"I did something really stupid, and I need you to help me." I nodded at you with wide and confident eyes. I have perfected this look. This look that says tell me all about how much of a fuckup you are, and I will not laugh to your face. Instead, I will fix it for you. Then I will race home to blog about it.
Turkey, what have you done now? You drove to work and forgot your briefcase? The briefcase that has all the work you did over the weekend? Oh, and also the work you needed to finish up and get out to clients today? You're giving me what now? Your garage door opener and a key? You're giving me both because you can't remember if you left your briefcase on the floor of the garage or in the vestibule inside the locked door? Okay. I will call a messenger, have them come to the office to fetch these, then go to your house where they are to use one or both to find your briefcase. Upon fetching it, they are to close the garage door and bring the briefcase, garage door opener and key back to the office? Oh, and you drew me a diagram of where in their house they can go? Fine.
I call the messenger service. They send a guy. Who takes over an hour to get to our office. I hand him the stuff, and explain the diagram. He leaves. He returns with a briefcase and the stuff. I thank him. Turkey what did you say when I handed you the briefcase? That's right - you moaned, "Oh nooooo! That's the wrong briefcase! This is my laptop! How could he not tell that's a laptop briefcase?"
Turkey, because this is my blog, let me be honest with you here. I couldn't tell from the outside that the briefcase is a laptop briefcase. And that dude is a messenger. He rides a fucking bike for a living. You really think he's well-versed in different types of briefcases? No. No he is not.
So Turkey, in your infinite wisdom, tell me to get a messenger back, and this time, when they come to the office, they are to talk to you directly. Because of all of a sudden you are now magically able to recall exactly where the proper bag is in your house. Or your garage. So I call the messenger service. The woman goes silent. "It's okay to laugh, this whole thing is kind of ridiculously funny," I urge her. She laughs. We laugh together. I tell Office Manager what's going on, hand him the garage door opener and key, and leave for lunch.
When I get back to the building, Turkey you are standing in the lobby talking on your cell phone. I smile at you, and you gesture wildly at me. I nod wisely and proceed to the elevator, completely unsure of what you were trying to communicate to me. In our penthouse, I ask Office Manager what's going on. He tells me the messenger arrived, Turkey wasn't there, and since their instructions had been to talk to Turkey before going to his house and he's not there to talk with, they refused to go, and left our office. To say I laughed would be an understatement.
When you came upstairs Turkey, you were told this. Your solution was to announce that you would leave to go home and work from there in 15 minutes, and then promptly go to the bathroom. Where you dropped two sets of keys, which Office Manager was kind enough to pick up and get back to you, though you didn't acknowledge, let alone thank him. According to what had just happened you should have left the office by 2:50 (I took a late lunch).
Turkey, you left to begin work for the day at 4:45 p.m. Now I know this time change has screwed up a lot of people, but this is ridiculous. Let's pull our shit together and to better tomorrow, hmmm?