When an Innocent Prank Goes Too Far

There are NOT many things in my life that I regret doing. Mostly because there’s really no point. Regret is a waste of time which can sometimes lead you down a very unhealthy path. However, there is one particular incident that occurred in my “innocent days” that I wish I’d thought about more carefully before proceeding. Because what seemed like a very innocent prank at the time soon spiraled out of control and ended up “biting me in the ass” in the worst possible way.

It all began when I got a part-time job as a telemarketer to help subsidize my other part-time job, which wasn’t exactly paying enough for me to survive in the Big Apple. (This was obviously many, many years ago when I first moved to NYC…Young, Bright, Energetic…I was ready to take on the world…Sigh!) Anyway, between selling Weekly Reader products, Phone Services, Bottled Water and Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance, I made some great friends among my co-workers. Especially because we could all commiserate about how much we hated telemarketing, and how we were only working there until we got our “big breaks,” whatever those happened to be.

Eventually I became part of a click that sat in a certain area of the room each night, swapping stories and jokes between phone calls. We’d bitch and moan about everything, including our roommates, parents, job interviews, acting auditions, whatever. It was a great place to vent and let off steam, and so a lot of stories came out that you wouldn’t necessarily share with your best friend—particularly if the stories happened to be about your best friend. Which sometimes mine were.

(Quick back story: In my early days of NYC, I lived with a college friend who was somewhat of a hot head. And although we got along most of the time, there were moments when he would flare up at me or at other people, and become the biggest “drama queen” on earth. His outbursts became sort of a running joke with me, because after witnessing several of them, they never had as much weight. Like the boy who cried Wolf. If your general demeanor includes yelling and screaming on a regular basis, people don’t take you quite as seriously any more. Plus, if you’re a rather funny, dramatic person to begin with, your anger doesn’t have quite the same bite. And despite all that, my Hot Head friend was a very nice and generous person…most of the time.)

That being said, it should come as no surprise that my Hot Head friend became the target of many of my bitching sessions at the telemarketing job. So much so that several people said they would never want to meet him in person, because they’d probably punch him in the face. I guess my somewhat exaggerated portrayals of him might have painted a bleaker picture than was actually there, but not by much. And my Hot Head friend was not unaware of his reputation. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. So when I’d occasionally tell him about my friends at work, and how much they hated him, he thought it was funny.

Anyway, at some point I developed a very nice friendship with a guy who had recently gotten married and moved to NYC with his wife. We became part of a small group that began to socialize outside of work, our lives becoming even more interconnected than they were before. And so through the natural process of socializing, my friends would now become their friends and vice versa. With one exception. No one wanted to meet my Hot Head friend, as they’d already written him off as “unacceptable.” The most adamant people about not wanting to meet him were the young married couple; who just happened to be the exact people I would most want to get along with him. And since I’d always referred to the Hot Head by his real name, I couldn’t exactly pass him off as someone else. Or could I?

And this is where the story starts getting uncomfortable…at least for me. Because I felt like I was in a bit of a dilemma. I hated having to split my time between my new friends and my Hot Head friend. I wanted them all to mix together, and get to know each other, and then I could have the best of both worlds. I knew there was bound to be a social occasion or a party or something where both would eventually be in the same place, so I got this idea about how to lay the ground work for that. What if I introduced my Hot Head friend to the married couple as someone else? That way, they could get to know him as a person, and not as the monster I’d colorfully created of him. And once they got to like him (as most people did), then I could tell them who he really was, and we’d all have a great laugh. At least that was the plan.

Then one night, the wife got free tickets to a show and asked if I wanted to go with them and bring someone along. I thought this was the perfect opportunity for them to meet Hot Head. I suggested we all go out to dinner first, so they’d really get a chance to talk to him, and meet the real person. Hot Head was more than willing to comply, as he loved the idea of becoming someone else for the evening, a great opportunity for him to display his many acting talents. And he did. He was very funny, down to earth and charming, and I could tell the young couple really liked him. So much so, that I wasn’t really sure how to broach the truth at that moment. We were all having such a great time that I didn’t want to ruin it by blowing Hot Head’s cover. So I didn’t. Nor did I tell them the following day when they called to say how much they enjoyed Hot Head and how funny they thought he was. Nor the following week when they asked when we could all go out together again.

And that’s when it finally dawned on me what a stupid thing I’d done. It never occurred to me that I might be breaking their trust by pulling this stunt, as I thought it would all be over in one night. But since I’d now dragged it on for a few weeks, it was becoming more and more uncomfortable to deal with.

So one day at work, I decided it was time to come clean and I told the friend what I’d done. I was hoping he would find the whole thing funny, and maybe punch me on the arm or something. But he didn’t do that. In fact, he didn’t do anything for a few moments. He just stared at me, as if he was trying to see something in my face that he hadn’t noticed before. At that moment, I felt like the worst human being in the world, and apologized profusely for lying to him. I defended my actions by saying that I was only trying to integrate Hot Head into the group, because I felt like I’d misrepresented him during my bitch sessions. And since the couple had told me they’d never want to meet him, I thought the disguise would help them see who he really was. It didn’t.

