Building, My Confidence

At the same time George Clooney was announcing the award for Best Supporting Actress at the Golden Globes I was fully entrenched in my consulting cubicle to meet a deadline. I could not help but laugh at the uncanny similarities between me and Clooney. Both of us had blood being pumped to our vital organs along with sharing some of the same letters in our name. The list goes on, but let's just focus on my story.

Good job Corporate Joe. We'll catch up never.

Checking back into work at 8:00PM after leaving only 3 hours earlier was a Deja-F*ck You moment. The hours this week have been relentless in pursuit of a deliverable that will inevitably be shipped to a graveyard called Iron Mountain Storage. Because of this bizarro world schedule I have been exposed to the alter ego of our building that I never knew existed. And I wished I had never found out.

During the day, our office is alive with the humming of lights, the buzz of printers, and the firing of employees. However, the environment changes in an instant based on the sinister plan of our building engineers. I was the firsthand witness to this account and reacted the way most humans would. I pissed my pants, cried, and fell asleep in the fetal position.

The 12-story structure of brick and steel takes its final breath of the evening when the digital clock strikes 11:00PM. The ceiling lights shut down in perfect synchronicity with the auxiliary lights that struggle to stay alive. No humming, no buzz, no traffic. The lighting transmogrifies into an eery blanket of charcoal darkness occupying every space that was booming with electric life a moment ago.

After waking up feeling refreshed from my involuntary coward nap, I sat back down and was immediately distracted by the oppressing silence. Occasionally I'd look over my shoulder to see if someone was there. In particular, the twin girls from The Shining. The poor lighting and deep hallways seemed to be a perfect invitation for them. After misaligning my vertebrae from looking behind my back so many times, I returned to work.

Come play with us forever and ever and ever.
And by the way, what the f*ck are you still doing at work?

The clock now read 12:30AM and I did not put a significant dent in my deliverable. Why am I still here? Why am I hearing the elevator? Who wet my pants again? Oh goodness, the elevator stopped at my floor. I take a breath and hope the killer will murder someone else dumb enough to be working at this hour.

The elevator doors open and the "click clack" of dress shoes reverberate in the lobby. Then silence...which speaks volumes since this means the psychopathic killer is on the carpet that is one step closer to me. Then comes a "beep" indicating a security badge, the psychopathic killer molester now has access to the inside of the floor.

That call is coming from inside your cubicle!

After sucking my thumb and trying to wet my pants for the third time I realize that neither of these techniques have been very helpful. I decide to grab my kahunas (which are saturated at this point) and summon the courage to hunt down the last face I'm going to see before I die. There was a need for me to find the psychopathic killer molester pedophile with a fetish for nylon and look him right in the eye.

I rounded the corner and was immediately met by an intimidating physique. His clothes were dark and his shoes were black mirrored pools. He took a step into the straining light and I saw the true face of....Security. The dread replaced joy faster than the lighting had changed in our building. Naturally, I embraced him and cried.

In his best English he managed to reassure me with the words, "Your pants are wet." God bless you, Babukar something or other. It's hard to read your name tag with all this salt in my eyes and the shitty lighting, but either way, you know I've been through. After this encounter, I left the building tired from the ordeal but refreshed by the outcome. I had put my fears and deliverable to rest.

Upon entering the same building only six hours later the sounds of office life were frighteningly reassuring. The humming, buzzing, and firing had returned. Together they harmonically whistled a tune that let me know I share the burden of a paycheck with endless others.

I had made it through the night with my manhood intact. As long as Babukar keeps his mouth shut based on that C-note I gave him. If he doesn't, I swear to God I'll murder him while he's working the night shift.