug my old wooden wagon and shopping cart filled with things like an ancient exercise treadmill and a giant 1980s rear-projection television with wood paneling as I search for a place to plug in all my things and then play with them.
I also have to wear some of my second hand purchases just so I don't have to physically transport them. This includes a fabulous floor length, faux fur coat worn over a pair of extra thick, overalls-style snow pants, and a faux raccoon hat with a tail that reaches down to my derrière.
I've been pushing and pulling my property across this city for eight hours a day for six sweltering days now and I still haven't found a place where they will just allow me inside to fully enjoy my belongings. Yesterday, at 4:30pm, with only thirty minutes left before I had to meet up with my wife, I sat atop my heap of possessions and broke down, crying, and exclaiming, "My life sucks."
It was high time to end this ruse or as I like to call it, my "Charade Parade Masquerade".
I hauled my wagon and steered my shopping cart toward a public outdoor pool in a park and when I was certain no one was looking, I shoved everything into the water, including the faux fur and snow pants which I just ripped off my body. I thought this was an ingenious way of getting rid of all this "baggage" without taking up anymore of anyone's space since it would all be under water and no one would have to see it or deal with it.
My stuff, however, made a loud splash as it landed into the water and people yelled things like, "What do you think you're doing?" and "You almost killed my four-year-old! He was swimming right under your junk avalanche!" and "Don't run away! You can't just leave all your garbage in this pool!" but I didn't let on that I could hear anything as I sprinted out of the park as fast as my feet could take me.
When my wife and I arrived home from the subway, my wife exhausted from a long day at work, and myself completely beat from having to heave a lifelong supply of crap across town for over a week now, I felt the time was prime for the Charade Parade Masquerade to be unmasked. I would tell my lovely wife the truth.
ME: I have something to tell you.
MY WIFE: What is it?
I looked into her eyes. They appeared so drained of energy, and compassion, and gave off a hue of slightly "pissed off".
MY WIFE: Well... what is it? Tell me already, for crying out loud. I had a really long, horrible day at work. And you're making it worse right now.
ME: Well...
I swallowed hard. I was so scared.
ME: I got a promotion.
MY WIFE (disbelieving, and maybe annoyed): What? How?
I nodded my head excitedly. Repeatedly.
ME: It's true. I barely believe it myself.
MY WIFE (skeptical): What's your new position?
ME: I'm the branch manager.
MY WIFE: But you're not even an accountant.
ME: I didn't need to be. They just wanted someone to manage all the accountants and since everyone's always doing what I tell them to, they thought I'd be perfect.
MY WIFE: Did they give you a raise?
ME: Yeah. And a signing bonus.
MY WIFE: How much?
ME: Seventy-five thousand dollars.
MY WIFE: Oh my God, Eric, that is such fantastic news!
My wife threw her arms around me and hugged me, squeezing me.
MY WIFE: Let's celebrate! I'm inviting everyone over!
Within a few hours, we had a full-blown party, with a caterer being called in at the last minute and family driving in from out of town. Aunts, uncles, and cousins that I hadn't seen in ages, all raced to our home, from both my family and my wife's. We had a blast, and I got completely wasted and danced the night away.
As I swung my wife around the living room which was transformed into a impromptu dance floor, my wife looked up at me, in a romantic daze.
MY WIFE: Let's have a baby. We can afford it now.
ME: We can afford to have a multiple birth now. That's right. We'll see the doctor tomorrow and they can start pumping you full of drugs.
MY WIFE: Oh Eric...
ME: And you can quit your job tomorrow too if you want.
My wife held onto me tightly. It was the best night of my life.
When I woke up this morning, I found my wife in the washroom, with a smile on her face, and some kind of plastic swizzle stick in her hand.
MY WIFE: I'm pregnant.
We instantaneously hugged.
ME: Let's have another party tonight!
MY WIFE: All right.
ME: I'll be right back. I have to do something.
I ran out the door, thinking I am so poor. How am I going to raise a child and support my wife who's no longer working? We have absolutely nothing. We have no right having a child.
I was going back to the public pool. I wanted my snow pants back.
My wife still doesn't know that I've been fired from my job as the "photocopy guy" (at an accounting firm) for over three weeks now. For the first two weeks, I hid out in a café near my former place of employment while entertaining myself with garage sale goods. I've now been banned from all this city's cafés because all are claiming that my "stuff" takes up too much space inside their establishments and leaves none for their "paying customers" (an exclusive club of which, apparently, I'm not a member of).
