Mostly Autobiographical

by Rob Gunther

  Times are tough. We’re all concerned about the dire state of the economy and its effect on morale. That’s why we’ve decided to cut wages across the board. I know, I know. It’ll be a lot harder to make ends meet now that you’ll be making a lot less money. Management sympathizes with your situation. We’re like a family here. I’ve always thought you would make an excellent brother, to somebody. Do you have any siblings? That’s not important. We’re not going to leave anybody behind. Which is why corporate is reaching out, providing each employee with the opportunity to work extra hours each day. I know, more work. Well, it’s either that or we’re going to have to start letting people go. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want us to fire someone because you can’t deal with a little downsizing, do you?

  By the way, we’re getting rid of the custodial team. Management feels the staff takes for granted the time, money, and effort we spend trying to keep your workspaces clean. Frankly, we’ve grown dissatisfied carrying the responsibility, constantly picking up after all of you. The bathrooms, the closets, the hallways – why should we have to subsidize your cleanliness by paying for a whole staff of janitors? From now on, you’re all going to have to pitch in at the end of the day to keep things up to a satisfactory level of cleanliness. On each floor, next to the fire extinguishers, you’ll find vacuum cleaners, dust busters, and other cleaning supplies. Please be aware that tidying up after yourselves is something that’s going to have to be done on your own time. Don’t think that just because you’ll be here for a few more hours every day that you can take care of your chores on the company dime. Because you can’t.

  Another surprise: this isn’t actually a performance review. Corporate designed these meetings to assess how our employees might react to a surprise performance review. Unfortunately, a team of evaluators has been reviewing this mock-performance review in real time, and they’ve issued a report about your reactions during this meeting.

  And they’ve just emailed it to me.

  It’s just as I feared.

  The mock-performance performance reviewers feel like you haven’t grasped the severity of the issues I’ve presented. We feel that you lack genuine engagement or a personal investment in the seriousness of this fake performance review. You’ve barely said a word so far. Don’t you care about your job? It’s obvious that you don’t. Which is why, jeez, I really hate to be doing this to you, but, we’re going to have to let you go, effective immediately.

  I know, I know. It’s tough. In this economy. It’s tough. It’s a tough economy. We’re in a tough place. Jobs. Real tough. Numbers. Super, super tough. The private sector. Markets. It’s all so hard right now. Job creators. Europe. America. Emerging markets. Retreating markets. The market is in retreat! Class warfare. Taxes. We’re getting choked here. Profits. Recession. Totally choked here. Depression. China. Numbers! Economy. Bust. Socialist social engineering. I know. It’s tough. It’s a tough time. I know. It’s a really tough time.

  I’ve got to tell you that … I’m just getting word here. I’m getting word that a team of severance reviewers is studying this meeting as we speak, and, well, we’re all very impressed by how you’re taking this bad news. It shows real professionalism. You’re a real professional, kid. You’ve a got a real future, you know that? You know what? I’m thinking we’ve got enough room in this company for someone like you. Someone who’s hungry. Are you hungry? Because we’ve got an opportunity for you. It’s an internship. It’s non-paying, but there’s a small stipend for travel. A very small stipend. Actually, we’ve lost it. Nobody can find it. I told you it was small. Very hard to lose [G3]small things, but if you can find it, you’re more than welcome to have it. You’d have to notify corporate first, if you find it that is, because it’s company money.

  But what do you say? It’s a real promising opportunity for someone like you, a motivated, go-getting, self-starting team player who also excels individually. Who knows? If you play your cards right, well, I don’t want to make any promises here, but this could lead into a steady full-time temporary position. And those temporary positions always point right to where you just were, right back at your old job, with benefits. Did I tell you about our full-time employee kitchen benefits?

  Great benefits.

  What do you say? Go get ‘em, champ. Welcome aboard.

  Hello? Waiter? Hello?

