QUITE THE SITUATION

O, boy.  This J-O-B of mine.  It’s really a pip.  All of these office jobs are pips.  In case it hasn’t hit you yet, this world is a regular insane asylum and an office job will get ya front-row seats EVERY TIME.

I’ve worked in plenty of offices over the years.  Import firms.  Export firms.  Daycare centers.  Accounting firms.  Corporate banking.  Insurance companies.  Contracting firms.   Construction companies.  Trucking companies.  And then, of course, there’s my latest (and I do believe longest) office gig:   LAW FIRM.

Working in a small law firm is like no other office job I have ever had.  Well, aside from my boss being a more-than-somewhat unhinged individual in his own right, I have to say that the quality of the CLIENTELE goes off into the stratospheric charts as far as being – on the whole – deranged.  I blame this on the fact that once you’re looking to hire a lawyer, you’re generally at the end of your rope and sort of a desperate character at that point.  Not ALWAYS the case of course, but if there’s anything these past 12 (!!!) years or so has taught me, it IS the case about 99.9999999% of the time.

Today was a doozy at work, and I ALMOST decided to write this blog about today but then I remembered an even more bizarre work story so that’s the one I decided to share for now.  Not to worry.  It’s not like there’ll be a shortage of these any time soon.

Many particularly loony potential clients show up unannounced.  They are of the “wander in wild-eyed off the street” variety.  If my boss happens to be in the office when this happens, he’ll initially make himself scarce.  In other words, he BOLTS with blinding speed into the bathroom, SLAMMING the door behind him.   This endearing tactic leaves the insane person alone with me, and he/she will inevitably start telling ME all their bullshit problems that I couldn’t give 2 craps about.  And they usually smell bad or have some kind of compulsive or unsanitary tic or habit.  I don’t know why this is, but it’s nearly always a guarantee.  I will not bother to describe these tics or habits and please believe me when I say it’s for the best.

Anyhow, when my boss has finally composed himself enough to make his way out of the bathroom, he’ll then gregariously invite his prospective new client into his private office with all of the fanfare and sociability of a mayor presenting someone with a key to the city.   An enterprising little bullshit dance, performed with flare and verve. 

Monday. Thru. Friday. Every. Goddamn. Week. Year. After. Year.

BUT – on this occasion, my boss happened to be at the courthouse and it was just me in the office.  Ya know.  HOLDING DOWN THE FORT. 

So there I was, sitting at my desk, surfing the web and minding my own B.I. bid’ness-as-usual when in walks this strange dude.  (That’s another thing - my idiot boss always leaves the front door unlocked.  If I don’t stay on top of the situation, any freak or murderer can waltz right in.) 

Strange dude shuffles in and is standing before me.   Maybe 60 years old.  Rumpled corduroys, nubby sweater.  Grayish, disheveled hair.  Damp, sloppy moustache.  Black horn-rimmed glasses balanced crooked on his doughy face. 

I ask my favorite all-time question: “Can I help you?”

And then He speaks.  Now, I think I’m pretty decent at writing phonetically but I’m  gonna ask you nice people to help me out here and also try to imagine his voice as a combo of Dracula and Pepe` Le Pew, only on serious barbiturates.

Dude: “Ah WANDER eef-a YEW kin HALP weeth a certain TERRIBLE SEET-YEW-AY-SHUN.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the lawyer is in court all day today.  I can take your name and telephone number, and I promise he will call you as soon as he returns.”

Dude: “THEEZ  SEET-YEW-AY-SHUN…eet  eez vurrrrry serious.  VERY SERIOUS.”

Me: “Well, sir – I’m sorry to hear about your situation, but there’s nothing that I can…”

Dude: “EETS ABOUT MY WIVE.  I WANDER EEF I kin jus’ tell YEW and maybe…”

Me: “Sir, I am not a lawyer.  The only thing I can do for you is take your num…”

Dude: “MY WIVE eez being TAUNTED most CRUELLY!  EET EES NOT RIGHT!”

Me: “Taunted?  By who?”  (Why O WHY does my blasted curiosity always have to get the best of me?)

Dude (hissing in an almost malevolent whisper): “There are PEEEE-pul, posing as VOLUNTEERS…at her JOB.”

Me: “Posing as volunteers?  What kind of job is this?”

Dude: “THEY ARE IMPOSTERS!!!” (Smacks my desk.)

Me: “Wow.”

Dude: “Zey are MOCKING my WIVE.  They are merely POSING as VOLUNTEERS and zey haff zee NERFFF to TAUNT and MOCK her!  At her own playzzzz of employment!!!”

Me: “So where does your wife work?”

Dude: “In zeee LAB.  Taking BLOOD.”

Me: “And these volunteers are mocking her? About taking blood?”

Dude: “NO NO NO NO NO.   THEY ARE NOT VOLUNTEERS.  They are merely POSING as VOLUNTEERZZZZZZ….”

Ok, so now I can see that it was a mistake engaging him because the dude is getting all riled up. 

Me: “Ok, sir.  I’m going to ask you to leave now because I’m very busy…”

Dude: “WHAT WOOOOD YEW DEW???”

Me: “What would I do about what.”

Dude (angry as all hell now): “EEFF PEOPLE POSING AS VOLUNTEERS WERE MOCKING YEW, WHAT WOULD YEW DEW IN SUCH A SEE-CHEW-AY-SHUN???”

Me: “Well, I don’t know.  Because I’m not in that situation.  But I’ll tell you what I’d do if you don’t get the hell out of my face right now.”

Dude: “WHAT?  I AM ASKING YEW WHAT WOULD YEW DEW????”

Me: “Please leave, sir.  This is the last time I am going to ask you.”

He stares at me reproachfully, not moving for a moment or two.  I return my eyes to my computer screen, simultaneously opening my top drawer and removing my little can of pepper spray.  He leaves.  I get up and lock the door behind him.

Hey – gotta pay that rent!  

Anyhow, that dude never came back.  I’m sure it’s just as well, but now I’ll always be left to wonder what kind of imposter-volunteer-lab-mockery was going on with his wife’s situation.   Oh, how it haunts me. 

                                               

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