Every day since this all-city, all-café ban, I've been taking the subway with my wife as she goes to work and I get off at my station, pretending to go to my own job. I then make my way to an alley where all my garage sale wares are hidden underneath tons of restaurant trash, and proceed to lug my old wooden wagon and shopping cart filled with things like an ancient exercise treadmill and a giant 1980s rear-projection television with wood paneling as I search for a place to plug in all my things and then play with them.
I also have to wear some of my second hand purchases just so I don't have to physically transport them. This includes a fabulous floor length, faux fur coat worn over a pair of extra thick, overalls-style snow pants, and a faux raccoon hat with a tail that reaches down to my derrière.
I've been pushing and pulling my property across this city for eight hours a day for six sweltering days now and I still haven't found a place where they will just allow me inside to fully enjoy my belongings. Yesterday, at 4:30pm, with only thirty minutes left before I had to meet up with my wife, I sat atop my heap of possessions and broke down, crying, and exclaiming, "My life sucks."
It was high time to end this ruse or as I like to call it, my "Charade Parade Masquerade".
I hauled my wagon and steered my shopping cart toward a public outdoor pool in a park and when I was certain no one was looking, I shoved everything into the water, including the faux fur and snow pants which I just ripped off my body. I thought this was an ingenious way of getting rid of all this "baggage" without taking up anymore of anyone's space since it would all be under water and no one would have to see it or deal with it.
My stuff, however, made a loud splash as it landed into the water and people yelled things like, "What do you think you're doing?" and "You almost killed my four-year-old! He was swimming right under your junk avalanche!" and "Don't run away! You can't just leave all your garbage in this pool!" but I didn't let on that I could hear anything as I sprinted out of the park as fast as my feet could take me.
When my wife and I arrived home from the subway, my wife exhausted from a long day at work, and myself completely beat from having to heave a lifelong supply of crap across town for over a week now, I felt the time was prime for the Charade Parade Masquerade to be unmasked. I would tell my lovely wife the truth.
ME: I have something to tell you.
MY WIFE: What is it?
I looked into her eyes. They appeared so drained of energy, and compassion, and gave off a hue of slightly "pissed off".
MY WIFE: Well... what is it? Tell me already, for crying out loud. I had a really long, horrible day at work. And you're making it worse right now.
ME: Well...
I swallowed hard. I was so scared.
ME: I got a promotion.
MY WIFE (disbelieving, and maybe annoyed): What? How?
I nodded my head excitedly. Repeatedly.
ME: It's true. I barely believe it myself.
MY WIFE (skeptical): What's your new position?
ME: I'm the branch manager.
MY WIFE: But you're not even an accountant.
ME: I didn't need to be. They just wanted someone to manage all the accountants and since everyone's always doing what I tell them to, they thought I'd be perfect.
MY WIFE: Did they give you a raise?
ME: Yeah. And a signing bonus.
MY WIFE: How much?
ME: Seventy-five thousand dollars.
MY WIFE: Oh my God, Eric, that is such fantastic news!
My wife threw her arms around me and hugged me, squeezing me.
MY WIFE: Let's celebrate! I'm inviting everyone over!
Within a few hours, we had a full-blown party, with a caterer being called in at the last minute and family driving in from out of town. Aunts, uncles, and cousins that I hadn't seen in ages, all raced to our home, from both my family and my wife's. We had a blast, and I got completely wasted and danced the night away.
As I swung my wife around the living room which was transformed into a impromptu dance floor, my wife looked up at me, in a romantic daze.
MY WIFE: Let's have a baby. We can afford it now.
ME: We can afford to have a multiple birth now. That's right. We'll see the doctor tomorrow and they can start pumping you full of drugs.
MY WIFE: Oh Eric...
ME: And you can quit your job tomorrow too if you want.
My wife held onto me tightly. It was the best night of my life.
When I woke up this morning, I found my wife in the washroom, with a smile on her face, and some kind of plastic swizzle stick in her hand.
MY WIFE: I'm pregnant.
We instantaneously hugged.
ME: Let's have another party tonight!
MY WIFE: All right.
ME: I'll be right back. I have to do something.
I ran out the door, thinking I am so poor. How am I going to raise a child and support my wife who's no longer working? We have absolutely nothing. We have no right having a child.
I was going back to the public pool. I wanted my snow pants back.
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