Jeff Woo – the story revealed

Stuffed into a single occupancy office with 3 other contractors with a defective AC unit was the least of my worries. The smell of McDonald’s hotcakes and sausage in the tepid air was making my nose hair quiver in pain. (yes, nose hair can quiver) As I swallowed hard to keep the stomach acid down where it was supposed to be, I knew it would be another day in paradise.

2 hours and 36 news sites later, I decided I should actually do something productive. Walking back from the coffee stand, I started feeling liberated from the tomb that I had been sitting in for the last few weeks since I started this contracting Gig. Ahh, the power of a triple shot latte.

It didn’t take long for the caffeine high to transition my body into a partial comatose state about 10 minutes after the latte was finished, and the rancid Mickey D’s scent began to waft into my nostrils. It isn’t easy sleeping while trying to sporadically click your mouse so it looks like your working.

Two of the other three schmucks in the office/jail I was stationed in were also dosing off, due to either a lack of meaningful work, or the environmental facts of the 400 degrees of body heat, the whirl of the laptops, and the deafening buzz of the florescent light ballasts that were on their last legs.

The only person that was busy was Georgia, the skinny blonde that insisted that the only way to stay at her current 92lb weight was to suck down lard infused hotcakes from the aforementioned gourmet restaurant. She was in the middle of her “release,” and the stress of actually having to accomplish something after sitting slumped in an atrophic state for months was getting to her. Receiving a few hundred emails a day is fine when all you need to do is delete them, but when you actually need to read, analyze, and respond intelligibly to them, it just plain sucks.

As my head began to gain downward momentum on its final sleep induced slump allowing me to finally grasp the imaginary triple shot latte I was dreaming about, it happened.

A curdling scream cut through the hotcakes-stench like a stinky fart in a movie theater and even caused the crippled ballasts to respect the pitch and decibel level that came lunging forcefully out of Georgia’s mouth.

“DAMN YOU JEFF WOO!”

I nervously got up to pick up my mouse from the other side of the room, after reflexes I thought I had lost while doing nothing for the last few months, actually were awakened, and for some reason thought the best thing to do would be to chuck the closest thing to my hand across the room. Keeping my eyes intently focused on Georgia, and trying to determine if this was a fight or flight situation, I noticed that one of the other inmates who was sitting closest to her, Brian, was checking to make sure he didn’t piss himself while clenching his hands together, to keep them from shaking. Aaron, the newest member of the group was contemplating if he should cry, either on the behalf of this Jeff Woo character, or because the toothpick sized woman might come after him with the same vengeance as portrayed in her last imperative statement.

Who is Jeff Woo, and what could he have done to deserve such contempt? Hell if I know. But what I do know, is, he is screwed if he ever runs into Georgia.