A Reader's Halloween Story After reading my "Halloween Hi-Jinx" story, Anne shared her own ghoulishly hilarious experience celebrating All Hallow's Eve while at work. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I did; as she's a great writer! Here's her story:
Dear Shiny David,
I was reading your blog and came upon the post where you described your past dressing-up-for-Halloween experiences. Well, I figured that I would mildly amuse you with one of my own similar experiences...here we go:
About 7-8 years ago, I was working for a small trade magazine publishing company. The entire company had about 40 employees total with a manic depressive company president. The company president (let's just call him "Humpty Dumpty," shall we?) Mr. Dumpty fancied himself the twin of Hunter S. Thompson, but would more accurately be compared to the janitor who empties the trash every evening. Yes, he took himself waaay too seriously, without any smarts or experience to back it up (his wife's parents bought him the business to keep him busy and away from them). And there we have the background for the story.
During that time, the company had a great editorial staff who got along quite well. We all decided to come to work on Halloween dressed in costumes. At the time, my pre-adolescent son (12 years old at the time) was very into Marilyn Manson's music. I decided to gain a few "cool" brownie points with him by dressing as Marilyn for work. It worked well with my son. He loaned me his "Dead Puppies" rock concert T-shirt (wth a stylized picture of a disembowled dog nailed to a cross) and helped me spray black hair coloring on my long brown hair (it's very long, down to my waist). I painted my stubby fingernails (yes, I bite them) black and used black eye makeup to surround my eyes in blackness. Black lipstick, black jeans, black combat boots and black studded bracelets and a collar completed my look. Yes, my son was quite impressed. Did I cause any accidents while driving to work? Possibly, I was too preoccupied with watching out for cops to notice. ("You're going to work, ma'am? Yeah, sure you are. Please step out of the car.")
So, I get to work. My co-workers are dressed as an elf, Dilbert, Pat (from SNL) and other more innocuous costumes than my Mr. Manson get-up. After lunch, Humpty decides to have a serious meeting with my magazine group. Of all days to choose. Because I'm the only editorial person in the magazine group, I'm also the only person in the meeting who is dressed up. H. Dumpty begins the meeting and is talking along until he gets a glance at me. He stops talking momentarily, gives me a long look and then tries to continue the meeting. Every so often, he glances at me while trying to conduct business.
Finally, he says, "Listen, let's continue this meeting next week. Anne, I can't concentrate with you like this. I just can't do it." He tries to laugh, but it all comes out strained and frustrated. Great. Just great. I feel like an ass, while feeling guilty and worried about my job. It was a bad thing to get any negative attention from the Big H.D. During his depressive phases, he's fired people for less reason. Luckily, he needed my magazine to make money for the company (while he was pissing it away buying unsuccessful new magazines), so I didn't get fired then. He needed me too much at the time, costume or not. I left voluntarily a few years later for greener pastures. And there you have it. My story. Hope you enjoyed it.
Your (newly devoted) reader,
Anne
Sunday, February 22, 2004
A Reader's Halloween Story
A Reader's Halloween Story After reading my "Halloween Hijinx" story, Anne shared her own ghoulishly hilarious experience celebrating All Hallow's Eve while at work. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I did; as she's a great writer! Here's her story:
Dear Shiny David,
I was reading your blog and came upon the post where you described your past dressing-up-for-Halloween experiences. Well, I figured that I would mildly amuse you with one of my own similar experiences...here we go:
About 7-8 years ago, I was working for a small trade magazine publishing company. The entire company had about 40 employees total with a manic depressive company president. The company president (let's just call him "Humpty Dumpty," shall we?) Mr. Dumpty fancied himself the twin of Hunter S. Thompson, but would more accurately be compared to the janitor who empties the trash every evening. Yes, he took himself waaay too seriously, without any smarts or experience to back it up (his wife's parents bought him the business to keep him busy and away from them). And there we have the background for the story.
During that time, the company had a great editorial staff who got along quite well. We all decided to come to work on Halloween dressed in costumes. At the time, my pre-adolescent son (12 years old at the time) was very into Marilyn Manson's music. I decided to gain a few "cool" brownie points with him by dressing as Marilyn for work. It worked well with my son. He loaned me his "Dead Puppies" rock concert T-shirt (wth a stylized picture of a disembowled dog nailed to a cross) and helped me spray black hair coloring on my long brown hair (it's very long, down to my waist). I painted my stubby fingernails (yes, I bite them) black and used black eye makeup to surround my eyes in blackness. Black lipstick, black jeans, black combat boots and black studded bracelets and a collar completed my look. Yes, my son was quite impressed. Did I cause any accidents while driving to work? Possibly, I was too preoccupied with watching out for cops to notice. ("You're going to work, ma'am? Yeah, sure you are. Please step out of the car.")
