That Wallace Sure Does A Lot Of Meeting

Dear fellows burners.

A friend of mine shared this with me the other day. He happens to live in a high rise apartment adjacent to the very same building that he works in. His bedroom is in fact visible from his offices. This has afforded him the luxury of going home for a nap during lunch, amongst other things. One day however, he forgot to close the blinds leading to disastrous consequences. Well… depending on how you look at it.

Enjoy

It was 11am on a Monday and ‘Bob from accounts’ was on his routine coffee break. Bob liked to stroll around the office stopping occasionally to make small talk with various colleagues. On this particular Monday he thought he’d drop by Wallace and Richard's desk. Richard who was affectionately known as Dick, (though he hated being called Dick), was busy and didn’t have time to chat to Bob from Accountants.

"Where's Wallace Dick?", said Bob, as he sipped gingerly on his coffee, standing awkwardly close to Richard. Richard did not bother to look up, as he secretly hated Bob from Accounts because Bob from Accounts was just so smug! "Don't know,” replied Richard. “Think he said he had an important meeting.”

Bob from Accounts reflected out loud, "Ah, that Wallace sure is a hard worker. He sure does do a lot of meeting."

Bob continued to stand next to Richard casually scanning the building across the way. Something however, caught his eye. He squinted trying to make sense of the shape and movements. "Hey what the hell is…. Dick..."

Richard continued to stare at his computer, though now noticeably frustrated "What?" said Richard. “Dick, Dick. Look over there, Dick. There’s some guy masturbating in that apartment in the building across the way." Richard peered over his cubicle and astonishingly Bob wasn't lying.

"Hold on," said a bewildered Richard. "That's not just some guy. That's Wallace!"

This observation caused Bob to spit out his coffee onto Richard, and Richard’s computer. "Oh. Sorry Dick. I was just so..."

"My name’s not Dick you son of a bitch. It’s Richard. Richard!" Richard shoved Bob from Accounts. He'd shoved him again and again. Across the office they went. "Get it. Richard! And you're not sorry. You're anything but. All you are is God Damn smug." 

They were now on the opposite end of the open floor approaching a balcony. Bob almost toppling over with every shove. But before Richard could gain control of himself, he gave Bob from Accounts one last, fatal push. Bob lost balance and went crashing backwards, out onto the balcony and over the railing. Floor after floor he dropped. It would seem like an eternity. Falling, falling...

Richard, as white as a ghost, turned around to face his hushed colleagues.  Shaking, sweating, Richard said, "Dear God, what have I done?" his voice quivering with fright. There was dead silence in the office.

"Dick! My God. You've killed him," said Hassleback. “Well Dick, we can't have that happen in such a reputable institution that is Webber and Wicks Bank. “No, no," continued Hassleback, "Can’t have that. If we were to go around pushing every smug in-house accountant out of the window to their inevitable deaths, lets just say that the IRS would be up to their guts in audits." The whole office laughed at this.

"I'm sorry Dick, but we're going to have to let you go."

"But sir, its Wallace. Wallace was...."

"Now now Dick. Don't blame it on Wallace. Wallace is a respectable, hard working  employee....".

“A credit to this institution”, said another,

“He sure does do a lot of meeting.", said Higgins.

"To true.”  Continues Hassleback. “Speaking of which, looks like we’ll have to give that promotion to Wallace now, since well, Dick’s a murderer and all. Where is that son of a gun?”

Jut at that moment a sweaty looking Wallace came hurriedly back into the office, “Sorry fellas. Was just at a meeting. Did I miss anything?”

“Only the death of an account, and a promotion!”

"I got it?” said Wallace.

“You sure did Wallace” said Hassleback.

“But I thought Dick was a shoe-in?”

“Well that was before Dick went awol and murdered Bob from Accounts.”

“That’s great news. I mean, that’s tragic…”

“I’m not going to miss that smug son of a bitch. Are you?” The whole office laughed, except for the accounting department, who while having heard, and seen the events pass, were physically incapable of laughter, or any other human emotion.

Richard, dragged away, kicking and screaming by security, made one last defiant statement of intent, “I’ll get you Wallace. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you.”

Wallace ignoring Richard looked down at his watch. "Well. No time to waste," he said, "I got a meeting to get to. Later"

The whole office laughed at this, simultaneously giving each other high fives….

End

These old locks?

