Hazy Shade of Fun

Michael walked into Gary’s office, red-faced and favoring his left arm. His white t-shirt was covered with chocolate milk, and his Levi 560’s were in his right hand, dripping wet. The elastic to his boxers were stretched out, and his arms were folded tight against his body to prevent them from falling off.

Gary rolled his eyes and sighed. Thirteen years on the job as warehouse foreman had given him a sense that he’d seen everything, despite his background in politics during the 1970’s. The thing about it was, there were things he wished would go away. Clock-watchers, personal phone calls, and pounding the vending machine over a 75-cent bag of cheese puffs were enough to drive him over the edge.

The hazing of the new guy was another thing altogether. When Michael stormed into his office, Gary figured he’d lost yet another bright hopeful to the foolishness of the crew out in the open spaces of the warehouse. He’d seen the chocolate milk treatment before-Charlie again-as well as the wet pants thing by Marcus and Willie, ex-firefighters now manning the station nearest the door. Michael was holding his pants this time, an interesting twist to an old gag.

Michael glared into Gary’s eyes. “Gary,” he began. “I have had it. I can’t take any more of the insanity out there! Everywhere I turn, there’s another prankster lying in wait for me. This has gone far enough. I'm calling HR!” He was shaking now. The chocolate milk was now running off his shirt onto the carpet.

Gary came out from behind the desk. “OK kid,” he groaned. “Let’s take this into the break room. These guys have had their fun.” Michael had no idea how tired these antics had become to Gary. HR would hear about this again, and he’d once again had to cover the butts of the same clowns that deserved jail time for some of the things they’d done over the years.

As they walked out of the room, Pete jumped out from behind the door. “BOO!” he yelled. Michael jumped, and as he did, his underwear fell to the floor. Gary stepped out from behind Michael’s white butt and stood before Pete, who’s laughing eyes turned to fear in record time.

“Oh, uh…hi, Gary,” Pete stammered. “I, uh, have to run over to the 3900 building for, the uh, power scrubber for the…floor.” He then ran for the door, as if Gary was the Grim Reaper.

Gary was thankful his instincts couldn’t bring instant gratification, or else Pete would have become a fish out of water. “Pete,” said Gary in a calm voice. “I'd like a word with you the second you get back. Are we crystal clear?”

Pete’s jaw jutted out, like he wanted to say something. He nodded, turned, and left the building.

Michael was shaking, partly from rage, partly from fear. “Tell you what kid,” he said. “Take the rest of the day off, with pay. Go home, get cleaned up, let me know the replacement cost for a new t-shirt, and we’ll set things right for you. This is not how The Kingston Companies treat fellow employees, and I will begin the interrogation shortly. This will never happen again. Today will be forgotten by all these guys, you have my word on that. OK?”

Michael nodded and walked out to his car, still holding his pants. Gary thought about asking him if he needed something to wear home, but didn't. He most likely wasn’t coming back.

Gary then turned to the culprits. Pete was en route to another building, and Kerry was on vacation. That left seven men to deal with. He thought of dragging them off their respective jobs one by one, but decided to make them suffer. Morning coffee break started in 10 minutes. Why take time out of the day to remind them to act their age?

At 9:25, he got on the PA. “I would like to see everyone in my office, NOW!” he barked in his sternest voice. As he set the phone handset down, he rubbed his temples. He had raised three boys and a girl, and none of them could ever think of acting this way. They were smart, clean-cut, God-fearing, and had a more sophisticated sense of humor. One by one, the seven men walked into the office, knowing there would be an ass-chewing coming, and seemed amused with it all.

Willie was the last of the bunch to enter, holding a hot cup of coffee and the sports page. Gary wasted little time. “Men,” he began. “What the hell was that this morning with Michael?” He paused, then saw no one answering the question. “WELL!?” he asked.

Willie took a sip of coffee, then looked up with a look of indifference on his face. “Aw come on Gar,” he said. “We were just having a little fun.”

Gary began to feel his blood pressure rise as he resisted the temptation to break his chair across Willie’s teeth. He walked out from behind his desk and yanked the sports page out of Willie's hands. “Fun?” he said, not believing what he’d just heard. “Michael was standing in here with his pants off, dripping milk all over the carpet, his underwear damn near falling off, all in the name of fun!?” As he said that, the guys began covering up smirks and giggles, which only infuriated him more.

