another kind of hell...redux

Sasquatch was delighted to see me again this afternoon. Sometimes, I think my homecoming might be the highlight of her day. Often, when she's especially happy, Sas licks her nose. Yes, if you or I were to lick our nose in happiness, it would be weird, but for Sas, it's an expression of joy. I do not judge what I cannot understand about superior beings.

Today was exactly like yesterday...another day in performance appraisal hell. Exactly like yesterday...except possibly more frustrating. Yesterday, I had gotten off to a shaky start, but found my rhythm and blazed down the stretch...and if I faltered at the end, well, I figured that today, with a little more conditioning than yesterday, I'd be able to rate and finish strong. But something happened. Like Arazi, the odds-on favorite who finished eighth in the 1992 Derby, I had a bad day. Perhaps I was off my feed...maybe I woke up sore...it might have been that someone had tried to kill me with a poison cupcake that morning.

As the pot luck lunch had been cancelled because of apathy, it had been suggested that the leadership team might want to provide cupcakes for the staff, in celebration of Valentine's Day and as a naked plea for acceptance and respect. One editor knew of a cupcake establishment that baked superior cakes, and with the blessing of da man, she ordered cupcakes for the staff.

On the morning of the Cupcake Caper, the managers were frantically writing performance appraisals...or were frantically thinking of writing them...or were sobbing in despair over the prospect of writing 15 or 16 (it's so hard to keep up with the exact number) appraisals in the next 2 days. It was chaotic. Nerves were frayed. Tempers were short. But then, da man appeared with his box of sugary, buttery deliciousness and strolled the aisles between the cubicles, dispensing treats to one and all. I had had to go outside to get some air...all that sobbing had made me all stuffed up and I thought a few deep breaths of sub-zero air would clear things right up. And when I got back in my office, I saw it there on the desk...the red cake of death...Oh it looked innocent enough, sitting there with its wreath of white fluffy frosting and its perky red sugar sprinkles, but I knew what it was right away. Red velvet!

Those of you who were not brought up in the South may be unfamiliar with Red Velvet cake. It is an abomination. It is a cake that tastes of, well, nothing really, except sugar and a slight tang from buttermilk. It typically is dry and relies on too much sweet, greasy cream cheese icing to make it at all palatable. But the worst thing about Red Velvet cake is the source of its screaming red hue...bottles and bottles of red dye #3, the dye of death. There's enough red dye in one of these cupcakes to kill a normal human several times over. The only reason most people survive is because they cannot finish one or even take more than a bite or two before the gag reflex takes over and saves them from certain death. And this is what had been left on my desk two days before performance appraisals were due?

I was stunned. Why was I being singled out? Did upper management think my performance was so dismal that death was to be the "overall rating" on my own appraisal? Was my staff attempting a coup? I couldn't think. And I certainly couldn't work on any performance appraisals. I went to Mr V's office for advice and found him near death, choking and holding his hand to his throat. I quickly opened his cherry Coke and poured it down his gullet. I think the fizz must have worked its way through the clogged up cupcake, much like Drano works on those stubborn clogs in your kitchen sink, because he soon began to breathe normally and his color returned. When he regained his ability to speak, we talked in hushed tones about what might be going on. We called our colleague, B., who reported that since eating her own cupcake, she'd been oddly not able to have a coherent thought. It would take much deep thought and perhaps help from the outside to get to the bottom of this .

Meanwhile, another colleague, Buford, had found the top of one of the cupcake boxes and had been happily playing with it. He asked for a photo, so I obliged. It wasn't like I was getting any work done...I was touched by his childlike glee and was determined to make the best of my frightening situation. But, I also was determined to get to the bottom of the killer cupcake caper, but not today. I was tired and hungry and needed a nap. So I worked at simple things until it was time to go home to my most wise and reassuring boon companion, Sas. Perhaps I'd take a look at the Valentine's matches HELL had sent or maybe we'd just watch a little Game Show Channel. But NOT the Golf Channel, not tonight.

--Ina