Platinum Author
I had been with the company as a halfhearted flunky for four years. Life there was not easy; the work was meaningless, the atmosphere bordering on fetid, and the one beautiful, sweet woman in the office was seemingly incapable of recognizing flirtation. It was getting to the point where I felt the need to ask my buddy, Bud, to ask her if she liked me. The fact that I had seriously considered this more than once made me lie awake and wonder what was wrong with me sometimes.
Still, I was determined to make it at this job. I had seen the higher-ups, and I liked their style: crisp, clean offices, assignments that appeared to actually be interesting, and enough money to afford good lunches and vacations in Hawaii. I'm not ashamed of wanting those things for myself, and I was willing to put in the grunt work to get them.
Or so I reasoned with myself. Yes, I would do what it took to rise in this company. I already had the time invested in it. Rather than walking away with a resume reading "I didn't accomplish anything at my last job," I would work hard for promotion here.
Talking it over with Bud during lunch, I was in for something of a rude awakening.
"Yeah," he said, slurping his Coke, "but, like, you're not exactly well-known for actually doing anything."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, you know, like work. You kinda don't do a lot of work."
He had a point. I could not let him know this, however, so I merely snorted and plunged a dismissive fork into my egg salad.
That night, lying awake again, I determined to become a good employee doing worthwhile work. Unfortunately, my very first attempt at being such an employee was stymied.
A new copier/fax/cappuccino machine had been installed in our office. And in one of those mob-mentality moments, everyone in the office was overcome with stupidity. None of us could figure it out. Person after person sashayed defiantly up to the mystery machine, examined its panel of greek-lettered buttons, and came away wilted and copy-less. I don't think anyone even attempted sending faxes or getting cappuccino. All day, I sat in my office and played internet mahjongg, cursing the fates for ruining my attempt at working hard.
As I dressed the next morning, I realized to my shame that an all-in-one copier was thwarting me in the battle for my promotion. Slamming my fist on the bathroom counter, I resolved not to be defeated.
But courage has to come from somewhere. Memories of past triumphs, perhaps. An innate desire to win. The longing to spend two weeks out of the year in Honolulu. Or a combination of all of these things. I had the longing to spend two weeks in Hawaii, and the desire to beat that copier, perhaps with a baseball bat. And that's when I remembered middle school baseball. I had been the champion, the top dog, the pitcher who took the team to victory eight times in a season!
Remembering those glory days, I reached for a talisman sure to bring me luck: my baseball cufflinks. These bad boys were typically reserved for meetings, when I dressed up a little more than usual. But today would be my first red-letter day at this company, and the cufflinks were a tangible symbol of victory. Plus, they looked really classy.
Sales pitch in hand, I approached the copier. I stood before it staunchly, like a coach before his team. My cufflinks gleamed in the fluorescent lights. I examined the buttons. What the (profanity) kind of alphabet was this? Behind me, a nervous voice asked, "Do you think you can make it work?"
I turned around. It was my boss's secretary, not often seen in this office. Her wide, appealing brown eyes searched mine with anxious inquiry. Like James Bond, I shot my cuffs and said carelessly, "I just need the manual."
It was the beginning of it all. My coworkers scurried like minions to find the manual, and presented it to me with breathless subservience. From that day, my reputation as the go-to guy increased, my infatuation with the office girl ended (replaced by a much more satisfactory one with the boss's wide-eyed secretary), and I have never gone to work without my lucky cufflinks again.
Hawaii, here I come!
About this Author
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