Brothers and Sisters, I had the pleasure of doing something that I now believe we should all schedule at least once a year. No, it wasn't a colonoscopy, or a trip to the Keys. It wasn't getting up at dawn to watch the sun rise. It was sitting outside an insurance building on Friday afternoon, waiting to pick up my wife. Now, she doesn't work in insurance, but her company has an office in this large corporate hive downtown. I pulled up at the requested 4:45pm, and eased my seat back to take in one of the most entertaining and purely frightening shows I never knew existed. The mass exodus of the office cubical dweller. I have said many times that I could NEVER have such a job, toiling away in obscurity all day- nameless, faceless etc. It seems that the folks who are dealt this lot feel the same way. So, to balance out the universe, and keep from shooting up a mall food court somewhere, this is how they roll. Years ago, several big companies decided to ease the ho-hum by relaxing the employee dress code on Fridays. They figured this would help the employees feel more human, and express themselves. If you felt more at home, maybe you would be less likely to try and break out early. In the old days, it just meant necktie optional, or later, wearing a golf shirt instead of a button down. Like every other bend in a set rule, it has been pushed to the absolute limit. You get to come in to work and see just how flaky the flakes you thought you were working among can flake. You never asked fatty next cube over what his interests are, so now you will have them rammed down your throat. I saw so many brands of undercover freak, it made my head spin. The first I would like to outline, is my all time favorite. Its "white guy who thinks he's an Indian". This sad humanoid could only be detected during the rest of the week by a slight hint of patchouli in the air, or maybe a "medicine bag" around his neck, tucked down in the shirt. But on Friday, holy shit. 
A pair of skin tight 87' wranglers with a turquoise belt buckle, and the inevitable Wolf head t-shirt, tucked into said wranglers. Leather everywhere, and anything you can paint, stamp, screen a wolf onto. What is it with the wolf crap? I will go farther out of my way to avoid this type person than a man holding an axe outside a methadone clinic. He has an appointment in a sweat lodge somewhere this weekend, so don't get in his way. His Indian name is "Dances with white guys dressed like Indians" and his white name is Herbert. 
The next person in the parade of sadness, is the black woman dressed like she's high stepping on the Serengeti. She has never been to Africa, and does not want to go. But on Friday, she is the ebony queen of Kenya, the mother of the whole planet, the black descendant of all things sparkly and royal of Egypt and any other thing Disney ever made a talking lion movie about. She also wears this get up to gamble in Balouxi, and eat shrimp cocktail at Red Lobster. This specimen usually requires a large hat of some sort, which will more than likely be gold or silver to represent the pillaged wealth of the Mother Africa. Or a head wrap with fruit on it, to represent Chiquita Banana.
Lastly, you have my least favorite brand of closet freak, the portly "Vampire Goth" girl/boy/thing. I don't think you really have to assign a gender to this type because I have never really seen any evidence of such characteristics displayed by them. The boys look sad, and weak. The girls look sad, and weak. Both wear makeup, lacy crap, and ugly silver jewelry. Both hang out in the same places where only Vampires dare to go, like the mall. They smell like cloves and failure, and have cool names like Ravensblood, Wrath, and Fatty Fatty Fat-Face. I don't think they have sex, or dreams, or a point. They buy junk trinkets at the Vampire supply store, Hot Topic, which I have recently learned is owned by the Gap. I want to see a Gap-like commercial for Hot Topic, with a bunch of sad Goth kids all swing dancing in their pointy shoes. But, enough of my needs, this is about them. Its Friday. Wolfe's will howl. Bats will flap. Africans will sing. Come Monday though, leave that shit at home- you got work to do.
A pair of skin tight 87' wranglers with a turquoise belt buckle, and the inevitable Wolf head t-shirt, tucked into said wranglers. Leather everywhere, and anything you can paint, stamp, screen a wolf onto. What is it with the wolf crap? I will go farther out of my way to avoid this type person than a man holding an axe outside a methadone clinic. He has an appointment in a sweat lodge somewhere this weekend, so don't get in his way. His Indian name is "Dances with white guys dressed like Indians" and his white name is Herbert. The next person in the parade of sadness, is the black woman dressed like she's high stepping on the Serengeti. She has never been to Africa, and does not want to go. But on Friday, she is the ebony queen of Kenya, the mother of the whole planet, the black descendant of all things sparkly and royal of Egypt and any other thing Disney ever made a talking lion movie about. She also wears this get up to gamble in Balouxi, and eat shrimp cocktail at Red Lobster. This specimen usually requires a large hat of some sort, which will more than likely be gold or silver to represent the pillaged wealth of the Mother Africa. Or a head wrap with fruit on it, to represent Chiquita Banana.
Lastly, you have my least favorite brand of closet freak, the portly "Vampire Goth" girl/boy/thing. I don't think you really have to assign a gender to this type because I have never really seen any evidence of such characteristics displayed by them. The boys look sad, and weak. The girls look sad, and weak. Both wear makeup, lacy crap, and ugly silver jewelry. Both hang out in the same places where only Vampires dare to go, like the mall. They smell like cloves and failure, and have cool names like Ravensblood, Wrath, and Fatty Fatty Fat-Face. I don't think they have sex, or dreams, or a point. They buy junk trinkets at the Vampire supply store, Hot Topic, which I have recently learned is owned by the Gap. I want to see a Gap-like commercial for Hot Topic, with a bunch of sad Goth kids all swing dancing in their pointy shoes. But, enough of my needs, this is about them. Its Friday. Wolfe's will howl. Bats will flap. Africans will sing. Come Monday though, leave that shit at home- you got work to do.
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