Blanche is a “Club Kid” thru and thru. A “Raver” from way back. He’s been hitting the house-music NYC dance circuit since looooong before he was anywhere near legal drinking age. He goes out dancing and partying most nights, work-night or no. I’m leading a similarly hedonistic lifestyle. When I’m not rehearsing, I’m rockin’ out into the early morning hours with my band, touring all the cool NYC clubs like CBGB’s, Spiral, The Continental and Kenny’s Castaways.
On the really bad days, me and Blanche become a duet of moans and groans - a chorus of misery that we form in order to get us thru our individual hells:
“O…GAWD…just get me thru this fucking DAY…”
“My head feels like somebody slammed it in a car door…”
“I’m about to projectile vomit all over this computer.”
“Oooh…Can I watch?”
“HELP ME…. LORD-JESUS-MARY-AND-JOSEPH…HELP MEEEEEEE….”
“Well, Blanche, you DO look like something the cat wouldn’t bother to drag in.”
“Hmmm. Are you looking in the mirror again, Blanche?”
“Fuck you, Blanche.”
“Don’t MAKE me rip off your arm and BEAT you with it…”
“BLOW ME.”
All interspersed with waves of our delirious laughter and the incessant SHUSHING of various co-workers.
My crazy schedule is also compounded by the fact that my divorce is now going thru. I am moving into a cute little studio apartment and everything in my life is topsy-turvy. Just around the time I’m wondering how the hell I can keep up with this schizo schedule, matters are taken out of my hands altogether. There is a massive layoff in the firm just before the Christmas holidays. Bunch of heads are set to rollin’ and me and Blanche are among those who are being ditched.
So one fine morning, the bi-polar nut of a broad who heads personnel of this company calls us in one by one to let us know we’re getting the sack. I’ve quit jobs before but never been let go. Feels a little strange. Also, I have not asked for any kind of alimony from my ex-husband. I don’t want any. Our parting is amicable and I just assume I’ll always have a job. But what the hell, I’ve got about 6 months of unemployment to burn thru while I sort things out. The worst part of the lay-off is knowing how much I’ll miss regular contact with the new friends I’ve made at this job. Of course, Blanche tops the list.
Me (brushing up on my maudlin skills): “Oh, Blanche. How will I ever BEAR not SEEING you every day?”
Blanche: “Oh, PLEEEEEEEEZE – the DRAMA. You may not see me every day but you can’t get rid of me THAT easily, Blanche!”
Anyhow, we have a little time yet for our daily dose of BLANCHE SQUARED. Two more weeks to be exact, because the idiots who run this 3-ring circus tell us (after they FIRE us) that they will – get this – ALLOW US TO WORK FOR TWO MORE WEEKS. How gracious! Can you imagine??!?!
Me and Blanche make the most of it, of course. If we were behaving like insubordinate lunatics BEFORE the layoff, we are now positively incorrigible. We sit around with our feet up on our desks, reading The Enquirer to each other out loud. We come in late and leave early. We take 3-hour lunches and come back half drunk. We do our “filing” together - throwing away important-looking documents and shoving the rest into the wrong files. Once in awhile, we answer the phone only to put people on hold indefinitely. Those two weeks fly by like a vacation.
On our final day of work, I am packing the last of my personal belongings into a box. I don’t even see it coming, but as I remove a ragged photo of me and Blanche from my bulletin board, I start to cry. I feel mortified and vulnerable. People are glancing at me furtively: My wise-ass armor has fallen off…
…But that armor barely has a chance to clank to the ground before SUPER-BLANCHE, sensing my distress, plunges in to the rescue. To the tune of Judas Priest’s popular metal song ‘Breaking The Law’, he has changed the words to suit his current actions, yell-chanting at his desk: “STEALING SUPPLIES – STEALING SUPPLIES!” - His smile coat-hanger wide, his hips gyrating as he tosses staplers, post-it notes, pens, Scotch-tape, scissors, file folders, anything that is not nailed down – into 4 HUGE SHOPPING BAGS.
I have stopped crying and now I can’t stop laughing. Shopping bags stuffed to capacity, Blanche links arms with me - “Let’s BLOW this pop-stand, Blanche! This damn ship has sailed!” - and off we tromp together, down the hallway, down the staircase and out of the building. A regular modern-day Dorothy and Scarecrow, ready for our next adventure on our own personal Yellow Brick Road.
To Be Continued…
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