Mad Spaghetti Goes Corporate

My new job is very much a big corporate sort of place, with a tiny hint of small corporate thrown in for good measure.  My new boss is a very nice person - with a very nice car.  This week he called me after I'd already gotten to work, and he wanted me to come pick him up.  He'd dropped off his very nice car for maintenance, and wanted me to come get him... in the dog car.  In case you missed it, let me say it again:  My boss had dropped off his very nice car and wanted me to come pick him up.  In the dog car.  Please bear in mind that at this particular junction he didn't necessarily understand the ramifications of a ride in the dog car, and to my knowledge was unaware that I drove the dog car.

 

So there I was at 9:30 in the morning fresh off of a weekend of dog working and dog walking, and the dogs had taken quite a few swims in the creeks, and I've not washed dog bedding or vacuumed out crates recently.  I just started my third week of work here, and up to this point I've parked the dog car in the veeeeeerrrrrry back of the parking lot, thinking maybe nobody would notice me rambling up to work in a minivan full of dog crates every morning, where I get out and put on my suit coat to take the walk of shame into the building.

 

I digress.  I ran out to the van where I vigorously tried to de-doghair the passenger seat with a lint roller.  I then rolled the windows all the way down, and proceeded to drive all the way to the car place with the wind beating me to death.  This, I suspect, was a vain attempt at airing out the CrazyMobile.  I also placed the bounce sheet infused lint roller next to the passenger seat thinking to maybe perfume the air of eau de bounce as opposed to eau de dog.  Ok, so it was a good thought.

 

I somehow managed to get lost on the way to pick him up, so had to call him for help.  When I rambled up he was standing on the side of the road... waiting in his suit and tie.  I proceeded to apologize for the dog car, and he did try desperately to save me by saying, "I have a dog!".  Unfortunately he made the grave mistake of asking how many dogs I had.  This started a ramble-fest about how many dogs, what do we do, which segued into a ramble about sheep, factory farming, and butchers.  Yes, I talked about butchering sheep to my new boss.  All of this took place over the span of two blocks where I also managed to try to turn the wrong way down a one way street and cut across three lanes of traffic trying to recover.

 

I babbled incessantly (and yes, I could hear myself but seemed to be powerless to put a cork in it) and risked our lives all the way back to the office.  I dropped him off at the door and then parked the van back in it's unobtrusive spot.  I'm not sure why I bothered as obviously the gig is now up.  Oh, and it gets worse.  At one point, during the babble-fest and life and limb escapade, I blurted out, "I used to have a nice SUV but I gave it to my ex-husband so I could buy THIS!".  Oh yeah baby, I'm just that good under pressure.

 

It took me seven hours to stop sweating.  To make matters worse two days later he asked me to take him back to pick up his car.  I guess maybe he wasn't as freaked out as I would have expected.  Or more likely I was just the last person on earth available.