Babe came over to my apartment last weekend, for the first and last time ever.
Just to catch you up, part of my job as Babe Walker’s “assistant”/”intern”/”fat chamber boy” is to be at the beckoned call of a proud “Psycho Queen” 24 hours a day. Although I’m technically granted 2 weeks of vacation time each year, Babe always finds a way to track me down when an “emergency” arises. Last year I was on vacation in Rome when Babe dialed my hotel room in the middle of the night asking that I please contact the Vatican about “arranging a private audience for her with that new, chic, gay Pope.” Then this Winter I was with my parents in Bermuda when 25 Tiramisus were anonymously delivered to my hotel room with a note that read, “Dear Fat Ass: Wishing you and your thighs a very Merry Christmas.”
So I can’t say I was surprised when my phone died Saturday night and I woke up on Sunday morning to Babe banging on the front door of my apartment, screaming at me to get up and help her finish a few last minute details for her book launch party. That being said, I was surprised with her reaction when I finally opened the door.
Apparently Babe had never actually been inside my apartment before because after walking into the living room her eyes widened and she started hyperventilating. When I asked if everything was all right she simply shook her head, pointed to an empty ketchup bottle sitting open on my kitchen counter, let out a blood-curdling scream, and stumbled backwards out the door, into the hall, and down the stairs. When I texted her to see if she was okay, she responded with a single skull Emoji.
When I came in Monday morning Babe asked me to wash my hands five times in front of her, make a kale and collard smoothie, leave it in her office and then “quietly” go about with my typical daily tasks. Although she never mentioned the incident directly I think we both learned a valuable lesson that day about the importance of keeping a healthy distance between employer and employee.