Jumping the Monkey - Part II
Tuesday, May 31st, 2005Now the thrilling conclusion to Jumping the Monkey. Will the narrator turn on Shefsky? Will the boss learn how to park? How does any of this tie-in with Wil Wheaton? All will be revealed below…
“I should get back to work,†I said.
“This paperwork will be right here, and if at any point today you feel the urge to stop by and chat, it’ll be waiting for you.â€
“How long might it wait?â€
“Till 2 PM.â€
And that was that. I had to decide by 2 PM whether or not to destroy Bob Shefsky or be fired myself. Hell of a way to start a weekend. 8 AM and I already wanted strong drink. And Shefsky wasn’t helping the cravings. That morning, he bounded into my cubicle like a kid on Christmas morning. He looked damn good for fifty.
“Remember that place I told you about in North Carolina?†he asked.
“Your retirement dream home?â€
“That’s the one. Got the phone call from the Realtor. We sign on Saturday.â€
“Congratulations.â€
“Yeah. I threw all my spare cash into that place. Took a second mortgage. But hey, what the heck, I’m two weeks from being out of here. Got that pension coming.â€
“How’s your daughter?†When he said pension, I almost puked up my coffee. It was foul brew since the janitors made it at 5 AM. By 8 AM when everyone showed up it was halfway to bile. I tried to hate Bob like I hated the coffee. It wasn’t working.
“I forget to tell you, the oldest one is getting married! Found out about ten days ago. That’s the other reason I took out the new mortgage. I’m fronting the whole shebang. You’re coming, right?â€
“I’ll see what I can do.â€
“Of course you’ll come! You’re like a second son to me.â€
“Thanks, Bob.â€
“You know, I tell you there’s a lot of real scum in this place. People who stab you in the back. But you, you were always good to me. I always knew exactly where I stood with you. No hidden agenda. I appreciate it. I’ll miss you, kid.â€
This was the moment I needed Shefsky to be a scourge like the boss. Why couldn’t he be a jerk for once? Give me some kind of reason to hate him. Because Shefsky wasn’t a jerk, that’s why. Just an old man who had put in his time already, and was about to get screwed because it made a spreadsheet look better.
Until lunch, I blocked out my problems and focused on the work. Gave into repetition and monotony. For every job I’ve ever had, there’s been a basic script. If you follow the script, everything is fine. Fight the script and either boredom or frustration takes over. Some jobs take longer to master, but in the end once you find the groove, it’s just lather, rinse, and repeat.
At 12 PM Shefsky offered to buy me lunch and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted. I drove and picked a quiet place a bit too far from the office for everyone but upper management. They didn’t care if lunch took three hours. Shefsky didn’t waste any time.
“So what did she offer you?†asked Shefsky.
“What?â€
“What did she offer you to steam roll me?â€
“I really don’t want to do it, but if I don’t get you fired…â€
“…you’re fired.†Shefsky finished for me. “She wants to you to sign something that says I made a pass at you?â€
“How the hell do you know all this?â€
“Because she’s playing both of us. I’m supposed to sign the same statement, except it’s about you. She’s trying to get us both to fire ourselves. Saves her the dirty work and the company saves on severance.â€
“That no good, god…â€
“Stop right there. You’re raising my blood pressure. I can think of a few words too.â€
“What are we going to do about this?â€
“What can we do? He finished his beer. “I’m old and on the way out. And about to be broke. You’re young and dumb. Well, dumb anyway.â€
“This is crap. She can’t get away with this. We’ve got to tell somebody.â€
“Nice thinking, kid. Who’s going to listen?â€
Shefsky was right. We were nobodies, stuck in a nowhere existence two hours from unemployment. I didn’t know anyone of importance. My mind considered the possibilities. I’m kinda ADHD and I remembered something from the newspaper that had nothing to do with anything. There were a few write ups about new book releases, the New York Times best seller list, and an ad on the second to last page. Something about that tiny ad was familiar. Wait, a local book signing. Wil Wheaton had a signing at 1 PM, just a few blocks from the restaurant. I wasn’t particularly fond of his work, but if it made the papers at all, there might be a reporter there. And if there wasn’t, his publicist would be there. Now we just had to get his attention. If we were going to go down, we might as well be extreme. Excited, I told Shefsky my plan. He was dubious.