He got up and got face-to-face with Charlie. “Some sort of problem you have with the chocolate milk?” he asked. “This is the third new guy in the last year to get milk spilled on him. Are you doing this intentionally? Funny how I never get milk spilled on me, huh?”

Charlie looked up, barely able to contain himself. “It was an acci-”

“DON’T START IN WITH THE “ACCIDENT” BULLSHIT!” Gary yelled. “Hell, I watched you literally throw it on Bailey last time! Remember him? He brought this place up on assault charges!”

“I know,” said Marcus. “I spent close to $20,000 to settle with that sissy. Jesus Gary, it’s all just a little fun. Hey, he’d get worse at other places.”

“This sort of crap is going to stop,” said Gary. “I'm done covering for you clowns. One of these days, we’re going to be on the news, just like the guys at Dart Processing! Remember that? They got raked through the coals for simple things, like Paul’s little trick, sneaking around corners and scaring others. If they knew you two idiots were yanking pants off of other people, they wouldn’t think of it as “fun!” They’d be ready to open up a full investigation, and you morons would be facing God Damn jail time for assault! Oh, and for the record, they would NOT get worse other places!

Gary turned back to his desk. "Can anyone in here tell me how to make light of a new guy's underpants falling down? I know of at least one person in this office that has some unnatural fetish for yanking underwear up another's butt? Is there a plausible explaination for that?"

All eyes fell on Randall in the back. Randall was notorious for his “Welcome Wedgies,” where he’d yank unsuspecting newbies up by their underwear until they cried uncle. It was more fun when guys in their tidy whiteys would reach the brink of nausea, but the boxers gave too much room for comfort. So, he now had to yank until the elastic broke, or they surrendered, whichever came first.

Willie came to the defense of Randall. “All the kids wear their underwear like that nowadays,” he said. “I mean, the other day at the mall, there was this kid wearing them up around his head like that.”

Gary turned to Willie. “I have raised four kids,” he reminded Willie. “Of the four, two are in college, one is in the Navy, and one is in high school. They have assured me that NO KID wears their underwear around their damn ears! None of them! Stop defending these men, you're in enough trouble!

“I’m not done with you yet,” he barked as Willie turned away to reach for his coffee. “Would you like to tell me why his pants were off when he came in here? Did they come off voluntarily, or did you and Marcus feel the need to help? As I recall, the Fire Chief fired both of you over someting similar to that?”

Marcus, still steaming at the thought of spending money on legal fees in defense of the last round of newbie training, spoke up. “Actually, we were let go because of an incident at the annual ball involving the Chief’s wife, some oysters, and a hockey goal. We’d been tipping a few when it happened...I guess it was poor judgment. He looked at our hazing practices and canned nearly the whole department. They got replacements, and we had to find other jobs. Willie wasn’t even there that night, he just got lumped into it all.”

Gary sat down in his chair. “Guys,” he said, tired of yelling. “I think the time has come to officially put into place anti-hazing policies here. I’m going to be drawing up guidelines that fall under the heading of personal behavior, and these guidelines will be put into effect as of 10:14 today,” he said as he looked at the digital clock he’d received as an anniversary gift from his wife. He paused, then looked around. “I’ll figure out what to do about this later. Right now, I recommend you guys get back to work.”

The crew got up and shuffled on out to the warehouse. Jim paused, then turned to Gary. “Hey, are we on report up top for this?” he said. “This was the worst it’s been in years.”

Gary nodded. “I have to,” he said with a sigh. “I can't give Charlie a break. I told him last time he'd face action if it happened again, even if by accident. I have to let Paul’s antics go, though. He’s one of the “Zero-Tolerance” guys because of the trailer thing. As for the rest, may God have mercy on them, because HR is going to throw the book at them.”

Jim chuckled at the memory of the trailer thing. Paul had tricked Dean, a newbie, into climbing into an already unloaded trailer. It seemed harmless when the doors closed on him, and Dean was locked into the trailer. Everyone stood back and waved at him as he peered through the window, pleading for his release. Just as Paul was going to open the door, the truck pulled away onto the street. By the time the crew had made it outside, the truck was on the freeway. With no way to get a hold of the driver by phone, Paul had to chase the truck down in his car. It took him 150 miles to finally catch the driver, who was on his way to Tulsa for a pickup. He missed his dispatch, costing him thousands of dollars, Dean was arrested for violating a probation condition forbidding him to cross state lines. Paul begged and pleaded for his job, and they placed him on “Zero Tolerance,” meaning if he didn’t ace his next review, he would be fired.

