Thursday, November 19, 2009

Telephone. A True Story.

Setting: I'm on the floor of my studio apartment, face down. I just tripped over an extra large cardboard box packed with wine glasses wrapped in newspaper, battery chargers, a mouse pad, stacks of Playboy and Elle magazines, jeans, stilettos, a football, two video game controllers, sheets, blankets, and a pink ceramic jewelry box that holds my gold sorority pin, Darren’s fraternity pin, and a green and yellow pin that reads “Info-Hellion,” which one of my insane college professors awarded me after I passed her journalism class that students referred to as “Info Hell.” These extra large boxes are scattered about the studio as if a tornado had blown threw. I hop up from my belly-down position on the floor, then carefully plot a route through the disaster zone until I reach the rusty door.

Time: 8:46 a.m.

Amount of time it takes to get to work (on foot): 23 minutes

Amount of time after I get to work that it takes to change into my uniform and gear myself up to play the part of a concierge in today’s production: 12 minutes

Time I must be at my desk: 8:59 a.m., because a resident asked to meet me at 9 a.m. “on the dot.”

Point: I’m dead meat.

* * *

Me (into the phone): Harold! Oh, thank Gawd you answered. It’s Meghan.

Harold: Oh, hi Maijken.

There’s no time to correct him.

Me: Yeah, hi. Mr. Rupert needs to store five cases of wine in the Club Level refrigerator for his event tonight. I’m supposed to be there to meet him at nine, but that’s not gonna happen. So could you send someone upstairs to unlock the kitchen?

Harold: The kitchen?

Me: Yes, the kitchen on the Club Level. With the refrigerator? Could you have someone unlock it?

Harold: Sure, I’ll send a page to the Sales Office to unlock the kitchen.


Seriously? He really thought I was Maijken? From the Sales Office? Because I’m Meghan from the Club Level.

Me (into the phone, to someone else): Hi, Lawrence? Could you call Mr. Rupert and tell him that the kitchen will be unlocked at 9:15 a.m., when I get there? Unless you can meet him on the Club Level at nine and help him with his wine storage. I’m running a bit late. I called Harold, but he thinks I’m Maijken and says he’s going to the Sales Office. He’s completely confused.

Lawrence: No prob. I’m on it.

I’m not convinced, but at this point there’s nothing I can do but haul ass.

* * *

Setting: Club Level. I walk toward my desk, calm and collected. (This is scene 1, act 1 of the production I star in every day.) I’m horrified to find Mr. Rupert slouched in a chair across from my desk, with five cases of wine stacked on a bell cart next to him.

Mr. Rupert: Someone called me and said Maijken would be here at nine, even thought I thought I was supposed to meet you. So I’ve been waiting twenty minutes for her. The concierge said she’d open the Sales Office? And that she’d put my wine in there, instead of in this kitchen? And he said I'd get my own key from the Key Trace program, so that I can access the kitchen anytime. I didn't know you guys did that. That's really nice. But jeesh, I'm way behind schedule.

Moral: Don't play Telephone. And be at work on time.

Illustration by Furbird Designs.

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  1. HAHAHAH! Thats hilarious...and seriously, I'm "Meghan" 50% of my day :) Rough lives we share

  2. That's me almost everyday, Meghan!

  3. Great story, Maijken. You know, my daughter writes a daily blog and might be interested in using this!