I have no ending for this; I just like the way it came together. It's mostly true. As of writing this, Marty & Melody have begun dating. They're horrifically cute and in love. I've designed their wedding invitation in my head at least 100 times. Names have been changed to protect the innocent and horrifically stupid.
“Air Hug!” The low screech assaults my ears from the desk just behind me. I look over at my podmate, Allie, who studiously avoids my gaze as laughing out loud and pointing are frowned upon. The blond took over Brynn’s seat three weeks ago much to our collective chagrin.
Before Brynn left for greener pastures, our little cluster held the title as the loudest, rowdiest & most fun (funnest, if you will) in the agency. The office manager wanders up from her office at least once a week to chat and soak up some of our ridiculousness. The COO (just to the left of my desk) leaves her door open so she can hear the latest gossip / shenanigans. Creatives, directors and occasionally partners come over to spend time away from their offices and weasel their way into donut Fridays. Perfectly situated between the stairway and the hallway connecting the two buildings in our refurbished warehouse office space, we see and are seen by everyone. The open plan guarantees you can hear our fun for at least 50 feet in either direction. Blaring Cee-Lo’s” F*ck You” every Friday morning also helps.
We're all terribly good-looking. Shocking, I know.
Marty, the only guy and therefore surrounded by beautiful women who lavish him with attention, is fly-over state born and bred. Think a rhythm-less Gene Kelly with gorgeous salt & pepper hair, a Crest-worthy smile and a well-used gym membership. He’s the oldest of 4 brothers and anything remotely related to girls-only situations squick him out. Naturally we’re relentless with tampons, pads, menses and about everything else inappropriate we can think of to torture him.
Melody and Allie are hands down the best-looking girls in this piece. Melody looks like a supermodel – long legs, perfect ass and perky, perfectly proportioned boobs. After seeing her in a bathing suit I prayed to be touched by a sudden allergy to all things classified as delicious. Melody eats whatever she wants, often putting down 3-4 tacos in one sitting and washing it down with a full-sugar Coke. I would hate her but she’s the nicest human being on the planet and incredibly smart to boot.
**re-reads above**
OK, maybe I hate her a little bit.
A former employee used to call Allie “The Flame.” Dark hair, blue eyes and a perfect sprinkling of freckles make her cute and not spotted. She’s mastered the perfect touch Southern accent – enough to be charming but not enough to conjure up NASCAR car races. Her legs, clad in skinny jeans and sexy T-strap pumps, go on forever. She looks better in a shirt from Target than any boutique-only Manhattanite I know. She loves Clemson football, can perkily run 9 miles without breaking a sweat and works like a Chilean miner.
That's just in the immediate vicinity. There’s a whole other set of ridiculously hot, smart girls over at the next pod. We’re over and back at each other’s desks often or we just stand up and yell insults, “that’s what she saids” or whatever else needs to be shared at top volume.
Brynn’s departure left a gaping hole in our group but it also offered a space for the better transients to sit, set up laptop-shop and be part of the neighborhood. Karrie, my good-friend and high-level director, held the seat for at least a week. She’s a perfect neighbor and knows everyone well-enough to partake in the insults and Marty-jeering. Alas, her office is a haven for over-worked, underpaid minions so she spends some time counseling the ad-wounded with her door firmly shut.
Brynn’s office chair had barely cooled before Air Hug moved all her shit into the desk and made us privy to her constant inanity. Apparently Air Hug’s supervisor needed her close by to watch her comings and goings. We get to listen to her mind-bending chatter all day while she sits in a coveted space trying to insert herself wherever she can. How her punishment became our punishment I will never know. Allie walked in on Monday fresh off her vacation, took one look at Air Hug and asked “Was there an HOA meeting held while I was on vacation?”
“No Allie,” I responded. “The board did not consult with us as previously requested. Assholes.”
We tried to move some of our far-away fun neighbors over. We got nowhere. Instead, we ignored Air Hug as best as possible with headphones and deadpan looks.
Two weeks later I get back from a long shoot in LA to see my beloved workspace, the place I spend the majority of my waking life, taken over by unknown blondes. Don, Brynn’s neighbor, got promoted out of pod-life and into a teeny, coffin-like office. Replacing him is yet another blonde - approximate age 22. She looks like every single blonde sorority girl who wears pearls and only goes to the “good” frats. Her voice doesn’t have the breathy quality of Air Hug’s but the same tinny ring of stupidity. Oh was that mean? Well she left her car running yesterday for FOUR HOURS. Yeah, that’s right. She got out of Daddy's Prius nattering into her cell phone, put her purse on her shoulder and purposefully walked away WITH HER KEYS IN THE IGNITION. When the security guard called her to come please retrieve her keys, she fought with him insisting the car was charging and "it always sounds like it’s on but really it isn't."
“Ma’am,” he said with an exasperated sigh. The keys are IN the ignition. The car is running. Please come downstairs and retrieve your keys.”
We decide she needs a nickname but can't come up with anything good. I would play off her name except I don't know her name nor do I really care to know it. If you have any suggestions dear reader I am happy to pass it along.
