So I think I am going to try something a little different. While I am writing book 2 of the Strapped Series, I’ll post about other random musings. I was inspired today when while walking my dogs. I remembered something that happened that seems so much weirder now than it did at the time. So I figured it would be worth sharing.
I once worked for a small company owned by a husband and wife team. I had warning signs that things were little off, (the warning signs could be their own story) but I figured how bad could it be? Well it got bad, but this memory isn’t so much bad as as it’s so fucking weird.
So the husband’s (let’s call him Mr. Belly) birthday was coming up and his wife decided we were going to surprise him with a birthday party. It was going to be 70s-themed ala “Hair” the movie. So she went out and got all this groovy 60s-70s props and wigs. We put up tons of psychedelic decorations and played 5th Dimension and The Animals in the background. His wife, we’ll call her Blithe, found old pictures of him with long hair and plastered them all over the office. There were whispers about the office that he might get pissed because productivity was his number one priority and that would be impossible with all of us partying at the same time. However, his wife, who basically owned his ass, had the idea, so we figured if he threw a tantrum, we could all hide behind her.
Anyway, his son who worked there dragged him off site on some business, and when they reappeared, we all nervously shouted “surprise!” To our very own surprise, he had a big smile on his face and graciously accepted his enormous afro wig. Immediately in line with the theme of the party, he started asking where the weed was, when we were going to drop acid, etc. No big deal, we were happy he was in such a good mood.
Eventually someone had the idea to go outside of the office complex into the parking lot to take photos to commemorate the occasion. We start posing in the parking lot of the building that holds many other businesses. Suddenly, perhaps because he was beginning to have flashbacks of the 60s, Mr. Belly rips off his shirt, exposing his big hairy tummy. So now the owner of the business is shirtless with a three-foot afro on his head, posing for pictures. Suddenly, we form a circle, hold hands, and run in a circle singing “Let the Sunshine In.” Our afros, long braids, and Mr. Belly’s hairy tummy lazily bounce up and down as we run in this pointless, continuous circle. Mr. Belly continuously posed for photos. Somewhere in someone’s hard drive, is video of a bunch of adults running in a circle, holding hands, dressed like assholes, singing a song from Hair.
Eventually, we figure we have scared the neighboring businesses in the complex enough and all sit in the kitchen, where his wife plans this weird “airing of grievances” exclusively directed towards Mr. Belly. It was supposed to be funny as we each went down the line telling him why we thought he was such a huge piece of shit (kidding of course), but after a while, his face began to get heavy and it felt like a wife-sanctioned bashing session. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Belly, we all think you suck fat balls.”
Afterward, he decided to surprise us all by telling us we were finally going to get direct deposit. I shit you not, it was like an episode of Oprah’s favorite things. “And you get direct deposit, and you get direct deposit!” Wails of joy permeated throughout the kitchen and we jumped up and down in our seats. I should remind you this was 2011, not 1990.
I learned a valuable lesson that day: If you set the bar really low, it’s really easy to make people happy.
When the screams of euphoria died down, he said, “alright, I’m going to head back to my office, if any of you ladies want to come and give me my real birthday present.” Yes, really.