Drama at the Cubicle

Today, Bosley and I had the "pleasure" of experiencing cubicle life. The occasion was "Bring Your Child To Work Day". For the safety of Bosley's dignity, we shall not mention the crayons at the breakfast extravaganza. Our first workshop was communications in which a woman who shall not be named droned on about the importance of reading, writing, and arts and crafts. As we sat, tortured beyond belief, waiting for the moment in which the torment would come to a halt. Alas, this took 45 minutes... The workshop was meant to teach communication skills, but in the words of Bosley, "I lost more knowledge than I gained."

Our next workshop was The Mini Media Training, which required participants to get in front of a camera, assume the part of a celebrity, and finally make a fool out of themselves. Fun, no? Each person could claim a product, but the girl who caught our eye, let's call her "Obnoxious Tween" took five lipglosses and a deluxe eyeshadow palette, with no regards for the feelings of humanity. We could tell, from the moment we sat down that this "girl" was trouble. A boy, shall we say, with a british accent opened his noise hole and after he had uttered a few words, this smelly girl leaned accross the table, and said "You know, I have a friend who sounds JUST LIKE YOU", her words dripping with condecendence. We couldn't stand to stay a full 45 minutes, so needless to say, we got up and left.

On our way back to the home cubicle, we were locked outside of the elevators, needing a pass key to navigate the cubicle farm. Unfortunately, we had not yet obtained said pass key, so were left with no choice but to wait for mindless passerbys to grant us entrance. It was not long before we ended up wondering the slums of the cubicles aimlessly. We asked a cubicle zombie were to find cubicle #645C, he was of no use, merely telling us to switch floors. Again, we were trapped behind the glass doors of shame. As the doors were about to close on our opportunity of entrance, Bosley sprinted to the door screaming and scared a family or two. Wandering aimlessly, we eventually found ourselves at the cubicle slums. Passing by mounds of paperwork and decrepit water-fountains, we knew we were done for. Luckily, within minutes, we saw our mentor across the hallway who led us back to the safety of the higher- end cubicles. Blame us if you will, but why don't YOU try navigating through a maze of homogenous small cubes?

Through our experience in the workspace, we had made many a friend, and eventually a possy. This possy consisted of Mentor's cubicle neighbor, who we shall refer to as "Kick-Ass Coworker" and A\as we headed to lunch, great drama unfolded, to our delight. A couple of high society execs pushed pass us at the vicinity of the elevators. As she entered the elevator, she exclaimed, "Oh, I thought you were a herd of buffalo!" Oh no she di-int! As we entered the elevator as well, she then said, "Oh! I didn't know you were getting in the elevator." The comment had not sunk in at first, but over time, the true meaning of her words unraveled. The drama was present and flaming. After registering the snark comments made, we laughed as we discussed the starategy in which we would put her in her place.

As you can see, our sojourn to the land of rouge cubicles, had adverse affects on our mental health and well being. Needless to say, we'll be coming back next year. :)

The Beginner's and Normie Dictionary

For those who are not too familiar with Yasy speak, there are a few terms which you should get acquainted with...

Cubicle Life = Drama that unfolds in the cubicle oriented workplace

Doof = Doofus

Normie = One who is untan

Obvi = Obviously

Stoop = Stoop

Stoopette = Female stoop

Stoopicle = The workspace of a typical stoop

Stoopwear = Things that may only be worn by stoops

Tan = Tan is not a color, it is a lifestyle. There are four main levels of tanness which are (from least to most): Normie, Spray- tanned, Tan, Sun- bleached. To be truly tan and accepted in the tan community, you must have an established "tan walk". Your standard tan walk consists of the tanned individual walking in a tan manor while simultaneously providing a tan beat or rhythm in the background.

