Office Banter

Last Thursday, Bee hosted an office barbecue on the patio for her dozen or so coworkers. During the summer, Bee’s magazine moves to a biweekly frequency, so she doesn’t have to be at the office as much. Means more quality time on the patio for beer and burgers.

When Bee sent out the invitation, she said that significant others were invited. I had NO idea that that meant other’s people’s dogs. One of the junior staffers brought her Bichon Frise, Henry, with her to work that day, only to call Bee two hours before the affair to see if she could bring him along to the party.

I thought I’d be the gracious host and welcome this hairy fellow into my home. But Henry wasn’t the social type. When I introduced myself, he acted as if his shit didn’t stink. It did—I smelled his ass. It reeked like week-old milk. Every time I tried to be friendly, he attacked me. Then I had to attack back and "cut a bitch" because it was my house, dammit! He was simply a very lucky visitor.

Because he kept snarling at me, we had to remain separated throughout the event. Old crusty curmudgeon.

And on top of his shitty attitude, he had an even shittier haircut.


Besides that, the office BBQ was a hit. Everybody was wasted—Bee’s bosses, editors, even their significant others were tipsy. Food was great, too. I ate chicken, a piece of spare ribs and a bit of some carrots here and there as people fed me under the table. I tried to get a taste of that nice bottle of Prosecco Bee’s art director brought in, but no dice.

The only flap was the hour-long rain that soaked the patio from 7 to 8. When the rain ended, everyone commenced drinking and eating outside.

People didn’t filter out until 1 A.M. leaving a trail of marinara sauce, beer bottles and chips in their wake. Bee and I were both too exhausted to clean, so we took out as much of the trash as we could, and closed the windows so the eau de garlic powder and soggy pasta didn’t waft through our bedroom.