In fact, it ruined our friendship. And even though the married couple said they weren’t that upset by the incident, we slowly drifted apart and eventually the guy couldn’t even look at me at work. My frequent attempts at rekindling our friendship were met with icy excuses and evasiveness. And though I never intended to hurt anyone, I realized that I’d broken the one thing that keeps friendship going through all adversity---trust. Without trust, there is no reason to give someone your time, energy or attention. And that is exactly what the young couple felt about me. That I wasn’t worth their time. It was a sobering jolt to my carefree existence, and an experience that has haunted me for years. If only I hadn’t done that. If only I’d handled it better. If only…

As I said before, regret is not a path I often go down. And though I definitely regret my actions in this matter, I learned such a valuable lesson about friendship that I’ve never done anything like that to anyone again. I guess that’s why I’ve never particularly liked Ashton Kutcher’s show “Punk’d.” How can he sleep at night?

But that’s just me. Is there anything you’ve done in your past that you somewhat regret?

Wearing Out the Work-At-Home Wardrobe

My commute to work is a short one. I roll out of bed, step into my slippers, and meander down the hallway into my office, which is literally ten feet away. It is not a stressful or difficult journey, and I don’t have to interact with anyone along the way. Except maybe a few cats, whose only interest in me involves the distribution of their morning meals. Once that particular ritual takes place, they remain fairly quiet for the rest of the day.

Otherwise, I arrive at my work without any of the anger or anxiety that sometimes accompanies the morning commute. It is a true blessing, not to mention a real money saver on tolls, take-out lunches, and office birthday parties. (The ladder being a double-edged sword, as you’re no longer asked to contribute to the birthday present fund, nor are you given any more birthday presents either. Que sera, sera!)

Anyway, the casual relaxed atmosphere also means that my office attire has been significantly pared down from a colorful assortment of designer clothes and expensive shoes to a few old t-shirts and a growing supply of lounge pants. Yes, lounge pants. I know they’re just glorified pajamas bottoms, but I really love them. I have a pair in every color, pattern and print imaginable. And now I finally understand why the much lampooned “house dress” was such a favorite among housewives in the sixties and seventies. You could literally walk around with everything hanging out, without actually having everything hanging out.

It also explains why one of my drama teachers in college insisted on wearing a pair of sweatpants to work every day. His standard outfit was a white polo shirt, sweat pants and tennis shoes. He directed many of the musicals at school, so I guess he never wanted to feel constricted should he suddenly need to launch into some kind of intricate choreography, or demonstrate a proper arabesque. Not that he ever did. Being a rather large overweight person with a prominent stomach, his range of dance technique never strayed far from the traditional cakewalk, a device he utilized in almost every musical he directed. (Including the annual Nativity reenactment, which was no easy task! Imagine a chorus of sheep, goats and Wise Man doing the cakewalk across the stage behind the Manger. Pure inspired lunacy.)

But as a role model for untraditional work attire, the teacher was a ground-breaker. And though at the time, I found his clothing choice to be somewhat undignified for a man of fifty-five, I totally understand now why he did it. Comfort, pure and simple. Now I’m not suggesting that every office environment change their attire to gym clothing, but if you’re a work-at-home individual like myself, comfort is key when it comes to what you wear around the house.

Not to say this overly casual wardrobe doesn’t have its drawbacks. For instance, any time the postal worker or UPS man knocks on my door with a delivery, I must quickly change from lounge pants into jeans because I wouldn’t be caught dead answering the door in lounge pants. Especially since I tend to wear the same shirt and pants for several days in a row, a practice which has been observed and commented on by more than one of my neighbors. Talk about embarrassing.

But before you accuse me of being uncleanly, I assure you that I do not wear clothing that has experienced any sort of spillage or staining due to food or drinking mishaps. Nor do I lie around in perspiration infested garments that make me smell like a litter box. If the clothing doesn’t smell good, I don’t wear it. I’m not a sloth, after all. Just a very relaxed and happy employee.

But that’s just me. What is your favorite work-at-home attire?

Sometimes All You Need is a Good Chocolate Cake

The past week has been a rather sluggish one for me. Other than watching an inordinate amount of television and moping around the house, I didn’t really do anything one might call “productive.” My lethargic mood was further enhanced by a visit to my Accountant, who informed me that I would NOT be getting a sizeable tax return this year. In fact, I wouldn’t be getting a return at all. I’d be owing money. Harsh! What a great way to start the weekend.

So there I am, lying on my couch all Saturday afternoon, catching up on old episodes of “Lost” and “Kyle XY” and “Lipstick Jungle.” (The latter show easily understandable when played at high speed without the sound on, leaving you with the same empty feeling you’d get if you watched it in real time.) I couldn’t motivate myself to work out, or go outside, or even go to the store. I was stuck in a rut and didn’t know how to get myself out of it. So to escape from my depressing plight, I climbed into bed and slept through the rest of the afternoon.

But then something interesting happened. While I was sleeping, I had a dream about making a chocolate cake. It all seemed so real, from the preparation of the cake, to putting it in the oven, to the eventual frosting of the top and sides. The dream was so vivid and detailed, that when I woke up, I immediately went down to the kitchen to have a piece. Only there wasn’t a cake to eat. Nor were there any ingredients to prepare such a treat. So with renewed vigor and energy, I pulled on some clothes and jumped in the car to do some much needed grocery shopping.

By the time the early evening rolled around, I was not only preparing the cake, but also a rather nice hearty meal consisting of chicken, corn and rice. My dull day had suddenly turned into something quite different, as the activity surrounding the making of the cake had revitalized my senses. And later that evening, when I actually got to sample my chocolate creation, I was amazed at how good it tasted. And how good I felt because I’d taken the time to make it. In fact, my weekend had suddenly become much more productive just because I had a simple little dream.

Now I am tackling the laundry and who knows what might be next? Which leads me to believe that when you’re blue or lethargic, sometimes all it takes is a good chocolate cake!