Oh no! It’s an
impromptu meeting!
”
3 o’clock’s the real witching hour,
”
my friend, Annette declared with a sigh as she threw herself
into her seat.
Oh no! It’s an impromptu meeting!
“3 o’clock’s the real witching hour,” my friend, Annette declared with a sigh as she threw herself into her seat.
Lunches have all been taken, the second round of breaks has gone. Nothing more to do, but ride out the last couple of hours until Fred’s boss pulls the pterodactyl’s tail and we can all slide down the dinosaur’s tail, shouting, “Yabba Dabba Do!”
  She’s right. Morning brings us to the desk, bright-eyed, ready to face the world, lipstick applied just so and the perfect amount of cream in your coffee.
Then you get the phone call. Whether it belongs to you or another department is of no consequence as they bark at you. You’re the one unlucky enough to have been up next in the calling tree with someone screaming about some injustice real or imagined and it takes a little wind out of your sails.
   An impromptu meeting with the bigwigs upstairs and it’s then that you realize that your blouse has toothpaste on it just as you’re sitting down across from the Big Cheese. You make a clever fan arrangement across your chest from some file folders you brought with you. “Ooh, la la,” you chuckle to yourself. “Tres sexy.”
What? I’m supposed to give a presentation? Oh, nothing formal, you say; just a quick rundown on the project on the table for this week. Well, why didn’t you say so? My notes are at my desk. Well, half of them. The other half is in the car.
As you stand up, you spill your half cup of coffee and try to mop it up with some tissue you were going to use to dab at your eyes, since the new cat that the kids adore, gives you allergies. The tissue breaks apart in a soggy, fragmented, beige mess. You try to appear as if nothing happened as you dodge the drops of coffee, running over the edge of the table to the floor, looking like a bad impersonation of Michael Flatley, Lord of The Dance. You’re wearing new open-toed shoes. Suede, of course.
Impromptu meeting over, everyone trudges back to their desk, muttering about new goals that don’t make any sense, and wondering about the new product launch just days away, but hey… you’ll all be ready with huge smiles on your faces. Right? The enthusiasm generated in the conference room deflates like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Float after a run-in with a street light before you’ve even picked up your phone to answer the voicemails that were left while you were in the meeting.
Lunchtime. No time to actually pack a lunch, you make a drive-thru run, only to realize that your teenager thinks your wallet is an ATM machine. Luckily, the Clown takes your ATM card. You scarf down a quick calorie-laden, trans fat-filled meal and then lament how your butt was never this flat before you had a desk job.
Back at your desk, you field some calls, send some e-mails. Some work related, some silly.
And there it is. 3 o’clock. Your butt’s a little flatter, your lipstick’s worn off, your eyes are tearing freely with no Kleenex and you’ve still got 2 hours to salvage this day.
You’re fighting to stay awake since the buzz from your Super-Duper-Gargantuan-Sized Coke from lunch is wearing off. It came with a free antenna ball, with sunglasses and a hat. You couldn’t resist, but now you have to go to the bathroom every half-hour.
Your phone rings and it’s your spouse telling you that you can just come straight home from work today. No need to detour to the store for something for dinner, and no reason to pick up the kids form daycare or assorted activities. He got off work a little early and is taking care of it. All is suddenly right with the world.
Another impromptu meeting? It’s okay. Your half “cup of coffee” is half full again.
