Have you ever had one of those moment where your ego was completely, and quickly checked at the door? The mid-torso uppercut right to the diaphragm that takes your breath away faster than you can say the word ego? 

I have. In fact, I have had one that, until the day I die, will never forget. 

This fateful event took place, way back in the 1900’s (as my daughter would tell you); back when my already lower than average view of myself was at it’s lowest...or lowest at that point of my life. 

I was between puberty and drinking age. That weird, kind of ugly stage in your life when you’re not sure who you are, what you’re going to be, have a less than average complexion and haven’t quite come into your own. 

 

I was never the worst looking kid on the planet (except as a child), but by no means was I the prettiest girl growing up. Or at least I didn’t think so.

One spring morning, I got up, got ready and, again with the daughter quotes, “rode my dinosaur to work.” Upon arriving at my uncivilized place of employment, I did as I always did, and parked my dinosaur in its spot, slid down its tail, punched in and starting working.

 

Although not a rock quarry, parts of it did have a B.C. type feel to it. Albeit being in the 1900’s, it wasn’t as prehistoric as my daughter likes to think. Their software was…but that’s irrelevant to this story.

 

I was 19 years old and at the time had two jobs; both of which were in an office environment of some sort. This was just a temporary bookkeeping job I took for extra money. I was hired for tax season to assist with the company’s annual taxes.

In California, you know, back before Christ, we were required to keep the previous 7 years of taxes on-site. So, every tax season, before preparing the current years taxes, we would move the oldest taxes from inside the office, down to the storage area, which was a few suites down.

I’m pretty sure the office space they had leased to run this business was previously a drug dealer’s home base or some sort of horror movie set. It appeared to have previously been a motel, turned into ghetto office suites. 

As most know, there are hotels and motels and there is one key difference between the two. The primary difference between a hotel and a motel are the way in which you enter and/or exit the room you rent. If you’re staying in a motel, from inside your room, when you open the door, you’re opening it to the outside world (i.e. civilization – clouds, sun, the people from the nativity scene displays – things like that). If you’re in a hotel and you open the door from the inside of your room, you are opening it up to the inside of a building (indoor hallway, no clouds, no sun, no baby Jesus).

The entire building complex (and the 30 “suites” that it contained) was shaped like a horseshoe, with the parking lot in the middle. Our suite was located at one of the ends of said horseshoe. As soon as you walked out of our office, to the outside world, you would then be standing on a second-floor balcony/walkway that went around the entire horseshoe. It looked like what you would picture the inside of a prison looking like…only with clouds. You could see directly across the way, over the parking lot, to the other end of the horseshoe, where another company resided.

I have no idea what the company at the other end of the horseshoe, directly across from us, did. All I remember about that office suite was that it was full of guys. Hot guys and a lot of them. If I had to guess, the hot guys were anywhere from five to ten years older than me at the time. I noticed them, but not vice versa. No matter how cute I looked, they didn’t give me the time of day.

 

Ego blow number 1.

 

I must admit, I was pretty butt hurt about it. So, pause right there while I give you a little insight into my childhood/adulthood.

Up until I was 23, my mom scratched my back almost daily because that’s always been one of my favorite things. She died when I was 23, so that’s where that ended. I have always liked back scratches and because of that, I kind of created this weird habit of tickling myself. No, not in the way you’re thinking. Although, more than likely an accurate thought, this is not where this story is going. 

 

When I had off-time at work, or was sitting, thinking, or otherwise staring off into space, if something was in my hand, it was usually tickling my face. I would slowly glide whatever it was across my face, neck, arms, whatever. Weird I know…but it tickled…in a good way and it was always kind of a soothing mechanism for me, I guess.

So, back to my job. My duties for this day, which had to take place prior to starting this year’s taxes, were to box up the 7th year of tax returns, label them accordingly and then go put them in storage. Our storage unit was out the front door, to the right and down that second floor balcony/walkway about 5-6 suites down. I would take a certain number of tax returns, put them in a cardboard storage box, label them with a sharpie marker, then off they went. 

After boxing and labeling about a half a years’ worth of tax returns, I decided to sit at my desk and take a break. My boss was outside somewhere or in the storage unit, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that warranted a break for me.

I sat at my desk and as I always do, started tickling my neck and face with the back of the sharpie marker I was using to label the boxes and zoned out. I sat there for maybe 35 minutes or so doing that…just relaxing. I finally decided break time should probably be over. So, I grabbed a few boxes and down to storage I proceeded.

