Yesterday was the strangest, most-amazingly weird day of my life.
It all started with me waking from a hard sleep. You know, the type of sleep where you kind of just pop up all alert. You feel as if you’re hours late for something, in my case work, only to learn that you awoke fifteen fricking minutes earlier. Hey, every minute counts.
Yesterday was one of those days.
Unable to go back to sleep, I dragged myself to the sink to brush my teeth and submerse myself in ice-cold, wake-the-heck-up water. My eyes were halfway shut, but that’s progress.
So after catching SportsCenter’s Top 10, I was off to work. I only live five minutes from the marketing agency in which I work, so I was moseying along to the sounds of Maroon 5. I was singing terribly, but I don’t care because I’m bad.
When all of a sudden, something darts in front of me causing me to slam on breaks. What the heck! Is that what I think it is? I look for the wild bear to my right, and to my surprise, it’s the released Umaga. He’s looking back at me snarling and blowing what appears to be steam out of his infrared nostrils.
He turns back and darts around the corner.
I’m awakened from my shocked state by sounds of a blaring horn. I quickly shake my head in time to make the light and turn down the adjacent street. “Wow, wake the frick up D.” I tried to convince myself I’m awake now, park, and head in.
When I get to my office, the door is shut. My door is never shut. So, I go to open it, and it’s locked. I try again, yup, still locked. So, I cautiously knock as I’m curious to see who or what’s on the other side. “Come in,” the voice inside said.
I reach for the knob this time, and it turns. I slowly walk in, and low and behold, it’s Vincent Kennedy McMahon in the flesh sitting with his reading glasses on going over some paper work.
I immediately go back outside, shut the door, and press myself against the wall as a co-worker walks by. “What’s up D? You look as if you seen a ghost,” she questioned.
Shell-shocked, I manage to point to my office behind me when Claire interrupts me, “New ownership, weird, right? I mean we were all weirded out at first, but now it’s kind of nice.” I somehow get the strength to nod while she says something about how I needed to stop being so dramatic as she walked off.
I gained my composure and entered my, err, Vince’s office. I look around, and he knocked out my wall, so I shared an office with the designer.
“Well, are you going to just stand there all day or tell me your name?” He barked out. I started to reply, this is still really weird, when he interrupts me, “Oh never mind. Get me a coffee will you. Make it black—no scratch that, extra black. It looks like it’s gonna be a long day.”
Move legs.
“The coffee’s not going to make it self,” Vince said peering over his reading glasses. And before he could add to his comment, I was out and into the break room.
When I get there, I’m shocked to see a massive being blocking where the coffee machine. The eclipse turned around, and it saluted me. Not sure what to do, I raised my arm to salute, gave him a thumbs up, and the peace sign.
“Howdy. My name’s John Cena, and I’m the new copywriter,” the eclipse, err, Cena identified himself. “Ah, hello. I’m Daris, and I’m also a copywriter. I think.”
“Yeah, about that. They say you were drippin’ when you should’ve dropped, stepped when you should’ve skipped, and rocked when you should’ve rolled,” Cena said as he switched from a smile to a serious face. I just stared at him blankly.
He then explained, “Basically what I’m trying to say is you’re fired. You didn’t get the message?” Confused and fuming, I start to respond when he interrupts me, “I’m just kidding. It’s cool. They just demoted you. They told me to see Dusty in the print room.”
Not even knowing who “they” were, I walked blindly into the print room in search of Dusty. But this can’t be all bad, though. Dusty Rhodes was the head of the writing for WCW and what not. Maybe he can explain why the heck WWE is invading the office.
So I get to the print room, and there’s nothing. I turned to walk away and bumped straight into a wall—a gold, glittery wall, Goldust.
“How ya whoa, whoa, whoa what’s up? My name’s Goldust, but the boys call me Dusty. You must be with me,” he stated. I nodded in agreement.
Dusty explained, “Alright, I’m not sure if you noticed, but there’s been some changes. Vince decided last night that he needed a new challenge, so he’s going to start WWENet.” Confused I asked, “What like a new website?” Dusty responded, “No, more like a new Internet.”