  I’m not ready to order. Are you my server? Can you find my server? Yes, we’re ready now. Hmm. Hmmmmm. Tell me about your garden salad. You don’t have a garden salad? What kind of a place doesn’t have a garden salad? Yes, I’ve looked at the menu. Like, any sort of a green salad? Yes, I see the salad section. What would be the closest thing to a garden salad? You know, like vegetables you find in the garden. Tomatoes. Cucumbers. I don’t like cauliflower. Actually, I’m allergic to cauliflower. You know what? Can you just put the cauliflower on the side? On the side, is that OK? OK, so I’ll take the garden salad. Can you chop that? Like, all chopped up. Like, just have them chop everything up. Are there mushrooms? I’m actually allergic to mushrooms. Yeah, so no mushrooms, thanks. Does it come in a bowl? Does it come in a big bowl? Can you put it in a bigger bowl? Just for when I’m mixing it all up. You know what, can I have some more water? Thanks. What kind of dressing do you have? Ranch? Do you have ranch? Who doesn’t have ranch? All right, I’ll take the balsamic. But on the side. Please. And the dijon. Also on the side. OK, so you’ve got that, right? The two dressings on the side, OK. Do you have any breadsticks? Does this come with bread?

  You know what, I can’t do a salad without ranch. I’ll just have a burger. No bun. Sautéed mushrooms, please. And I want it medium, you know, no pink. And no bun. Does that come with fries? Can I get a salad instead? Do you have, like, a smaller garden salad that you could give me instead of fries? OK, so no mushrooms. Can I get an iced tea? It’s unsweetened, right? Perfect. Wait, do you have any Splenda or just this Equal and Sweet-N-Low? Oh no, no, no, no, no, never mind. I’ll just have a Diet Coke. Diet Pepsi? Fine. Do you have Diet Sierra Mist? No? OK, fine, Diet Pepsi is fine. Dressing on the side, right? No mayo on the burger. Can I get a little more water? I’m so parched.

  OK, kids, what do you want to eat? Kids! Kids, put down the Game Boy so we can order. What do you want to eat? Kids, what do you want to eat? What do you have for kids? Do you have a kids’ menu? Do you have chicken fingers? Kids! Kids, do you want chicken fingers? Kids, chicken fingers? Chicken? You want some chicken fingers?

  You don’t have chicken fingers? Kids, they don’t have chicken fingers. You want a grilled cheese? Sweetie, do you want a grilled cheese? Honey, please, just look here for one second, honey. How do you not have chicken fingers? You have anything like chicken fingers? Breaded chicken breast? Kids, you want breaded chicken breast? It’s like chicken fingers. All right, that’s it! Give me the Game Boy! You’ll get it back after you eat! Because you’re not paying attention, that’s why! You know what? They’re not going eat that. You have plain pasta? With sauce? OK, two plain pastas with sauce. Put the sauce on the side. And no cheese, no garnishes, no parsley. Can you have them turn down the AC? It’s freezing in here.

  Is that table over there empty? Well, are they leaving soon? Could we move over there once they pay? Did you give them the check yet? Well, if they leave like before our food comes out, could we move? It looks much roomier, much more comfortable. The kids need a little more space.

  Sit down! Would you please just sit down! Here, take the Game Boy, just sit down! Sorry. You know we’re actually in a rush, so if you could just tell the kitchen to put a rush on our order. We’re really hungry. The kids are starving. We’re just really hungry.

  You know, I hate to do this to you, but the kids don’t like the pasta. The sauce doesn’t taste right. It just … I don’t know, they said it doesn’t taste right. We’re not going to eat it, so you can just take it off. Just take it off the check. You know, I think they’re OK. They’ll just have some ice cream. Kids, you want ice cream? You want vanil
la? You want chocolate? Vanilla? Kids, you want whipped cream? Do you want whipped cream? Kids, put down the Game Boy or no ice cream! Kids, you want whipped cream? You want a cherry? Kids, you want sprinkles? Sprinkles? Yes? Is that a yes? You know what? Just put some sprinkles on the side. If they want them, they’ll use them. You have chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Just a little of both I guess. But just … can you see if they just could hurry that out? The kids are starving. They’re so hungry. Thanks a lot. The burger? Eh, it’s OK. They probably could’ve seasoned the meat a little better. I think they cooked it too fast. It’s a little dry. No, it’s fine. Well … no, it’s fine. Well … no … well … I’m fine, I’m fine. You have cappuccino? I’ll take a latte. Skim. Decaf. Splenda. No Splenda? Right, I’ll just … I’ll just … I’ll just … I’ll just … I’ll take it.