My boss, at the time, was maybe 15 years older than me. If I had to guess, I would say she was in her mid-late thirties. She was an average looking woman with long brown hair and couldn’t have been nicer if she tried. In the month and a half or so that I had been there, not one time did I ever hear her get mad, lose her temper or curse. She didn’t have the mouth of a trucker. I saw her get slightly irritated one time, and not one negative thing came out of her mouth, especially not a curse word.

I grabbed my boxes and walked outside.

“Holy shit!” I thought to myself. All of those hot guys across the way were staring at me…not one of them – ALL OF THEM. The same guys who haven’t once looked in my direction in 6 weeks were now all staring, jaws dropped open.

 

I do remember putting a little extra effort into getting ready that morning and must admit, it was one of my better-looking days. So, I must have done something right – looks who’s got their attention now.

I proceeded to walk down that catwalk we called a hallway, towards our storage unit. At the same time my boss was walking back to the office from storage. I didn’t notice her right away as I was paying attention to where I was walking instead. I'm not known for my grace. My dad used to tell me I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time.  He's not wrong though..  I trip over my own shadow.

 

So, focused on my steps I was. Now was not the time to face plant. I finally got the attention of Chip and Dale across the way...focus.

 

I was so honed in on each step as to avoid a nosedive that I didn’t even notice my boss walking towards me. 

 

Suddenly I hear, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” My bosses voice echoing through the hollows and gaps of that horseshoe business park like banshees haunting a graveyard.

I was shocked. I was confused and I was convinced she most certainly was not talking to me. Her Sailor Jerry mouth scared me so bad that 6 months of tax returns jumped out of my hands as if some ghostly force pulled that prank we used to do as kids. The one where you come up to someone who is holding something and smack it from up underneath it and watched as everything in their hands went flying out as if preparing for a yard sale.

 

“Are you talking to me?” I hesitantly asked.

Truth is, I was both hesitant and confident. Hesitant because I just witnessed a self-performed exorcism expel a demon from my bosses 5’2” body through her mouth. Confident because there was no fucking way she was talking to me. I didn’t do anything wrong.

Echoing through the horror movie scene once more my boss says,, “HAVE YOU LOOKED IN THE FUCKING MIRROR?" 

That was 2 fucks in less than 20 seconds. Something was SERIOUSLY wrong.

“Uh…no….why? Did I spill something on myself?” I asked her, my jaw quivering like I just took a swim with the Polar Bear Club.

“GIVE ME THAT SHIT AND GET YOUR ASS IN THE FUCKING BATHROOM," she yelled.

Now completely mortified because Fabio and friends had their eyes glued on me like white on rice. Not to mention the fact that they just witnessed my ass getting handed to me by a 50 year old saint. I did as I was told.

I walked to the bathroom, feeling like a dog just disciplined for something and had no idea what. Tail between my legs, I opened the bathroom door.

 

From where I was just yelled at to where the bathroom was…maybe 15 feet. Picture the worst college walk of shame anyone has ever had to do and multiple that by 1000. 

 

15 whole steps I had to take, each one having its own repeated sound that faded off with each echo. 15 steps – 15 of my own small feet...15 of the slowest, loudest and longest steps of my life up until that day. I was dreading the thought of what I was about to walk into and see in the bathroom. 

What could possibly be so bad, that would make my boss rip her halo off and throw profanities at me so loudly that I’m pretty sure people in Idaho heard?

The bathroom was one of those community style bathrooms. When you walked in there were 5 individual stalls inside.

 

Before fully entering the bathroom, I peeked inside terrified as to who might be in there. Whatever it was that just released Satan from my bosses body, I sure as hell didn't want anyone else to see it.

 

Thank God – no one. 

I peered under the stalls looking for feet just to be sure. 

Yup, all in the clear. 

The mirror was right in front of me, but I didn’t want to look up fearing the worst. Was I bald?Were my front teeth missing? Or something even worse?

 

The anticipation got the best of me and I slowly rolled my eyes up to the mirror.

“OH MY FUCKING……OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!” 

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I now saw, and completely understood why I just got my ass handed to me by the nicest person on the plant. 

“WHAT THE....? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??” 

 

And then it clicked. 

 

My entire day turned into a slow moving, matrix feeling acid trip that felt like it lasted hours. Then suddenly I was violently thrusted back to reality.

 

I was nauseous. I was embarrassed. i just stood, frozen, speechless and in complete awe.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I was seeing in the mirror. My teeth were in check, wasn’t bald…all that looked fine. 

What I couldn’t see on my face, however, was white skin. I mean not a single millimeter of white skin anywhere on my face, neck, cheeks...NOWHERE!

All that was left to see of my white skin tone was my lips and the whites of my eyes.…NOT ONE SPEC OF WHITE SKIN…ANYWHERE.