Dear Fellow Burners,

Las Vegas is a city that every man or women should get the chance to experience once in their lifetimes. It is a city that burns and anti-burns simultaneously and therefore a city after my own heart. To give the story below a bit of context when I was in Vegas I fell in love with a stripper – lets call her Maria. Maria told me many things that night. Many wonderful things. She had an acute awareness of all things good, and right and beautiful in the world.

“Handsome,” she said, “Have you ever considered hair modeling?” “Me?” I said confused, “Why no. As a matter of fact I haven’t. Why? Do you think” She interrupted me, “Because you’ve really got some great hair.” She continued to stroke my skull leisurely. Purring like a kitten I said, “These old locks? Well, I guess. I mean, you think I have what it takes?” “Absolutely!” And how could I not take her seriously. She’d never lied to me before. “Another dance?” she asked. “Where do I sign!” I said.

I still maintain, perhaps somewhat naively, (and much to the amusement of fellow burners), that Maria and I, or whatever her name was, shared something special that night. I wasn’t just another client, and she wasn’t just another hot Vegas stripper.

Anyway that should be enough context for the story below.

Enjoy.

Summer scent was fresh in the air. Energy levels were high and expressions happy. I love summer in New York and what better way to explore the city then on a bike. This would be first priority, so I set off to Soho Bikes to find my two-wheeled companion.

I browsed around the store. Nothing in particular took my fancy. I was becoming despondent. On my way out however I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. There it was. A black and brown Biria. A simple classic street bike. No gaudy gimmicks. No shock absorbers, bells or whistles. Just a comfortable seat, low profile tires, and a bit of character. My interest had not gone unnoticed. The store owner had seen me drooling over the Biria and had swooped over to seal the deal.

“Yes sir. Is there anything I could help you with today?”

"Ah, well I quite like that one. The Biria. How much does that cost?”

"Yes sir, a mighty fine choice indeed. On sale in fact. The last one of this model. You’ll need to act soon though because today is the last day of the sale, and these have sold like hot cakes. It’s really an anti-burn at that price. He showed me the price tag. It was more than I bargained for. “What happens if I don't have the money right now?" I said. “Well then sir,” he responded,  “I guess you can go and burn!” Oh no I thought. What the hell am I to do. I must have that bike! At which point, another customer interjected and said, “Look boet this is not fuckin Paris, floating down the river Sienne on a Gondola...”

“or some shit.” said the man behind the counter. “Make up your mind.

I looked at the bike again. I caught my reflection glistening in the frame and responded. “Tell you what, we can make a deal. I'll give you $100 dollars and the rest in hair. Imported from Africa you know.” The owner paused for a moment, "Hmmm, well that does seem like some mighty fine hair. Mind if I ruffle my hands through it a little.”

“I’d prefer if you didn't”. I had another look at the gorgeous machine. “Go wild” I said.

The man made claws for hands and suddenly lunged his hands into my thick locks. He shook my head around uncontrollably, sending me flying too and fro. As a result I knocked down one of the bikes creating a domino like effect, sending all the bikes in the shop crashing to the ground. The resultant sound was deafening. Thousands of bells rang off simultaneously reminiscent of a schoolyard at the end of lunch. Out of pure instinct pedestrians on surrounding streets dived into the closest stores. Women and children were tossed aside in the chaos.  A couple of no good hipsters choose to play hooky and stayed outside, smoking casually, cursing the bankers and lawyers who scuttled frantically into the surrounding shops, calling them sellouts and teachers pets. Policemen interrogated the hipsters asking them where their hall passes were.

In amongst all of this I found myself on the ground clutching my head. The owner seeped through the crowd, eyes fixated on my hair, “Its mine” he said, “my precious.” In one last desperate effort he made a lunge across the room. I moved out of the way just in time. His head went crashing against the wall. Fortunately for his sake, it was the same wall, which contained the helmets and consequently only suffered mild concussion. I had to get out of this place.

I scurried out of the store running up the street in search of the closest hair salon. Please, give me a haircut. Make it short. Real Short.

“Sure honey” said the man behind the counter. “But are you sure you want to cut it so short. You really do have great...”

“Just do it!”

A few minutes went by in what seemed like an eternity.

"Well that's it." He paused... “You don't mind if I keep some of this”, he said referring to my hair. “You know just for...”

"Do with it what you will! How much will it be?"

"That will be $100.00."

"What?! $100.00..." I felt faint

"Sir? Sir!!!" I walked out of the shop, into the middle of the empty street as if in some catatonic state. Dropped to my knees, looked up at the skies, tears in my eyes, shouting

"BBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!"