  Wait.

  I’m always looking to help out

  Always willing to lend a helping hand, that’s me. It’s like my unofficial motto. My official motto is: “Try to always be on the lookout for an opportunity to help out.” But it’s a little too official, if you know what I’m getting at. Sometimes you might have a great concept for a motto or a cool idea. It’s taking shape in your head and you’re playing around with it as the words roll off your tongue. But as soon as you make it official, as soon as you lay that stamp upon it, saying, “OK, this is it, my official motto,” something happens to it, something immediate. Then it’s set in stone, it’s too formal, it’s institutionalized, and you wish it weren’t your official motto anymore. But it’s too late, way past too late, it’s already official. You’ve already punctuated the whole motto with official quotation marks. It just doesn’t have that same energy anymore. It’s stale, stuck. So that’s why I mostly go with unofficial mottos.

  My helpful nature is just that, natural. A lot of the time I feel like I have to protect it from outside influences. Like, a lot of the time, because I’m so helpful, people will offer my services to other people, just by knowing me, just by knowing that my helpful nature naturally wants to help out. But if you think about it, that’s not really me being helpful. It’s like someone else being helpful. And so I feel like I舗mi not helping out, but the other person, the person who referred me is actually being the helpful one. They’re providing the help. It’s like if you asked that person to borrow a screwdriver, and they said yes, that person wouldn’t sit back and think wow, what a great screwdriver. No. They’d think, wow, what a great friend.

  I’m nobody’s tool.

  And I never use screwdrivers. I just hold the screw to the wall and push as hard as I can until it makes an indentation in the drywall. After the indentation gets as deep as it’ll get just by my pressing it in there, I’ll try my best to, while still applying pressure, turn it steadily with my bare hands as it carves its way slowly into the wall. It takes forever. And you have to use really long screws to get a good grip. Also, it’s much easier if you get screws with really big heads, because there’s more for your fingers to work with. People always come over to my house and look at my oversized and often poorly placed screws sticking out of the walls, doing a terrible job of holding up my pictures and paintings, poking out in certain spots where I had once screwed something in, only to later regret that screw placement, but now it’s in there, and it took me forever, getting it out would probably be equally taxing. I explain my reasoning, but people always say something like, “You know, you could have just borrowed my screwdriver. I have a bunch.”

  But listen, I’mi the helpful one, the most helpful. What kind of a helpful person would I be if I were always going around to my friends and family asking for help? Then the next time I find myself in a conversation about who’s the most helpful person, part of me might feel obliged to bring up that time that I was helped out by this person or that person or so and so. No, I’d rather just stand back and listen to people feel obliged to talk about how helpful I am. He’s so helpful, that Rob, but so independent, and so resourceful. He never asks anything of anybody. That’s what they’ll have to say. Because it will be true. Or it is true. Or it will have still been true.

  Alfred!

  I’ve always wanted to read a comic book that’s just about Alfred, Batman’s butler. It could be called Alfred. And it wouldn’t have to have anything to do with crime fighting or mysteries. I’m not trying to make Alfred something he’s not. No, it would just be stories about him taking care of Batman’s mansion, following the exploits of his managerial duties around the house. He’d have to get dinner ready. He’d have to make sure Batman’s Batman costume was dry-cleaned. You might think this would be a pretty boring comic. But it wouldn’t be.

  Take Batman’s laundry for example. It sounds super lame, right? Wrong. Where do you think Alfred might take the bat suit to get dry-cleaned? Maybe if I brought a Batman costume to my local dry-cleaner one time, they might think, OK, he went to a costume party, he spent a lot of money getting a really professionally-made Batman costume. Great. But what if I started bringing like two or three of them in to get cleaned every week? What if I started bringing them in and they’re all covered in blood and sewer water and poison gas? Don’t you think the dry-cleaning guy would figure it out after a week or two? He’d say to himself, “Could this guy be Batman?” Wait a second, he’d think, that doesn’t make any sense, because this guy’s all old and British and he has a pencil-thin mustache. So he must be Batman’s butler. Let’s call up the Riddler and see how much this information is worth.

