How did you manage to steal the hearts of all holiday-loving office mavens? You are the king of their file cabinet magnets, smirking slyly above a Nevada-shaped cornfield and a wallet-sized photos of stunned infants. On days like this, when the staff is reduced to its macabre-sounding "skeleton crew," your Greatest Hits claim the small c.d. player by the fish bowl, and you croon with a syrupy sexuality, both quaint and obscene, over a full-orchestra track. You don't lower your voice for phone calls, and your throaty warble reaches out into the empty, clay-colored halls, rustles gently under past due reminders tacked to the walls.
Do you whisper to them at night, Elvis, your slim, pre-Vegas hips gyrating soothingly by bedside tables and digital alarm clocks? Do you promise they'll get to use all that accrued comp time? Do you mutter huskily of balanced spreadsheets and a supervisor who stops, pauses, and looks down with relief and wonder to say, "Thank you, thank you very much"?
I'll wondering about this, Elvis, long after we've all finally left the building.
No comments:
Post a Comment