Gary shook his head at the thought of Paul putting his job on the line over a goofy prank earlier. The trailer incident made him a model employee. The more he thought about it, it wasn’t that much, but it begged attention to the bigger problem: Piling on. All it took was one knucklehead to start with a joke, and before long, everyone had to top the other, and a war was on to create the most memorable prank ever.

Jim turned to the door, then turned back. “We both know these guys go too far,” he said. “It’s just that way around here. A slew of pranks gets too far out of hand, then we have another Frankie on our hands. Remember that one?”

Gary nodded as he stared at the picture of his children on his desk. Frankie tried to slip a gay porn magazine into Jim’s toolbox. Everyone laughed, until Jim pulled out a renewal card, with Frankie’s name on it. Frankie was humiliated, so much so he quit two days later. Before he could serve his notice, he killed himself. Guys in on the joke felt horrible about it for weeks.

Gary shook his head. “I guess what throws me is the immaturity of it all,” he said as he peered out his door to see the crew gathered in a circle talking among themselves. “I expect these sorts of shenanigans in a frat house full of drunks! Here, these sober individuals are acting like middle-schoolers in search of attention. Jim, I hate having to be this way, but I have to get after this. I let things run themselves, but now, I have to get back to managing this place. These guys don’t understand this, but every time they chase off a guy that can’t take their heat, I have to answer to HR. They want answers from me. I’m buried up to my armpits in paperwork back there, and I have to babysit these jerks all day before they kill someone! It’s a wonder things get done around here.”

Jim leaned up against the door frame. “I think there’s the rub,” he said. “When the pressure’s on, these guys work like slaves. You refuse to believe it, looking outside the door and seeing them clown around like it’s recess, but when the heat is on, they get it done, with little or no overtime involved.”

Gary sat back. “You know,” he said. “I’m about to set forth some disciplinary action against these guys, and you’re doing one hell of a job talking me out of it. It makes sense, but I still have to do something. I let this go way longer than I should have, and it’s manifested itself into crap like this morning. Yes, these guys get after it like no other group, but they’re not irreplaceable, either. They refuse to believe that, and I let them believe that, and that’s why I have to remind them to grow up once a month. It’s done, and it starts now.”

Just then, Paul walked in. “Hey Gary,” he said, sheepishly. “I heard you had a meeting while I was gone, about the new guy. Sorry I missed it. I shouldn’t have jumped out at him this morning, and I want to apologize to him for it. They told me he left, so I can’t say it to him. Can I find him and tell him myself?”

Gary stared into the young man’s eyes. It could have been a sincere attempt to make things right with Michael, or it could have been an outright fear of losing his job. Gary looked at him, looked down at his report, then spoke. “Paul, I wouldn’t worry too much about it, but I expect more from someone on zero tolerance. If Michael returns, I do expect you to say something to him when he walks into the door. Meantime, the floor needs scrubbing. Get Charlie on that, and if that floor isn't sufficient to eat off of, he's going to be one unhappy person until he finds another job. I will personally see to that.”

Paul nodded, and raced out to the truck for the floor scrubber. New life had a way of motivating Paul in ways speeches couldn’t.

He turned back to Jim. "If Michael comes back, it'll be a miracle. Willie and Marcus get three days off without pay. If Michael doesn't come back, I hire another new guy. I’ll be watching him like a hawk. Any sign, any thought of hazing will be subject to immediate termination. Monkey bumps, super soaking, pantsing, and anything else that I define as a clear attempt to target the unwitting new guy earns my wrath. No prisoners this time, not even for you, Jim.”

Jim nodded and went back to work. Gary figured word would spread like wildfire in minutes. In ten minutes, the guys would gather around a workbench to justify thier actions, and contemplate calling in the BA from the union to come to their defense.

In a way, Gary hoped Michael would stay away. If he came back, he'd be welcomed back by everyone until the heat was off, then get stabbed in the back. Someone would screw up something irreversibly, then pin it on Michael to such a degree that he'd never recover. Gary had seen that move pulled one time too many.

Frustrated, Gary sat at his desk, a new document on the monitor. It was time to get to it, before someone was killed out there.