So, I get to work. My co-workers are dressed as an elf, Dilbert, Pat (from SNL) and other more innocuous costumes than my Mr. Manson get-up. After lunch, Humpty decides to have a serious meeting with my magazine group. Of all days to choose. Because I'm the only editorial person in the magazine group, I'm also the only person in the meeting who is dressed up. H. Dumpty begins the meeting and is talking along until he gets a glance at me. He stops talking momentarily, gives me a long look and then tries to continue the meeting. Every so often, he glances at me while trying to conduct business.
Finally, he says, "Listen, let's continue this meeting next week. Anne, I can't concentrate with you like this. I just can't do it." He tries to laugh, but it all comes out strained and frustrated. Great. Just great. I feel like an ass, while feeling guilty and worried about my job. It was a bad thing to get any negative attention from the Big H.D. During his depressive phases, he's fired people for less reason. Luckily, he needed my magazine to make money for the company (while he was pissing it away buying unsuccessful new magazines), so I didn't get fired then. He needed me too much at the time, costume or not. I left voluntarily a few years later for greener pastures. And there you have it. My story. Hope you enjoyed it.
Your (newly devoted) reader,
Anne
Dear Shiny David,
I was reading your blog and came upon the post where you described your past dressing-up-for-Halloween experiences. Well, I figured that I would mildly amuse you with one of my own similar experiences...here we go:
About 7-8 years ago, I was working for a small trade magazine publishing company. The entire company had about 40 employees total with a manic depressive company president. The company president (let's just call him "Humpty Dumpty," shall we?) Mr. Dumpty fancied himself the twin of Hunter S. Thompson, but would more accurately be compared to the janitor who empties the trash every evening. Yes, he took himself waaay too seriously, without any smarts or experience to back it up (his wife's parents bought him the business to keep him busy and away from them). And there we have the background for the story.
During that time, the company had a great editorial staff who got along quite well. We all decided to come to work on Halloween dressed in costumes. At the time, my pre-adolescent son (12 years old at the time) was very into Marilyn Manson's music. I decided to gain a few "cool" brownie points with him by dressing as Marilyn for work. It worked well with my son. He loaned me his "Dead Puppies" rock concert T-shirt (wth a stylized picture of a disembowled dog nailed to a cross) and helped me spray black hair coloring on my long brown hair (it's very long, down to my waist). I painted my stubby fingernails (yes, I bite them) black and used black eye makeup to surround my eyes in blackness. Black lipstick, black jeans, black combat boots and black studded bracelets and a collar completed my look. Yes, my son was quite impressed. Did I cause any accidents while driving to work? Possibly, I was too preoccupied with watching out for cops to notice. ("You're going to work, ma'am? Yeah, sure you are. Please step out of the car.")
So, I get to work. My co-workers are dressed as an elf, Dilbert, Pat (from SNL) and other more innocuous costumes than my Mr. Manson get-up. After lunch, Humpty decides to have a serious meeting with my magazine group. Of all days to choose. Because I'm the only editorial person in the magazine group, I'm also the only person in the meeting who is dressed up. H. Dumpty begins the meeting and is talking along until he gets a glance at me. He stops talking momentarily, gives me a long look and then tries to continue the meeting. Every so often, he glances at me while trying to conduct business.
Finally, he says, "Listen, let's continue this meeting next week. Anne, I can't concentrate with you like this. I just can't do it." He tries to laugh, but it all comes out strained and frustrated. Great. Just great. I feel like an ass, while feeling guilty and worried about my job. It was a bad thing to get any negative attention from the Big H.D. During his depressive phases, he's fired people for less reason. Luckily, he needed my magazine to make money for the company (while he was pissing it away buying unsuccessful new magazines), so I didn't get fired then. He needed me too much at the time, costume or not. I left voluntarily a few years later for greener pastures. And there you have it. My story. Hope you enjoyed it.
Your (newly devoted) reader,
Anne
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