amphibi.us

Last Wednesday was Administrative Professionals Day and I wanted to do something very special for Dana, my Administrative Professional (or Secretary, for the less-than-progressive), so I made reservations for two at Rimrockers, this restaurant around the corner from our office that serves nachos and other appetizers out of cut-in-half Spalding basketballs.

I was in my office, squeezing in some last-minute online Texas Hold ‘Em before my ten a.m. Cardio AbBlast.  I sat out a round, much to the chagrin of SmashDatAzz69, so I could give Dana the good news.  She picked up her phone on the first ring, like always.

“Dana, I hope you’re sitting down.”

She laughed.

“Kurt, you know I’m always sitting down!  You do see me outside your office, right?  I’m the redhead in the avocado cardigan?  Hell-oh-ohhhhh?”

Dana was always doing that, stretching out her hello’s in the way that healthy, attractive young women are stretching them out these days.

“Oh, right…  I do remember you from the interview process, now that I think about it.  Tell me: What if I told you to toss your Lean Cuisine into the trash today?”

I could hear Dana spit up her Diet Rite a little because my question was so insane.

“I’d tell you you’re crazy, Kurt!  That’s what I’d do!”

“Well, I want you to do exactly that.  I’m your boss, and I’m ordering you to throw your Grilled Chicken With Roasted Red Peppers into the trash immediately, because today’s Administrative Professionals Day and I’m taking you to Rimrockers.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

I looked through my office window and saw Dana sitting at her station all dumbfounded, her big Irish mouth making an O.

“Kurt, I’m so sorry…  My language!”

I felt awful about it but I knew I’d have to report her cursing to HR, so I just made a little slash mark on my legal pad to remind me to add a demerit to Dana’s Weekly Report.

“Dana, please.  I was in the Indiana National Guard.  You don’t think I’ve heard worse?”

I could hear Dana sigh in relief.  Another demerit: Demonstrates Lack of Job Ownership.  Another slash mark on the old legal pad.

“You ever had your Drill Sergeant call you a Low-Down, Two-Bit Dicktaster while you’re trying to unload a Humvee full of baked goods?”

“No!  Gosh, no!  He called you that?”

I made a little mmm-hmmm sound.  You have no idea, the stuff I’ve seen.  I really do hate talking about my days in the Service, though.  I’ve never been comfortable with the Hero label.

“Reservation’s at noon-thirty.  I do hope you’ll join me, Miss Shaughnessy.”

Dana squealed with excitement.  She sounded like when I step on my wife’s cat’s tail.

***

I helped Dana take off her peacoat and hang it up on a novelty mini-hoop that doubles as a coat rack.  She knew exactly what she wanted before we sat down, didn’t even need a menu: Slam-Tastic Southwest Tater Skins With Extra Chives.

“Oh my gosh, Kurt…  They’re The.  Best.”

Dana went on and on about how she and Caitlyn in IT ordered them to go on a Friday once, how they took the Skins back to Caitlyn’s and ate them while they watched Patriot Games, but I missed a lot of the details because I started thinking about Anne Archer naked.  I was getting really hard under the table and I thought, Better nip this in the bud, old boy.

“So, Dana?  If I told you there was a position opening up in Legal for an Entry-Level Real Estate Paralegal, would you be interested?”

Her eyes got huge and black, like my nephew Andrew’s when he’s on LSD.

“Kurt, I don’t know what to say…  Of course I would!  When would I…”

Anne Archer still had her top off, in my brain.

“Well, it depends upon whether Larry pulls through or not.  You know Larry Wierczynski, right?”

“Of course!  He’s the guy that fell off the scaffolding, at the Holiday Party.”

Still very, very erect.

“The same.  Looks like he’s about to check out, you know?  And the Express variety, too.  Just leaving his keys on the nightstand and signing that sheet of paper that gets slipped under the door at five a.m.”

“You’re talking about hotels, right?”

The waitress interrupted to take our order and Dana asked for the Skins and a Diet Rite.  I got the Asian Fusion Pizza Fingers and a Manhattan.

“Exactly.  But it’s a metaphor, the whole Express checkout thing.  You know?  Larry’s checking out.  As in, Larry’s gonna die.  Soon.”

“Right, right…”

“Right.  So if, excuse me, when he dies, I’m recommending you for the job.”

Dana’s skin got all pink, and just when I thought I’d finally kicked the whole Anne Archer thing she started kissing Dana on the neck and cupped her big soft tits in her hands.  In my brain.

“Kurt, I…  This is the best thing.  Ever.”

Dana started to cry, just as the waitress came back with our food and drinks.  I held up my hand to the waitress, the international sign for I’m really sorry, I don’t know what’s going on.  She caught my drift and winked, slid our half-Spaldings in front of us and said she’d be back in a bit to check on us.

Dana’s cheeks were all wet as she bit into one of the Skins.  She looked crazy but I didn’t tell her that.

“Delicious…”

I smiled and took a sip of my Manhattan.  I knew Dana wasn’t going to get the Paralegal job; not after Larry dies, not ever.  I mean, two demerits in a day?  Still, it made me feel good to know that I’d at least made Dana think she was being considered, which sometimes is just as important as actually getting a job.  Sometimes.

At the very least, I was confident that at the end of the day Dana would tell someone, somewhere, that she had just celebrated the best Administrative Professionals Day ever.

© Thomas Mundt, 2010