A broken down plastic horse stands on my desk. 2 gaping holes have replaced his left ear and tail, the remnants of both rattle inside him like a maraca when he’s moved.
One morning last week, I arrived to work to find my work I.D. dangling from the horse’s ass. Someone had stuff the necklace part of the I.D. in the hole where the tail used to be, gauging the right length where at first glance it kinda passed as a, uh, tail. Well, not really, but I got the idea.
Instead of pulling it out and wearing it, like I’m supposed to, I left it in the ass and went badge free until early this week. My hopes were that someone would inquire about my I.D. and I would be able to respond, “My I.D. is in the horse’s ass.” It wouldn’t be a lie.
On Monday, I stopped on the stairs at work between the 3rd and 2nd floors. My shoe was untied. Leaning against the rail, I noticed it was knotted. I sat on the on the bottom step between the landing and took off my shoe. The knot was bad enough that it would require 2 hands, good fingernails and some might.
As I slowly worked the knot, people walked past me and said nothing. It wasn’t uncommon to see people parked on the stairs (we’re a social services building), but it’s pretty customary to hear, “You can’t sit on the stairs, buddy.” But most people were passive aggressive and got security to do their dirty work.
I looked more like a client than an employee and I didn’t have my badge, so I knew it was only a matter of time before someone questioned me. It happened and I was delighted:
“Buddy, you can’t sit on the stairs.”
“I work here.”
“Where’s you badge?”
“In the horse’s ass.”
He shook his head and got security.
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