Reggie's Close Call

Stubby and stout, Carol came marching in from outside. She stopped at my desk. "What is Reggie doing outside?"

"Interesting. Reggie and doing in the same sentence."

"He's just standing out there handing tools to guys working in a hole. Why is he doing that? He's supposed to be in here cleaning!"

"Yes, well..."

"I'm sending an email to Michael Murphy!"

Carol marched to her office. And thus I commenced sweating. What if Reggie got fired? What will happen to this blog?? What will happen to all the mild amusement???

Next week, grim-faced administrators came and brought Reggie to trial in the office. Carol was there. On her phone she showed Reggie the pictures she had been taking. Exhibit A: Reggie out talkin' to some guys by the fence. Exhibit B: A bucket full of black water that another custodian had filled. Exhibit C:

"These are fireable offenses, Reggie," Michael Murphy grumbled under his big white walrus. "Especially the last one. But we'll let the final decision rest with Carol. Carol? What say you?"

"We the jury... I mean, me?! You want me to decide whether Reggie keeps his job or not?"

Reggie was crying. He blubbered and begged, wringing his Georgia baseball cap in his large black hands, croaking how he was always a good worker, no one understood how hard he worked, the library was superclean, and what about the time he broke off a branch to destroy that massive turd??

"Please, massah, please don't fire me...!"

Carol sighed mightily. She shook her head.

"Boo hoo hoo. I cain't lose this job, massah. I cain't!..."

"All right," Carol said. "But we're going to have some ground rules..."

Reggie came out of the office looking like a whipped dog that had been farting. As he passed me, he slid his fingers across his lips.

"So you're okay?"

He nodded. "I can't talk to you anymore. None of you. I guess it's back to Niggerville for me."

I clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!"

Later Carol called me into the office, as was her wont.

"Greg, do you think Reggie will stick to the rules? Will he behave himself?"

"I told him he should look into day-trading."

"But can you believe those fucking bastards? They wanted me to do their fucking dirty work!" (Carol likes to let the expletives fly when we're in the office.)

Then Carol told me she got no sleep the night before. As we tried to do the schedule, an ad for Arrested Development kept popping up, playing The Final Countdown. 

"I can't make it stop!" Carol shrieked, clicking like mad. The popup ad popped up. And up popped.

"Maybe it's the power outage."

"I know, right?"

There had been a power outage earlier that day, knocking out Cherry Creek and Central.

"It's a good thing it didn't hit Denver General..."

"I know!" Carol cackled. "Can you imagine? All those patients would have to get artificial insemination!"

"Uh..."

Muttering, Carol went around her desk to the printer, stumbling over the mass of saggy helium balloons she had blown up for Summer Reading. She held onto the desk as if to the rolling deck of a ship at sea.

"GODDAMN THESE BALLOONS! What was I thinking?!"

"Shall I have them executed...?"

"Wait, is that Reggie? Where is he going?"

He was carrying a bucket and singing a Negro spiritual. It was then I hit on my idea. I caught up with him.

"I've got it, Reggie! Why don't we paint the wall black here, so when you're standing and talking to me no one will be able to see you! Hah?"

Reggie grinned.

"Oh, but don't smile. Your teeth are ridiculously white."

Reggie lost his smile.

"Better."