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Friday, Feb. 14, 2003 / 5:47 p.m. ~Valentine's Day~ The radio in my car stopped working years ago, the cassette deck too. Alas, I am prone to silence, yelling at the asshole drivers, or talking to myself, or singing, and this morning, on my way to work, I sang a medley of Elton John songs. Quite well, I might add. I'd been thinking about the album "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" and how much I loved it when I received it as a gift, circa 1973 or was it 1974? Either way, I listened to AM radio back then, I was 12 (or 13, depending on the year), and I loved Elton John's music. The lyrics by Bernie Taupin were so mysterious, yet so catchy, the songs wonderful to sing along to. I'd sit with the album cover (I'm referring to actual cardboard album covers, the ones that encased vinyl record albums - remember?) open on my lap, look at the illustrations accompanying each song, and read the lyrics and sing along. The illustration accompanying "All the Young Girls Love Alice" was particularly disturbing. I'm not reaching for it now to verify, this is all from memory, but I will listen later, most assuredly. The drawing is of two very masculine, i.e. 'butch' women flanking a comely young lovely, scantily clad - nude? The dykes have duck's ass haircuts, and are wearing men's clothes, and they are positively leering at the young girl. The song is all about how they all want her, the young Alice, how they want her to wait until their husbands are gone, then they want her to come over, and whatever. I was 12, just feeling sexual myself, decidedly hetero, and this song confused me to no end. I was so puzzled, so mystified, intrigued, and I loved the haunting melody. So I sang this morning, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "All the Young Girls Love Alice" ("...tender young Alice, they say"), "Love Lies Bleeding", I think I threw in "Daniel" and a bit of "Tiny Dancer" and I topped it all off with my favoritest Elton John song ever, for the incredible melody, again haunting. In a minor key, I'd guess.... "Madman Across the Water" ("Is the nightmare black or are the windows painted?"). Then I got to work and it was VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!!! Or as I like to call it, "Valentimes Day", because it's fun to mispronounce things, see if people notice, like the way I call Gladys "Gurdnest", because I can. Kukla was paged to the reception area to pick up her roses at approximately 9:15 a.m. It went on from there. The regular receptionist wasn't in, but I'd told 'the new boy' how it works around there, how women are paged all day long, how it's a big party, how crappy you feel if you don't get flowers and everyone else does. We talked him into getting flowers for his wife, becuase if he didn't it would not be good. So, this other receptionist person screamed into the paging phone, "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, (insert name of any number of women working at the site here), PLEASE COME TO THE FRONT DESK!", and everyone would hoot and holler and scream, quite literally, cheer, clap, laugh, etc. I was extremely annoyed. Our portion of the office is a Call Center, and it pisses me off every time that fact is not respected. Besides, I'm not a morning person, despite singing the medley in the car. At some point, every person in our department was called up, two by two, and came back with mylar balloons filled with helium, balloons saying, "Happy Valentine's Day", some with hearts, some with teddy bears, some with puppies. I figured it was the work of our Supervisor, H., or our Manager (M), so I knew I'd be called. The receptionist butchered my name and everyone laughed, everyone who knows me, and I sat in my cube. Finally I went, overhearing someone say it took me so long because I hadn't heard my actual name. Pissy, I know. She understood though. Yeah, I got puppies on mine. Big fucking deal. I sat and read over my new apartment lease, panicking at the new legalese, the new clauses telling me I can't take drugs in my apartment, and I mustn't blame the apartment managment if I'm attacked, or robbed, or if there's an ice storm and a big pine tree crashes through my roof and destroys everything, and I need a separate 'rider' to allow for my 'pets', etc. I called my pal Jimmy Usual and chatted him up about it, basically to make myself feel better, and to let him know I'm still his bud even if I gave a resounding "NOOOOOO!! Are you KIDDING?!!!" when he asked me out for a date for Valentine's Day. Friday is bad enough, but a Friday that is also Valentine's Day? No way. I told him about the goings on, the shrill siren voice over the paging system, the screaming, how my Supervisor, H., got a GIANT teddy bear, a big gift basket, a dozen roses, all personally delivered by her very suave looking husband, and she barely introduced him to us, just whisked him in and whisked him out, but it was sweet and romantic, and they've only been married just over a year, and she is in her 50s, on her third (I think) marriage, and it's nice that someone can find love late in life. Long sentence, but that was what I was telling Jimmy U. on the phone. My two puppies in a bear hug Valentine's Day mylar balloon filled with helium flew at half mast at my desk while I went home for lunch, then back again, then worked more, then wanted to leave, and we all did. 'The new boy' said he wanted to go home and get in bed and go to sleep. And he'd finally given in and ordered roses for his new wife who works on the other side of the office, and the flower delivery guy got there, asked for her at the front desk, just as the two of them had walked past on their way out to lunch. Ahhh, the irony. She was paged too, and we all walked around to the other side to see the expression on her face, noted her roses were multiple colors, red, yellow, white, pink, very different and lovely, and plentiful. Yes, one can tell from a distance when it's a dozen, or two. I chatted later with Shawn, the beautiful woman who accompanied Penelope and I to dinner not long ago, the one who always receives roses from her husband, just because, and we noted the competitive nature of the event, she saying how people come by to count how many roses are there. For the record, she got 24, and a HUGE bouquet of helium filled mylar balloons. Mylar balloons all over the place, some in big bunches, some big, some small, and the big guy who threatened the supervisor the other day, the one who said he'd break her fucking jaw, in those words, and