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I failed to follow my own advice. In my defense, of course, it was very, very late, and I was tired.
My colleagues and I had all stayed late in the office one recent evening (the last in a series of such late evenings) to finish up a massive project that was coming due soon. Papers were everywhere: first-, second-, third-, and even fourth- and fifth-round drafts; final drafts; photocopies of exhibits; extra copies of the copies; copies of everything for us; copies for the court; copies for the opposing lawyers. It was a mess.
Having created and assembled all the necessary paperwork, we knew the end was near so we said we'd finish up the last bit in the morning. By this time, it was 11:15 p.m. As we began to wind down, in an effort to lend some levity to the intense work atmosphere, I opened up my music player and had it start cranking out some tunes.
Most everyone else in the office lives near each other (the exception is me, because I live near the office), so they all took off together, and all I was left to do was shut down my computer for the night, get some rest, and go back the next morning to finish up the project.
Having thus left me all alone in my office as we approached the witching hour, I was tired and felt the need to let loose. So when Donna Summer’s extended version of "Love to Love You Baby" came blaring through my speakers, I pretty much just went crazy. The speakers were by this point were turned up well past 5 on a scale of 1 to 10 (try this on your computer and you’ll see this is not soft), and I was ready to rock out, as much as possible to an aging disco tune.
walking dancing my way between my office and work room cleaning up some last minute details for the next day with a sense of relief at the imminent completion of this project and with a spring in my step. So relieved was I, in fact, that I
along with Donna. At the top of my lungs.
Iiiiiiiii love to love you baby! Iiiiiiiiiii love to love you baby! Iiiiiiiiiiii......
Yeah, see that part where my screaming tapers off? It was around this point where I noticed that a random building employee had come into the office (to this day I don't know why) and observed me acting like a complete nut.
"Busy huh?" he asked me in his broken English laced with a Spanish accent.
"Uh... yeah," I responded. Then, just because it was too late anyway, I continued singing. Screw the maintenance guy. I was embarrassed, yes, but I was tired, dammit, and I needed this stress relief.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
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