My Day at Work
By Artie Lange


"The speed of time is one second per second," he announced to the assemblage of lab coats. There was disdain in his voice and an “82” pin on his lapel.

“Military, I think,” I whispered to Sasha. “He must have been in the Eighty-Second Airborne.”

Sasha shushed my almost silent supposition and spoke scoldingly of my selfish stance towards the seasoned superintendent, who was our new boss.

To my credit, I deflected Sasha’s defamatory declarations and deliberately declared détente, as I no longer disapproved of my desk mate’s dalliances.

“I forgive you for everything,” I said softly, my hand giving his thigh a squeeze as tight as my words were slack. Our eyes locked long enough for me to share with him an effeminate and loving smile.

Sasha pulled back quickly, “what the !” He was stopped before his panicked response could continue. A hundred set of eyes shoot darts through his skull. His co-workers were not amused by the interruption.

The General, or whatever his rank was, raised his voice loud enough to refocus the audience’s attention on him.

“Thought is not something we have time for at this company,” he measuredly said, too slow for someone who is so concerned with time, I thought.

“Thought gets us distracted,” he continued, every word gaining emphasis.

“The climax was soon to come,” I said and then winced. As a person who prides himself on words, climax and come should never be set in the same sentence. Pornography has permanently divorced from proper usage two perfectly acceptable words.

“From now on,” and with this the lights dimmed in b-movie fashion, signaling to us the ominous words to come.

“From now on,” he repeated this part to fully gain everyone’s attention. Then he said it again.

“From now on, I’ll do the thinking for all of us. I’ll think and you'll do. Is that clear?” His words were authoritative and seismic, the room shook with fear.

“You dawdle, Sasha, you delay. I forgive you for being so slothful.”

Sasha shook his head with disgust. He thinks I am being silly when I am steadfastly serious.

“You! You got a problem with this?” Colonel Carthwright, or whatever, was dressing down Sasha. “Shake your head all you want to, my friend, but I hear one more smart-ass remark from you, I’ll can your ass!”

The Admiral, or whatever, had now bounded off the stage and was face to face with Sasha. Lieutenant Lipshitz, or whatever, came closer to Sasha, bringing his mouth to Sasha’s ear.

“Try me, dipshit,” the Captain, or whatever, said in a laughed whisper. “They don’t call me Avery “Eighty-six them all” Anderson for nothing.”

Hey, that’s not an eighty-two on his coat after all, I thought. Maybe this guy isn’t prior military.

My civilian boss was still next to me, still confronting Sahsa. Sweat beads were rolling down his pink, hot skin. He was waiting for Sasha to throw the first punch.

“Sir, my name is Artie Lange and I’m fully prepared not to think, sir,” I said aloud. I was beginning to really like this guy.

The boss never took his eyes off Sasha as he spoke to me.

“G-o-o-o-o-d, r-e-e-e-e-e-ally good,” his syllables extended to fully convey his satisfaction with me.

His words then shifted course back to Sasha. “You could learn from this guy,” he said. "Maybe you two should be desk mates.”

“I’ll be his desk mate if you want me to,” I said, “but be warned, sir, this guy likes to dally, dawdle, and delay.”

“Hmmm, alliterations,” nodded the boss, “I like that. I really like that.”

Maybe I’ll tell him about my blog.