90ways - Fiction

Okay. So it seems like we all agree that increased profits are the way to go in the revenue department. That sounds good.

Next on the agenda is an item I added just this morning based on some elevator sniggering and a few snarky comments I overheard in the men's: Point 4.A -- How I Came to be Dressed Like This.

Since I have spent a good deal of time with this subject matter, I will begin. For the sake of efficiency, I'm just going to work my way down my body.

The hat, in all honesty, is a private matter. One that involves my own struggles with a receding hairline, an argument with the D.A., an ill-advised visit to the dry bar, a sharpie, and enough personal and intimate details that I must ask, as your leader, that you simply look the other way on this one. That being said, if anyone has a hat in the office that is decidedly less in the bird-of-paradise style, even something as simple as a bowler or derby, I would happily make the substitution.

The tie also has a straightforward explanation. It was a gift. I myself am not a huge Elmer Fudd fan but my daughter is. I trust no one in this office is too cynical, too slavish to the Paris Fashion Machine, to begrudge a nine-year-old girl her love of a glabrous hunter with a speech impediment, a dismal track record, and an unsettling but rarely-mentioned bloodlust. No, I didn't think so.

Next up, my upper body-wear. The series of events leading to the lack of appropriate attire in this department was also responsible for making me fairly late this morning. As such, I called Melinda from the car and dictated to her the minutes of my morning should anyone want an official record of my tardiness. I will read from them now:

"9:00 a.m. -- Enjoy a bowl of cereal. Tie falls in milk.
9:08 a.m. -- Upstairs to shred documents before work.
9:17 a.m. -- Wet and heavy tie slips into shredder.
9:18 a.m. -- In panicked effort to free tie, accidentally feed blazer cuff into shredder.
9:33 a.m. -- How my wife does not hear my screams for help, I still do not know.
9:57 a.m. -- In last-ditch attempt to free self, accidentally feed shirt cuff into shredder.
9:58 a.m. -- Mercifully, shredder overloads and burns out.
10:00 a.m. -- Free. Tie salvageable. Blazer and shirt in ruins. Already late."

So, just the undershirt today. Or wife-beater as my driver called it. A charming colloquialism that, after my incident with the paper shredder, was surprisingly apt. Again, this is a situation, where, if anyone has a spare shirt or jacket I would happily borrow it.

The snap bracelets. Unless I'm very much mistaken, these bad boys are making a comeback. Very in right now. Very hip. I feel good about them.

Moving on to the trousers. This is nothing new. I've known of the jests for some time but as long as we're putting all my sartorial cards on the table.... I've had Karl do some digging over the past few weeks and as usual his report is exhaustive and comprehensive. I'll read you a few of the pertinent bits:

"Being the fourth of four boys brought you increased attention from your mother (loving) and your older brothers (resentful and mocking). Perhaps in reaction to their athleticism or because of your own natural proclivities, you took to the classroom more readily than the playing field. Your high marks and bookish tendencies earned more praise from your mother and ridicule from your siblings. As much as you thrived academically the taunts about your height (too little) and weight (too much) apparently took seed. While it remains unclear today how much of your goodwill toward your older brothers is born out of true forgiveness and how much is condescension rising from your material success, it is clear that their derision has left an impression of your daily pant selection. The almost unbelievably tight cut of your slacks and your dogged devotion to pinstripes (even in combination with the most unlikely of jackets) seem designed to be slimming and elongating. This bit of childhood vanity, so obviously misguided and counterproductive, is comprehensible if not entirely justifiable."

Illuminating. Thank you, Karl.

Which brings us all the way down to my toes. This one is purely business strategy and horse sense. I have an afternoon meeting with Yerkowitz from the bastards who do our accounts. He always has that damn yarmulke on and I'm pretty sure it's just to taunt me, implying that I don't have the same moral fiber as him or some such truck. Well, last night I was watching the History Channel. Gandhi was on and he was wearing those Jesus sandals of his. It occurred to me that that's how I can do Yerkowitz one better: wear sandals. They're pious and non-denominational. I'm thinking about making them part of the company dress code.

That should do us. I think it's safe to adj -- Oh, oh. I nearly forgot. The Groucho Marx glasses/nose/mustache novelty item. I think there may be a warrant or two out for my arrest this morning so it's important to stay incognito for a couple of days. Right? Right. Okay. Meeting adjourned.