Yummzerr = An expression indicating food of the delicious variety

Drama at the Tennis Court II

Today Bosley and I attended our second tennis lesson. Bosley arrived before I did (as usual because of my 1 ½ hour commute.) She walked in the courts and immediately a man screamed at her to close the door. As she walked by, a tennis ball rolled at her feet. Its owner said, “Thank you.” Assuming Bosley would get the ball. When she did not, he said, “Can you get the ball, missy?” She said “Oh, sorry?” He then responded rudely with, “I guess you are too young to be missy, lady.” I came soon after. The doors were shut and I had to walk around like some commoner. Bosley dumped her partner for moi , but then again who wouldn’t. We watched the commoners play “King of the Court”, when a ball flew high over the head of Boy in the ridiculously long sleeved shirt for a hot New York summer day, so he jumped, tripped over his feet resembling an imbecile. Can we say faux-pas? This amused us to the fullest extent. Soon after an injustice occurred. We were (dare I say it?) CUT (in line.)
As you can see, our sojourn to the land of tennis courts had adverse affects on our mental health and well being, needless to say, we're never going back. The rest of this historical encounter is lost forever, as this is where the napkin ends.

Drama at the Tennis Court I

Today Bosley (aka Ed) and I attended a tennis lesson. Surrounded by tennis geeks and beginners, we joined a group. "Line up," cried an instructor. "what is this?" I yelled. "It's okay, you're just not adaptable," Bosley said. Bosley and I missed many balls, but eventually made it to the other side of the net. (An accomplishment, trust me.) It was a game of King of the Court. Soon after, we failed and retreated to the end of the line. After a long agonizing wait, we were on deck, but boy in red and boy in green in front of us refused to move. We cut were ahead and were scolded by "Man in Black" aka Idiot"Girls, back in line!" Can we say "faux-pas"? But the boys inevitably lost and a mere "shot" later we were up in our rightful place. The class ended and we rented a court. Or we attempted to. We put our names on the wait list and had our shoes inspected. We waited and waited as the courts opened up. Bosley asked her parental unit if we could just take an empty court. She said we had to ask Scruffy, oh, I mean the court keeper for permission. He said no and that Bosley had to put her name on the list. She told him it was. He looked down at the list and said that, no, it wasn't. Then he paused. "Oh, you mean the waiting list?"Bosley sighed as he picked it up. She was 10th on the list. We sat back down as more and more courts opened up.Bosley went up with her mom while I hid watching. He said no again because we were 10th on the list. Finally our names were called and just to hold us up even longer, he checked our shoes again. This is not nearly the end of our troubles. We meandered to the courts looking good, feelin' good BUT we were situated next to who we refer to as Liver Spot Joe and his wife Carol, the rudest people who had the displeasure of meeting that day. Bosley and I simply abhor them. It all started when their ball was "ON THE FENCE!" Does this mean anything, reader? I think not! But it was uttered. I didn't know what to do so I ignored the ignoramus until he started referring to me as Missy and bellowed, "YOU MUST BE DREAMING!" At this I was shocked! A Normie was belittling me! Later I found out that he was commanding me to fetch his tennis ball! Bosley was equally as shocked. The inhumanity! Before I looked back to kick him, he had already gone back to playing while showing off his latest hip replacement. I went back to playing with Bosley. I was still shaken so we switched places so I could avoid the ignoramus. Not long after, Bosley was attacked. The ball had come into our court towards Bosley. She didn't notice it so she ignored it. Liver Spot Joe struck again! When Bosley didn't fetch his ball he quickly snapped, "It is customary on the tennis courts to retrieve other people's tennis balls when they come into your court. Bosley hit the ball into his court being the person she is. She summoned me to the net and said, "This guy needs to learn the difference between customary and mandatory." When a ball came near Bosley and ours went into the other court, she assumed giving the closer one to the other people was polite. "That's not ours, it's yours! Could you please give us back our ball!" Liver Spot Joe's tennis balls came into our court while ours went into his. The ignoramus refused to move his Liver Spots to get the ball, but made me get both his and mine. To our relief the time slot ended and he retreated to the nursing home he came from. I guess some people can play tennis and can't get their own balls.

The Big Apple in a nutshell

The Big Apple is filled with eccentric people, places, and things such as, waitresses who deliver bitten food, liver spotted tennis enthusiasts, assorted jelly beans in Bryant Park, and Soho's wide variety of clothing stores. I am here to guide you through the mayhem that is my city.