Piggy in the Mirror

Matt informed Paul, our leader today that one of the partners, Dave, the more sober of the two, ambled into our bullpen last week, just before the weekend and engaged us in a rather lengthy stroll into esoterica surrounding the Pig. Matt suggested that it was the end of the week, and that Dave may have been drunk, but the greater surprise was that I was the main contributor to Dave’s dialogue about the current placement of the Pig.

This is true.

The Office is the experience where small is big, big is negligible, lame is funny, funny is inappropriate. The receptionist just peeked over the screen and whispered, “I got a new name for you – it’s Poindexter.” Nothing to do with anything. I’m not wearing glasses, don’t have a funny sweater on, and when last I checked, I still don’t look like the Japanese guy, Toshiro Takashi on Revenge of the Nerds.

If this statement were made to me at a cocktail party, I would smile and note it silently to myself, remembering never to make the mistake of befriending that person, ever. Since this happened at work, while at my desk, I mustered a very generous laugh, displaying my gorgeous uvula to the receptionist. Another fine example of how the Office can convert lame to funny.

Recently, the team that brought me my privacy screen decided to adorn the screen with the Pig - the sculpture that has watched over me for the last four years in my previous location. It is a stainless steel mirror cut in the shape of Piglet of Winnie the Pooh. In the old space, many years ago, it was mounted over my desk as a quick method for viewing similar sculptures. This sculpture was rejected for several reasons and had been allowed to stand guard at my desk.

Over the years, it has sustained many injuries. It's most significant defacing occurred when it was used as a test to see the effects of nickel-plating on stainless steel. It now looks like a burn victim, with a deeply etched chemical scar running the length of its face. One side is stainless, the other side is sad. And since it takes an hour to clean, I have allowed years of fingerprints on its surface to accumulate and further degrade its luster.

This Pig is the perfect friend - always soldiering on despite your lack of concern.

On Thursday, Dave swaggered into our corral to talk specifically about its haphazard placement not befitting of the venerable Pig. In an office, the daytime inmates are starved for any conversation so this single statement led to a very long conversation involving all members of the team, with me at the head.

Dave: Don’t you think that it seems rather sad how it’s perched on the screen there?
Employee 835: What’s worse is that I only see the top of its little head.
Dave: And I’m not so sure that I like it reflecting back on Ben.

And this conversation, which made the News Hour with Jim Lehrer look like Springer, carried us almost into the end of the day. It gave me numerous opportunities to showcase my part in office history, pointing, gesticulating, and telling story after story of the Pig’s heroic moves from one office to another, starting with Dave’s desk, back before he was Partner and it’s ultimate role as my adoptive guardian.

The miracle of offices is that the most self-indulgent of conversations can be so fascinating to others who would otherwise give half a rat shit in the outside world. Because members of my team can stay on YouTube for very short bursts, this reciprocal phone book recitation that occurred between Dave and myself provided them with much more excitement than that overweight black guy who raps about the Indoor Flea Market.

There was a time when I felt that it was my job to care about all the things that I could pile onto my caring wheel barrow. My efforts now seem to be concerned with not hurting anyone, or maybe even just showing up on time. I had been making more of an effort lately across the board, but not on Pig day. I chose not to get out of bed at 5:30 am as usual. Instead I got out of bed at 9:20 am. I arrived at 10:15. I listened to the NPR affiliate music program. I could barely hear a thing because the windows were fully opened, and my focus was on making the guy in the 2003 Lexus IS300 fall in love with me. My throat was scratchy because I had a gyro the night before, with tzatziki. The dairy really clogged up my nasal passages and gave me a good helping of post-nasal drip. I played up my concern for my health. Although I came in more than three hours late, the day just dragged, and I couldn’t even find the enthusiasm to spank it on the internet.

This Pig talk came at a perfect time in my desire to be better. I don't really care where the Pig goes, but it's the office where small becomes huge. One of my more subtle talents is the ability to commit to any conversation re The Vapid in the way Meryl Streep can commit to the role of a Rabbi in Queens. You should see her play a rabbi. I showed caring that afternoon. I showed commitment. I spoke as if narrating a documentary on the History Channel of the Pig's provenance. As Dave dismissed me in his usual way, I matched his notes with perfect, gentlemanly one-up-manship. This was one of our best tête-à-tête’s in the years I’d been here. I sensed Dave preparing for his final words - and as the visitor to our pen, he was entitled to the last word – and I wound up my lungs.

What Dave said as he exited the room was tremendously forgettable, as was the content of our entire conversation, but in the spirit of commitment, to showing my caring teeth, I gave it my best, most humor-inappropriate belly laugh, allowing this most enthralling volley of office humor to expose my beautiful, howling tonsils.

Today, Dawn cc’d me on an email. She issued a work order to have the Pig moved above my desk, per Dave.