Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
 
meeting - oh no
I have just learned that I will shortly be sent to midtown for a meeting that I learned about no more than ten minutes ago and for which I am ill-prepared (and by "ill-prepared" I mean I could probably talk more about Einstein's General Theory of Relativity than I could about the subject of this meeting). It came up like:

Manager: "Hey, I was supposed to go to this meeting in midtown for [confidential business information] but [other confidential business information] came up. Can you go in my place?"
Me: [startled] "Um, what?"
Manager: "I have a meeting that I can't go to. Can you go for me?"
Me: [desperately thinking of stuff I have to do, but manager just caught me looking at fantasy sports and on the phone talking about Chinese food with my buddy Jeremy] "Well, I have to go, right?"
Manager: "Pretty much."
Me: "Well then for you, I'll do it."

My only hope is that I don't embarrass myself, my employer or my family too much, but that doesn't look very promising. I usually don't know what I'm doing at work, but I manage to cover this up by hiding in my office and always looking angry. If people do manage to ask me something or catch me in my office, I'll rub my forehead in an exasperated manner and say, "Please leave it on my desk - I'll look at it if I get a chance later tonight." Believe it or not, this has worked for a long time. But when put in a meeting situation when serious questions are asked - questions I probably won't have the answers to, unless the questions are, "Should I now trade Pat Burrell for a top-flight starter?" (of course) or "Who has the best bacon, egg, and cheese bagel in the Upper East Side?" (Bagel Express) - I'm in trouble.

To add insult to injury, I'm wearing possibly the tightest pants in the world. Good LORD. You see, last week I cleaned out my closet and moved my spring/summer clothes back into the rotation (of course, today it's about 48 degrees out, but whatever). In doing so, I went through some old clothes and separated those that I might wear again from those I should give away. I'm giving these clothes away not out of the goodness of my heart, but because I'm moving soon and I don't want to lug around three pairs of jeans and a half-dozen shirts I haven't worn since freshman year of college. In this process, I found a pair of gray dress pants among these old clothes, and they looked good: no stains, no burn marks, not a single half-eaten hot dog in its pockets. So I put them in the dry cleaners, happy that I found a new pair of pants for my work rotation.

This morning, in my typical morning haze, I got dressed and put them on without thinking much about them. It was only when I got to work that I realized that it looks like someone has covered my legs and buttocks in gray paint, leaving NOTHING to the imagination (the genital region I don't have to worry about, since I'm hung like a Ken doll anyway).

And what do I do when faced with the prospect of this scary meeting? Do I cram, in order to save face? Do I get some caffeine, in order to ensure that I'm at least awake? Do I run to the bathroom, to make sure there won't be any gastrointestinal distress? No, none of this things. I write to you all, because I'm so in love with you that I can't even express it. Not only that, but without our daily communication I would surely explode.

So wish me luck. And if anyone is around the Wall Street area and can offer me some looser pants in the next, oh, ten minutes, I'm waiting.



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