My little breaktime back at the office where I decided I would tickle my neck with the BLACK SHARPIE marker I was using to label the boxes – BAD FUCKING IDEA. 

Apparently, I was so relaxed in my little personal pamper time, that not only did I not realize I was using the wrong end of the marker to tickle my neck, THE FUCKING LID WAS OFF. 

Each stroke of that relaxing face tickle added 1 solid line of black sharpie marker to my face. It takes maybe ½ of a second to go from your neck to your forehead in a single stroke.  I sat at my desk for THIRTY minutes doing that.   That’s like 360 strokes with a sharpie on my face.  

Side Note: If you haven’t seen the movie Tropic Thunder, look up Robert Downey Jr.’s character. That was me, only in a skirt and 1000 times worse because it was solid black sharpie marker.

 

No wonder the hotties were staring at me. I, too, would have had my eyes locked onto some dumb blonde whose face was now painted black. 

I can only imagine what those guys were thinking. Here I am, thinking I look cute today because, finally, I have their attention. Little did I know, they were staring at me because I went to work looking normal and came out for a break looking like a motherfucking circus freak. 

WHO DOES THIS SHIT? Me…that’s who.

As I stood in the mirror in my shock and awe moment just staring at the art project on my face, ten bazillion thoughts ran through my head. 

“How do I get it off?” “What do I do now?” “How in the fuck did this happen?” 

In a complete panic I thrashed through every nook and cranny in that bathroom – cabinets, under the sink, I damn near went through the trash, hoping to find some magic solution, a sponge, acetone, or a magic portal that would get me the fuck out of there.  ANYTHING to end this nightmare I created for myself.

 

Face covered in sharpie, not sure if I was going to puke or cry, I came across a Brillo pad.

I hesitated for a whopping .05 seconds knowing the damage this was going to do to my face, but I didn’t care. I was not walking outside with sharpie on my face, no matter what it took to get it off. 

So, I started scrubbing. 

 

I’m pretty sure my face bled before any sharpie came off. After 30 minutes of self-torture, MAYBE 40% of that sharpie came off. I had to face my worst fear and go back outside to return to the office. 

I thought the 15 steps to the bathroom were torturous, those were a walk in the park compared to the 45 or so that it took me to get back to the office.

I walked back into the office and was instantly greeted by my boss with this horribly disappointed look on her face. 

“Should I just turn in my resignation now?” I sheepishly inquired.

45 minutes ago this woman was possessed by the devil himself. Now completely mute. 

All of the sudden, out of her mouth was not the roar of banshees, but this uncontrollable, gut wrenching, belly generated laugh. The kind where you can’t breath. The kind that makes your stomach hurt for the next week.

 

Her cackle continued for what felt like an eternity as I just stood, completely confused and not even sure how to handle this one.

After what seemed like an eternity she says, “So many questions….I don’t even know where to start.” 

I replied, “I can give you back my office key right now.”

“No way, she said...you’re not getting off that easy. I am sending you home for the day, for your own sake. I can see the trip to the bathroom didn’t help. In fact, it looks like you made it worse…but you’re not in trouble, I just want to know what the actual…why? How? Please help me understand what I just saw.”

On with my explanation I proceeded. I don’t think she paused from laughing long enough to catch her breath throughout my entire story.

“That is the funniest thing I think I have ever witnessed in my entire life,” she tells me, “But yes, take the rest of the day off…go take care of your face before you get permanent scars.” 

Homeward bound I went.

Luckily for me, about a week before this little episode, I befriended another lady who worked in the same office building, only her front door faced in a direction nowhere near the hot guys. 

The next morning, I went over to see her, explained to her what had happened the day before. She confirmed what I already knew. The banshee screech from the day prior was so loud, that with her door closed and, on the phone, she too heard them haunting the graveyard.

She suggested and agreed to letting me come and go from work through her office suite as to avoid the guys across the way, but only after we shared a good laugh!

Thankfully I received another job offer days after this dreadful event, ending my temporary job sooner than anticipated. 

The last two weeks of my employment there, I entered and exited daily through my new friends office, never having to see the hotties again.

Piece of advice: Be very specific when you wish for something. I mean overkill specific...grave details specific. Almost always, you'll get what you wished for, but chances are it won't be how you're expecting. 

I wanted the attention of Magic Mike and friends. Well, I got it. I thought my ego was bruised before this happened, unable to get their attention. Little did I know I was about to receive my first TKO.

Trying to remain optimistic and see the silver lining in things, I did take something positive from this: not only did I get their attention, I'm pretty sure they have never forgotten me. 

Lesson learned. Well played Karma!