Denny, The Fair and Balanced Whistler

The second installment in a, hopefully never ending, look into the mind of my ex-boss Denny.

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Denny was bored a lot. You could tell this from the ironed crease in his jeans. He had worked very hard, for numerous years, to permanently skirt all his responsibilities as head boss, so he could watch Fox News in his office all day. Even when talking to you, his eyes would wander to the television screen beaming all that "fair and balanced." The joke, around the office, was that he was paid handsomely to watch Fox News all day. That really wasn't a joke.

It's always a good idea to appear busy in the presence of your boss. Lingering, chatting, and mellowness are not qualities that will increase your salary. I always pick up the pace when passing my bosses' office, and I try to make sure I have some papers in hand along with a thoughtful pen behind my ear. Half to relay the message that I'm busy, which I generally am, and half so the window in which to stop me in my tracks, is small enough that he can't.

Whenever Denny was not traveling, boring whatever account he was visiting, he was bored at the office. Monday through Thursday (he never worked Fridays) he'd snoop around the office looking for items out of place, various sloppy scenes, and, in general, whatever offended him and didn't convey a tidy office image. He would notify the mail-room clerk that the kitchen was out of plastic spoons, ask his assistant to design a new fax cover sheet with the current season sport team's logo, and complain about the piles of Celine Dion foam core boards that he inexplicably tripped over, every time he left his office.

After jumping through his hoops for a while, it dawned on me that keeping his personal office path clear of any offending materials, combined with his apparent inability to stray from this path, would work to my advantage. Figuring out what the offending materials were, was easy. Figuring out his daily routine was also, very easy.

Unfortunately, if I was on my game, Denny would start to pick on the support staff. He would comment on how their plants were ugly and needed attention, or that they stacked their CDs in a sloppy manner. He would always be the one complaining that the paper towels were out, the water cooler needed attention, and the sugar bowl was empty.

If he was somehow appeased, and he had been there a few hours, he'd leave for the day. We'd often bet a few bucks at lunch on whether or not he would still be at the office, upon our return. When he returned the next day, for a second round of boredom, he'd have nothing else to bitch about and you'd find him wandering the halls whistling and swinging his arms like a school kid on an extended recess.

He would always whistle the same tune. At first I couldn't place it, but hearing it day after day, week after week, I finally realized (with great satisfaction) what the tune was; Denny was whistling "If I Only Had a Brain" from the Wizard of Oz. While certainly a catchy tune, it's also quite an unfortunate one to have perpetually stuck in your noggin'. Seeing it as my duty to inform, I quietly told the crew.

Soon, it wasn't enough to hear him whistling this tune, as he passed your open office door. As if he was the pied piper, I'd float toward the door and watch him and his melody wander away. Sharing a tuneful Denny moment, with another co-worker, was a highlight of anyone's day.

Denny knew the ax was coming down. He'd prepared by building a new house out of state and had been "secretly" sending his mail there for months. When he was eventually laid off, it took him a mere week before permanently occupying this new home. I'd like to think he's wandering his, most certainly too big of a house, having straightened all the wall hangings twice already today, and finding time to whistle his favorite tune.

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Other Dennytacular reads:
Denny's Birthday Gift From His Fat, Fat Wife