You know that line? You have to say it with the appropriate amount of eyebrow raising. Also, an excessive amount of cheese must be added the announcer's voice--mozzerella and cheddar jack.
Anyway, here's the version I just came up with for myself:
Wife and animal lover by night! [Announcer voice] But by day, she's a studio audience member! Give her a hand, folks!
Let me explain. Sitting here in my cube, concentrating on my computer screen, and all of a sudden I became the unwilling studio audience member for an episode of Days of Our Lives.
I was not pleased.
I always get annoyed when the managers are out. Whenever they go off-site, it's a free ticket for the delinquents I work with to be . . . uh . . . delinquents. Top notch use of synonyms, eh?
I can't do anything sneaky this time (like a gender switcharoo) to try and keep this person anonymous (you'll know why in a second), but I'll do my best to not make it obvious who I'm talking about.
One of my fellow ice cubes (cubicles . . . ha ha?) made an enormous announcement at work, and it caused a huge dramatic day that I was not in the mood for at all. She announced to everyone that she is pregnant, whoops.
What I mean is that she said it just like that: I'm pregnant, whoops.
Aside: I'm not sure if there was any form of resistance put in place for the swimmers, but that's a separate issue. Normally pregnancy is something you congratulate a person for, right? So I did, despite the "whoops." Truthfully, I don't really care one way or the other (about if she was trying to trick the guy or not). Her lack of defense against swimmers is really not my problem or business, nor is it interesting material for this post.But when people start flying off the handle and completely losing it right next to my cubicle, well I say that's fair game! It's just that the pregnancy announcement is what started the whole ball a-rolling.
I was sitting at my cube, minding my own business and trying to tune out the yakka yakka when all of a sudden I realized the yakka yakka had turned into YAKKA! YAKKA! And then I started to distinguish words from the incessent wawh wawh wawh'ing.
It was a fight! Right here in my office! I couldn't believe it. I stopped working and started eavesdropping for all I was worth.
Oh, come on. Don't judge. You would have done the same thing!
The whole dramatic shebang reminded me of a time in college.
I was in my apartment, sleeping in (what else is new?), when I was awakened by the sound of shouts and thumps. My apartment complex was pretty unique and therefore hard to describe. The complex was just two levels, and the bottom level was sunk into the ground a bit, so from my window on the second story I was only a little bit above ground level. Make sense? Forget it, who cares.
Back to the shouting.
It was a gal I had never met but who was apparently my neighbor. The fight had been going on for some time. It was summer and I had my windows open, so I had front row seats for all the drama that was about to ensue. I pricked my ears and sat on my bed looking out at the show.
I could hear through the walls that the gal was crying and screaming, and what woke me up was the sound of something hitting the wall. Or perhaps a bookshelf got knocked over? Who knows. Two guys came out of the apartment to make a phone call, and it took me a minute to realize he was on the phone with 9-1-1.
While he was speaking to the operator, she kept screaming and carrying on, and then I saw her come out into the parking lot with a big kitchen knife held to her wrist. She screamed at the guy on the phone: You want me to do it! You know you do! Big, gasping, rasping sobs. She practically growling with emotion.
He shooed her back inside (probably because he knew the entire apartment complex was watching) and his friend took over the phone call. He was walking around and I couldn't really hear him very well anymore, but he proceeded to tell the 9-1-1 operator what was going on. He told the operator that his friend had broken up with his girlfriend and was trying to move out, and she was threatening to kill herself.
Next thing I knew, a firetruck was pulling into my apartment complex. Then an ambulance. Then the sheriff, SWAT team . . . the works.
They weren't taking any chances, and I was fascinated!
Three SWAT guys with the big clear shields went marching into the apartment, there was a lot of bumping and thumping, and then finally they led her in handcuffs and stuffed her in the sherrif's car. Still crying.
It was awesome.
Back in the office: we didn't have to call SWAT, but there was a lot of yelling and arm waving and gesticulating. Then all the parties separated and the fight continued via voicemail messages. I only got to hear one side, but it didn't matter because the yakka yakka turned into a re-capping of events for anyone that walked into the room.
I felt like I was watching a movie . . . all that was missing was popcorn. Or, more accurately, like I was at the theater and all that was missing was the person that holds up the "Quiet" and "Laughter" signs. Both today and in college I felt guilty for watching, but the college situation I was woken up and sitting in my own home, and at work I was minding my own business in my cubicle.
What's a girl to do?