“The only thing is,†I said. “We’ll need some kind of documentation. Otherwise it’s libel.â€
“If you get a reporter’s ear, I’ve got proof.†Shefsky pulled out three rolled up sheets. His version of the written statement from the boss. “I made a photocopy when she went to the bathroom. You don’t get to be my age without learning how to cover your ass.â€
I smiled.
The line for autographs at the store was thirty minutes long. That’s about twenty-eight more minutes worth of fans than I thought Wil Wheaton had. I didn’t see any security. I wasn’t the tail end of the crowd, which was a good thing, because the more people around the better. Shefsky spotted a reporter in the corner, prepping questions for a post-book signing interview.
At last my turn came. Then boss walked in with her own copy. Great. Another reason to dislike Wil Wheaton. She cut ahead of everyone including me and said to Shefsky, “Thanks for saving my spot in line.â€
Two times in the same day was too much. “Excuse me, the line forms behind,†I said, pointing to the rear.
She look confused, as if I had told her to change the toilet paper in the men’s room, instead of reminding her of basic courtesy. “Oh…uh…â€
“Line is back there, lady.†Someone behind said.
The boss retreated in a huff.
“Would you like it personalized?†Wil asked me.
“Please. Make it out to Bob Shefsky.â€
“OK. Here you go. Thanks for coming out today,†said Wil.
How very grateful he was. Until I punched him in the face. Really, I cracked him pretty hard. True, Wil wasn’t ready for it, but he sort of crumpled like a five-year old in a heap on top of a stack of his books. I expected someone to stop me right after that, but everyone was so shocked. They stood, confused. Then I thought someone might help him, but they didn’t do that either. They all just stared at the pool of blood forming underneath his head where he slumped on the table. No one spoke. Stress affected people in strange ways.
The reporter approached. “How pathetic. How much did he pay you?â€
“What?†I asked.
“This is the crappiest publicity stunt ever. He paid you to act like you hit him, didn’t he? To get some sympathy ink. Like Geraldo or Moby.â€
“Wait a sec. I really hit him.†This I didn’t expect. Sure, somebody had asked me why I did it. I never suspected someone would doubt the attack was real.
“Why would you do it unless he paid you? He’s an actor after all.â€
“Can someone call a doctor?†I said. “This guy needs one.â€
“You mean this is an act?†asked someone behind me. “Pathetic.â€
“Faker than fake,†said the reporter. “Come on Wil, wake up, or you can kiss your interview goodbye.†Apparently, Wil wasn’t listening.
“Loser. Faking an attack.†A few people dropped out of the line.
“Jesus Christ. I just assaulted someone in broad daylight. “How about a doctor and the cops?†I felt like turning myself into the police just then. Mostly to get the hell away from these zombies.
“Since Wil’s not talking, let’s hear your ‘deranged fan’ reason,†asked the reporter.
“I’m not a deranged fan,†I said. “I’m probably deranged at this moment, but I’m just a normal guy who was between a rock and a hard place. This morning my boss asked me to say some guy, a good guy, made a sexual advance at me. If I didn’t do it, she’d fire me.â€
“Oh the drama. You’re a worse actor than he is. You two really need to work on that routine.â€
And that’s when things got really strange. The boss, who saw the whole situation, fainted. I guess everyone thought that was an act too, because only Shefsky came to her aid. He rushed over and discovered the boss had had a heart attack. The doctors said later he was the reason the boss lived. He performed CPR just in time, and restarted her heart. A real hero, that Shefsky.
Maybe the reporter hadn’t listened to me, but when Shefsky rescued the boss, they saw a real story. And Shefsky told the reporter everything. He was very quotable. The reporter was horrified to learn of the blackmail attempt. Disgusted by the boss, the board RIFed her after she returned from medical leave. Even thought they hadn’t wanted to pay out, Shefsky got his pension.
I got arrested, but the prosecutor went with the reporter’s version that the attack was staged. No charges were filed. I even got interviewed.
I heard Wil Wheaton blogged about the incident. He went with the reporter’s take, too.
NOTE: The above work ( Jumping the Monkey, Copyright 2005 Sam Hilliard ) is made available under the Creative Commons License for Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 license. You may redistribute the work for noncommercial use as long as the license and the copyright notice remains attached to the work.
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