The Battle for Jeff (part III)

This is the third part of a never ending post about the battle for the shipping guy, Jeff. If you haven't read part 1 and part 2  this might not make much sense. Although, there is not a lot of hope for sense even if you have read both earlier posts. But, they are readily available, and it probably wouldn't hurt, too much, to go have a quick read.

"You know, the waiting is the hardest part." Dr. Dawg said, to everyone in the room and to no one in particular. It was just something to say. He took a sip of coffee, and continued, "at least we have coffee." He took a small bite of a cheese danish, and went on "and cheese danish." He took a bite of a glazed donut, and added, "and donuts." He took small nibble of an everything bagel and I cut him off.

"We get the idea."

I had been watching the action reports scrolling across the screen. Our tiny platoons of minuscule robots were holding their own, "Alpha squad has crested the elbow, sending Charley to reinforce." That was promising. But, they bogged down trying to get past he Capitulum. When they started losing ground we got a little panicked and ate a whole coffee cake, and then decided to send in the little bitty attack helicopters.

We were preparing the IV when the screen flashed the ominous message. "Have Surrendered."

"What?!!?" I almost shrieked. And the little killer robots must have heard me. Because the reply flashed almost immediately on the monitor.

"Surrender might be a poor choice of words. We actually went over and joined the other side."

"What!?!?" I asked with a lot more dignity. the last "what" had really come out wrong, and it was a little embarrassing. These were co-workers. But, it was still loud enough for them to hear.

"They offered us a great deal. Regular hours, yearly performance evaluations. Very little travel, it was a sweetheart offer. And you guys were kind of jerks sometimes. Always adding stuff, removing stuff, sending us into minefields to prove we could withstand explosives, really uncool, dude."

"Isn't that treason?" Dr, Dawg asked between bites of a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit with Tabasco
sauce.

A dark, ominous, terrifying voice from the shadows in the back of the room said "treason is a seditious act of rebellion against a sovereign country. What you have here is a coup.*"

It was Bob, the custodian. Nobody knew where he came from, one day he just showed up, and next thing you know he was on the payroll. His past was steeped in mystery. As mysterious as the scar that ran under the patch covering his left eye. He was a dark presence where ever he appeared, and thank God he chose to stay hidden most days.

His voice was like the echo made by an atomic reaction. It was soft, and slow, and powerful, and terrifying. We had talked about firing him (he never did anything) but nobody wanted to tell him. We had left a note, once, asking him to clean the executive restroom, and he nailed the ashes to the refrigerator door. We learned to live with him.

"That little robot you sent in there the other day has set himself up a little kingdom inside Jeff's head. He runs it with little regard for law, and no care at all for Jeff. Any other machine you send in is going to end up on the "other side" if you see what I am saying. What you need is an expert in insurgency warfare, a man who can operate under cover behind enemy lines. A man who has no objections to fighting dirty. You need a real bastard."

"Are you free?" I asked, before taking another bite of a world class breakfast burrito.

*Thank you +S. Bradley Stoner.

Shoe shopping, and other war stories.

Over the weekend my wife and I went to the mall to pick up her sunglasses.  She is very practical, and frugal, so getting her to buy prescription sunglasses took considerable salesmanship, endless arm twisting, and the right sale, or at least the right sale.  She said they were very comfortable, she looked charming and pretty in them, and she could see, even in daylight.  She was flush with achievement, and ready for a new challenge.  "Hey, let's go over to Von Maur and look for some shoes," she said.

"Sure, that sounds easy, why not?"  I knew there were a lot of good reasons, but, she is my wife, and sometimes you need to sacrifice.  So, we went.

It started pretty innocently, there were not many people (it was early) so I braved the inner area, feeling brave, invincible, immortal.  Things were smooth, and I was flying high.  "Let's go look in the "bargain room," she said, an evil twinkle in her eye.

"Sure."  But, as I got closer, I smelled the carnage, decay, death coming from inside, and said, "I'll just wait out here."  Quickly finding a chair towards the edge of the department, with my back to the wall, and good lines of vision, I sat down.  It was ideal, nobody could sneak up behind me, and I could keep all of the shoe shoppers in sight.

Off to one side was a group, maybe 4 or 5, shopping together, for safety probably.  One of the women was wearing a dress (a flowery mid length number with a flutter hem) and decided a pair of cowboy (cowgirl?) boots would compliment it nicely.  Standing in front of the mirror and admiring the boots and dress together, she asked, "What do you think of this look?"

Most of her friends were pretty supportive, but one, an older, angry looking woman (who had been slamming down the complimentary coffee, right out of the carafe) in a pink jump suit with a flowered belt, and matching purse said, "those boots, that dress, and makeup, you look like you should work the evening shift at the I-74 Holy Diesel Truck-o-Rama. (where your 5th truck wash is always free)."

That is the wrong thing to say to a woman with such easy access to pointy healed shoes.  The woman
in the dress grabbed a Charles David Sway Pump, (only $129.95, compare to $195.00) shrieked at a pitch that would have disrupted the sonar echo location of bats, leaped into the air and landed a glancing blow to the temple of the caustic woman in the pink jump suit.  She saw what was coming and grabbed some Jessica Simpson Roxee Platform Sandal (on sale for $59.95, down from $70.00), and while wiping a small trickle of blood from her cheek started circling the woman in the dress.

By now, other shoppers had started to form a circle around the combatants, and a low, guttural chant was starting to pulse, like a wave, from the crowd, "shoes, shoes, shoes, winner gets the shoes."  Some of them were holding lit torches, (where did they get those?) and there was a vendor selling shots of cranberry vodka, and brie, with water crackers.

Soon, all of the women were wrestling for shoes, and the floor was littered with little nylon socks, and flip flops.  It was a dystopian view, filled with anger, and hate, and then one woman, stopped pounding another woman's head on the floor and said, "your dress would look so cute with those Steve Madden Palet Gladiator Sandals, (only $49.95, noramllyShoe $89.00).

All of the women turned toward each other and started helping pick out shoes, and purses, soon they were headed to casual wear, and beach attire.  Followed by the sounds of distant, disturbing drumming.

My wife found some shoes she liked, but missed the show.  Poor girl.