Apparently, Vince thought it would be best if he put WWE.com on it’s own browser much like Internet Explorer and Firefox, yet it would only pull in WWE-related content.
Waving me along, we head out of the print room as Dusty continued, “I’m gonna show you around and introduce you to the new crew. Some people, like yourself, were kept, and everyone else was fired. It was crazy. Vince was firing people left and right and giving himself awards for unique f-f-f-f-terminations.”
I try to take it all in as we walk. Goldust filled me in, “Ok, this office belongs to the Creative Director, Triple H. His only boss is Vince, and he’s running the show.”
I peer into the room just in time to see Triple H spit his coffee up in the air and once more at his screen. I keep walking. “Don’t worry about him. That’s always the first thing he does when entering his office. Still don’t know why he bothers to put the thing in his mouth if he knows he’s not going to drink it. Oh well, you get used to it.”
Nodding, I continue along until we get to the copy room. Kelly Kelly smiles as she pulls her copies off the machine. I politely nod and continue walking.
We turn the corner and head into the VP of Information Technology’s room. Pacing back in forth on his cell phone is none other than Chris Jericho. He looks like he’s really worked up about something.
He’s so mad in fact that he doesn’t see Rey Mysterio, who’s bending over (or standing up, I’m not sure which) tying his shoe. Jericho trips and falls, which causes him to fling his cell phone into the air.
But before it can hit the ground, out of nowhere, Edge flies in and catches the phone in mid-air. He looks at the two fallen employees, grins, pulls his hair out of his face, and leaves as quickly as he came.
I look at Goldust, and he explains that the phone was the brand new Blackberry Touch the company provided and something about Edge having an obsession with capitalizing on every opportunity, including stealing phones.
Helping Mysterio to his feet, we venture off back into the hall.
We pass by two guys and a girl—all wearing pink suits and shades inside. Weird.
As we turn the corner, I nearly bump into MVP, but with cat-like agility, he moved out the way. “Whoa playa’. You’re lucky I’m so smooth, or you would’ve been picking your teeth out of the carpet. Why? Cause I’m ball-lin!” He takes an imaginary jump shot and walks on.
I shake my head as I continue on while looking back.
But as soon as I turn around, Wham! I bump straight into “The Enforcer” Arn Anderson. His papers go flying everywhere. Goldust tries not to laugh; I try to pick myself off the floor. I quickly pick up his papers and hand them to him all jumbled. He looks me in the eye, shakes his head, and curses under his breath as he walks off.
Goldust looks at me sympathetically and tells me to relax. We pass another office that has Orton, Rhodes, and DiBiase huddled over a computer. They immediately stand up; Orton stares at me intensely as Rhodes shuts the door.
Goldust chuckles, “Don’t go worrying your pretty little self over them. That’s just my little bro and his friends. They’re harmless.” I wasn’t so sure.
We get to the end of the hall and approach the conference room or what used to be the conference room. Goldust knocks three times and enters. It’s still the conference room.
Only this time it’s filled with strangely familiar faces. Mark Henry and Tony Atlas are arm wrestling on one end. Evan Bourne is doing shooting star presses off the conference table. Jeff Hardy’s painting his face using the reflection in the mirror. Morrison is counting his abs. The Miz keeps winking and nodding at Maryse, while she rolls her eyes in disgust. And Dolph Ziggler is walking around introducing himself.
“There you are,” a voice shouts. “Where in the sam-hill is my coffee?” Vince questions as a vein begins to fatten on his forehead.
Oh crap. In the middle of all the crazy mess, I forgot to get Vince his coffee.
“You know what? Forget the coffee. Get your filthy self out of my sight right now. I have half the urge to fire you right now. Lucky for you, I already used my good firings today. Leave the premises immediately. You’re banned from the building tonight.”
Goldust ushers me out the conference and assures me everything will be much better tomorrow. How could it get any worse? But if I only knew.
-End of Day 1-
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