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Saturday, December 23, 2006


Mime Time Tuesdays

It was Tuesday, which meant the mimes would be coming any minute. Stan took his lunch break a bit late in hopes that he might miss some of the miming, but when he arrived back to the office they had not yet come, alas, meaning he was to suffer their entire presence.
The office had gone haywire ever since management hired a new supervisor. Casual Friday became Clown Friday, Hawaiian Shirt Wednesday became Exotic Animal Petting Zoo Wednesday, and now this Mime Time Tuesday replaced ordinary Tuesdays. Some things were holy. Solitaire used to be a good enough distraction, and meeting around the coffee pot in the morning to talk about the previous uneventful evening. But that was just the thing, his evening hadn't been uneventful at all and yet these days no one seemed interested in his business not when there were emus and platypuses to pet. His wife, he was sure, was having an affair with Bradley, a mutual friend, and he was still planning out his affair with Bradley’s wife, Mimi. It had all the makings of a dramatic sexual tryst, and these mime’s were about to ruin everything! At least they didn’t bring screeching balloons and horns like the clowns. At least there was that.
They came in a straight line, he could see them out of the corner of his cubicle, walking somberly in their stripped outfits like convicts on death row. But then they turned their faces upward and broke into huge smiles spreading their hands out in front. The four mime covered the office. Stan watched as one came straight for him. “I knew I shouldn’t have looked him in the eye, that’s like giving them permission to come perform,” he said to a young woman working across the aisle form him.
“Oh cheer up, Stanley, they’re here for us to enjoy not abhor,” she replied with a smile.
“Have I told you much about my wife?” he asked, begging her for an answer.
“Look, look, he’s almost here. I wonder if he’ll do the box.” It was in fact his first act. First he was fine, but as he realized that all the walls were in so close he became agitated. Then, enlightened by an idea, he opened the top and climbed out. Stan wondered for a minute how he was able to conquer gravity by climbing out of an imaginary box, but his thoughts of Mimi were much more important. After work he would go to the florist and would leave a dozen daffodils on the doorstep of her and Bradley’s apartment. He would leave them anonymously in case she didn’t find them first, and he knew that secrecy would get things started in a mysterious vein. Or, at the very least, it would cause some chaos in the household, arguments about who sent the flowers, who she was fucking, a vein of distrust. He could play the caring friend listening to her as she rambled about a marriage falling apart on both ends. It was going to be beautiful.
The mime held a thinking pose, mirroring Stan’s contemplations. When Stan noticed, showing his annoyance, the mime pulled from his sleeve a crisp yellow daffodil and handed it to Stan. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said out loud, then returning to thought continued: “I guess I could just leave one there, that would be enough to get things started. Attach a little note, a hint of cologne, yes, the affair was as good as started. He checked his watch but was too anxious to read it at first.

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