  Alfred wouldn’t have any choice but to buy, install, and figure out how to operate his own personal dry-cleaning machine. That’s really not as easy as it sounds. You’re dealing with some serious chemicals. Did you know that they use formaldehyde and stuff? That’s a carcinogen. Alfred is literally putting his life on the line for the sake of keeping Batman somewhat clean. I think I’ve just written the first three issues right there.

  You might think that, seeing as how Alfred has to go above and beyond the call of duty of a regular butler, Batman might cut him some slack here and there.

  “Hey Alfred,” Batman might say.

  Alfred would respond, “Yes, Master Bruce?”

  “You know what, Alfred? Forget about wearing that tux all the time. You work really, really hard. Just put on whatever you feel like wearing, whatever’s comfortable.”

  Alfred would be caught off guard. “Th-thank you, Master Bruce. As you wish, Master Bruce.”

  “And another thing,” Batman would continue, “enough with the whole ‘Master Bruce’ business. How long have we known each other? You practically raised me. You’ve been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad. Just call me Bruce. Or Batman. But not when company’s around. Then just stick to Bruce.”

  Alfred would be practically choking up at this point, totally unable to hold back the tears of pure joy welling in his eyes.

  This would all be covered in issues four through six.

  “Thank you, sir! I mean … Bruce. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have a genuine moment like this with you.” Alfred would start pouring his soul out to Batman.

  But just then, a portal through space-time would rip open beside Alfred and Batman. And it would be a cyborg-robot Alfred from a parallel universe. He would come in, guns a-blazing, making this big, dramatic speech about how on his world, Batman was a total dick, never giving Alfred any respect, and so this Alfred became a villain. On his world, he killed his Batman for treating him no better than a doormat. But the satisfaction of revenge was fleeting, so now he travels across the multiverse killing every Batman he can find. And it’s up to our Alfred to figure out a way to stop him.

  That would be issues seven through twelve. I know, I told you the whole series wouldn’t be about anything heroic, just Alfred and his household duties. But by issue three, I’m sure the fans would have said to themselves, what the hell? Seriously? A comic book about just a butler? That’s so, so lame. I’m never even going to think about buying this piece of trash ever again.
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  And the publishers will get the message. Sales will be low. By the time issue five hits the stands, they’ll have ordered me to switch up the stories, make them more about superheroes and supervillains. But I’ll protest. “Don’t you remember our plan? Only butler stories!”

  The publisher will say, “If you can’t write these stories, we’ll find someone who can!”

  I won’t have a choice.

  But it will be too late. The fans won’t ever give it a second chance. They’ll print up to issue twelve and call it a wrap. After a year or so, they’ll package all twelve issues together in a hardcover and call it a graphic novel. Maybe someday somebody in the TV biz might buy the rights, and they’ll come up with a TV show also called Alfred. And the theme song would be almost identical to the 1960s Batman TV show:

  Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Na na na na na na na na na na na na na Alfred!

  I’m telling you, everything happens for a reason

  Everything happens for a reason. Like that time I stepped in dog shit. I was really pissed off, grossed out. I didn’t feel like cleaning it off. So I said goodbye to those shoes. I said, “So long, shoes!” and I threw them in the trash, somebody else’s trashcan, obviously. Garbage pickup wasn’t until Tuesday, and I didn’t want to worry about accidentally forgetting those shoes were in there. I might go to take out some garbage or something and I would open up the lid and just be overwhelmed with, well, I don’t have to get in to describing how terrible that would have been.

  What if I was right about to enjoy a nice snack? And before chowing down, I’d be like, hmm. Maybe I should take out the garbage. There I’d go. I’d open up the lid and, yeah, that exact scenario I just described would wind up unfolding. Now I’d be disgusted. My appetite, gone. I’d sit down to my snack, not into it anymore, not into anything. And so my snack would just go to waste. Obviously I wouldn’t be able to just leave the snack out to spoil, but I wouldn’t want to make another trip out to the garbage can, so I wouldn’t do anything, and eventually the snack would turn.