I was looking for my birth certificate today and while searching through drawers of documents, I came across several treasures. Needless to say, I still can’t find my birth certificate but I did find a little spiral notebook with nothing in it but a scrawled missive in my own handwriting that began:
“It was a dark and stormy night, maybe not stormy, but definitely nighttime. Bob Saget paced distractedly in the dim light of his study.”
It goes on for two pages, in the same silly mode. It made me laugh out loud. It reminded me of the Bob Saget Incident.
Years ago, I worked for an enterprise that shared an office suite with Bob Saget. Bob rarely used his office. In fact it was empty, furnished only with some clumsy paintings on one wall. It was a huge office with a nice polished wood floor. When I didn’t have anything better to do, I would roll in there in my leather office chair and race it back and forth across the room. I think I tried to get people to join me in a game of Murderball but no one ever wanted to.
One day, Bob appeared and introduced himself in a low-key, friendly manner. “Hi, I’m Bob,” he said. He asked me if I’d noticed the paintings and revealed that his daughter was the artist. I now realized that they were copies of the Mona Lisa and some other famous work, Van Gogh or something. I liked him for being so proud of his kid.
I only saw Bab Saget that one time. But one day, the mail arrived and included a package addressed to Bob. The wrapping was distinctive; it was something from Mrs. Beasley’s. The package was small but heavy. I was intrigued. Intrigued isn’t actually the right word. I was covetous. There was obviously something delicious in there, and I was bored and hungry.
I showed the package to a colleague who shared my excitement. I announced that I had made an Executive Decision, and opened the package.
Sure enough, it was packed with pastries: Lemon bars, gingerbread, four different kinds of pastries, all sprinkled with powdered sugar. I took a bite of one and nearly passed out from pleasure.
I took the box into my office, where my boss, who we will call ‘Ed,’ was horrified by my indecency. He was beside himself. What the hell was I thinking? What if Bob found out? I managed to calm him down and reassured him that no one could ever prove anything.
Later, Ed returned to my office to remind me about the dinner party he was having that night. I told him I’d be there. “Bring those pastries,” he said imperiously.
Wonderful story!
OK: This is either the most wonderful, spontaneous piece of fiction yet, or a remarkable memory of a true incident! Which is it, Sis? I love your superb writing, and your decidedly light-hearted post. Today is, indeed, a time to resurrect and pass over. Love to you. Mo
Dj – Thank you for enjjoying it!
Mo in KCMO – Hahaha, every word it true! I relived it as I typed.
You’re like Robin Hood.
You’re the Robin Hood for insults and compliments and baked goods!
Yes, wonderful! Opening the pkg was the only thing to do and I wish I could’ve been there to help eat the goodies. Perfect the way it ended, too!
HA! My boyfriend commandeered a package of christmas candies addressed to our across-the-hall neighbors who had moved out months and months before.
They were pretty delicious and I only felt a little bad when I saw that the package came with a generic online “is this a gift?” type card that said “Merry Christmas! Love Granny and Grandpa Mort”
But then I ate more candy and forgot about feeling bad.
Great story, Sister. I would happily have joined you for a race up and down the office on chairs or, better still, turns at pushing each other really quickly. What else are chairs with wheels made for? Your ex-co-workers sound a bit stuffy.
Speaking of other peoples packages. I remember getting ready to leave for work one day and spotting the mailman coming up the path. It was early and I wasn’t feeling particularly social so I paused behind the storm door as I exited the main door of the house, waiting on him to pass. He began pushing the mail through the letterbox and last through was a large Jiffy bag that he struggled to wedge in. Finally, it fell free and there was an audible crack as it hit the stone floor. This “crack” then began to hum and in the space of three seconds had turned in to a loud vibrating noise which echoed around as the Jiffy rattled against the wood of the main door and then danced around the vestibule. By this point I was thinking “what the fuck?” I felt acutely aware of the fact the noise had stopped the Postman in his tracks and at any minute the letter box was going to open and he was going to catch my reflection in the glass door behind me, which would seem odd and ridiculous. As the packaged danced around my feet I felt relief as I heard him journey on. I could see the Jiffy was addressed to my elderly neighbour whose husband had passed 6 months prior and, well you know where this story is going. I didn’t open the package for fear of being repulsed and never being able to look her in the eye again, that said, I think my imagination has done far greater damage. Anyway, I ran upstairs and chucked it in the blanket box, contained and muffled, until “its” batteries ran flat. When I saw her car exit the driveway the following day I ran round and delivered it, anonymously.
Pastries sound much more pleasurable.
Any almond bars?
“The night was moist.”