didn't lose his job, got paged too, got balloons and a gift basket and a teddy bear, etc. Good lord. I went to get some water before my second break and on my way back to my cube I heard...... MY name paged. Oh my fucking god, Jimmy U., you didn't. There was the HR Manager, the one self-designated to stand by the reception area and personally hand each recipient her flowers or basket or teddy bear or balloons, and she was looking towards my department, waiting for me. I came from the opposite direction, caught her off guard, and she held out to me a glass vase filled with a dozen red, red roses, some green stuff, some white stuff (not 'baby's breath', nicer actually), and a red ribbon, a card sticking out. Beyond her, in a vast sea of gray cubicles, I saw women standing, for what looked like miles, all looking to see me accept my roses. People were asking, "Who's ______ _______?" (insert my actual real name in the blank spaces), and I realized many, if not most, not quite all, have seen me, but have no clue what my name is. They cheered and hooted and hollered, and I went to hold up the vase so everyone could see as I passed, but water spilled out and down my arm - it was filled to the rim. As I approached my department everyone ran to see me, to see what I got, and I felt so incredibly weird, and trod upon. Everyone wanted to know who they were from, my Manager (M) and Supervisor, H., came running, everyone looking, saying how nice the roses were, and I grabbed the card, still not 100% sure, and saw it had the name "Jimmy U" on it. I didn't want to tell anyone. He and I are not dating. It's not like that, and he knows that, despite his persistance at times. Usually I'm offended that he keeps trying, I feel he's not respecting me, doesn't take 'no' for no, but this seemed like a poke really, a nice poke, a really cool thing, but also something that would be funny, a bit ironic, or unusual, not a declaration of any sort. At least that's how I took it. One woman came by and said she knows who sent them, another said, "They're from 'Jimmy U', right?", and Penelope said, "Did Jimmy U send them?" and suddenly I hated that they all want to know my life. Before I left for the day I turned to Quincey and Penelope and asked why they feel they have to know, and I think I was rude, almost angry, but I'm sure they mean no harm.... They simply have to be in every single person's business! It's who they are. It's how they are. Is it cultural? I don't know. They talk about everyone behind their backs, all the time, and Penelope knows a little something about every single person's life, every single person who works at the site. She's friendly, sure, but she's a fucking fishwife, leaning over the fence, clothespins in hand, you know? They all are. Maybe I owe them an apology, but maybe I don't. Anyone can send me roses at work, in fact everyone should, but I'm under no obligation to share the experience with my coworkers. They're not my friends, they're my coworkers. Period. And so the Manager (M) said she didn't want to work anymore. 4:00 p.m. Said she wanted to go home, and I said, "Why not? Let's go! I wanna go too! We all do!", and so we did. Don't ask me how that happened, I have no idea, but it was like a National Holiday there. The Site Manager actually came by with a bag filled with plastic wrapped pouches tied with red and pink ribbons, homebaked cookies with pink frosting and sprinkles, Hershey Kisses, and discount coupons to a restaurant intown. It was really sweet, I thought. The cookie melted in my mouth, a buttery sugar cookie. And I gorged on the Kisses, though chocolate means basically nothing to me, and I imagined actually going to that restaurant. 'The new boy' whined because the restaurant (one of a large chain) is at a location intown and he is afraid of the city and won't go there, ever, not even to get his kids some culture. I printed out a map for him. It was great to gather my roses, my puppies in a compromising position Valentine's Day mylar helium filled balloon, and my roses (Minus one for Listerine - why not? You think I'm a selfish snot, but really I'm filled with love, and compassion - besides, she wasn't going to get anything, just like I usually don't. And one for 'the new girl', the cute 22 year old who wears too much makeup - I asked her if she'll be my Valentine and gave her a single red rose, on my way out - her smile is worth everything, ever, it's magical), and head out the door at 4:00 on a Friday. It was FUCKING great. Gladys was all over the flowers, trying to eat the green stuff, eating the ribbon attached to the mylar helium filled balloon. I put the roses on the kitchen counter, and I took pictures of Gladys trying to get at them - when I get the film developed I shall post said photos here. I'll most likely have to put the flowers on the porch before I go to bed. The smell is wonderful - they don't have that 'uh oh, somebody died, right?' smell to them, they smell sweet - but as long as there is a fragrance at all, Gladys will be trying to get at them. Of course I called Jimmy U. to relay the entire experience for his amusement, and he was amused. I think it all happened just as he intended. And I thanked him, of course, too. Such a day. I was such a bear, so frustrated at the unprofessional goings on, the displays of joy, giddiness, the Arab-like throat yodeling thing they kept doing, the shrieking, the screaming, the balloons, the roses, the teddy bears, but it was kind of fun to get my own little mystery gift, and leave everyone guessing. I'm sure they'll all talk about it behind my back. That's their favorite way to do things. La dee fucking da. (Am I omitting that just before I left, as most in our department had already run off, I shouted, "I gooooottttt rosesssss!", because I felt like it?) Gladys has finally settled down. She's finally not yowling about the roses, or the balloon, or just wanting more excitement - she LOVES excitement - and I intend to use this time to watch some TV, relax after a hellish week. Thanks, Jimmy U, I'm not even going to worry about how much it set you back. It was worth it to see the looks on those women's faces. I know I should've been nicer to them, but I hate being the center of attention. You'd never guess it, would you? I am a one on one kind of person. When it comes to everyone turning their attention to me, I freeze. But it was fun, and they're beautiful, and you can do it again next year..... if I'm still there, but Jesus, let's hope I'm not!!! Cost of the War in Iraq
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