In any workplace with one or more persons, you are likely to encounter one or more “characters”. My first job in Information Technology was with a large national manufacturing concern at their Ft. Smith, AR plant, at that time their administrative offices were also there. For reasons unclear, hopefully not dark and mysterious, there dwelt more than the normal allowance of characters at the plant and offices, perhaps a birds-of-a-feather phenomenon.
One such character was Jon, a computer operator who had worked there for many years. Jon did not achieve his character-hood for his activities at work, but for his personal life. He had been married 7 or 8 times, no one was quite sure, and he was always vague on the subject. Like another serial monogamist I have known, he had married and divorced one of the ladies twice. Perhaps being married this many times is truly the definition of optimism.
I have had trouble chasing down the two women that were deluded enough to marry me, how do you do that eight times? Jon was not ugly, but he was far from what I would have called handsome. He came up to possibly medium height, had a beer belly, and was fond of cigarettes. Nor was he rich – multiple divorces would have taken care of any money he might have had – and computer operators (and programmers) at this company were not busting the bank with their paychecks. I did not have a lot of chances to interact with Jon as he tended to work second shift. I normally only saw him when there was some sort of programming issue that caused me to drive in late at night.
Another one of the characters was the Vice President of Information Technology, very intelligent, a family man and an imposing figure. Certain members of the programming staff were in the habit of taking morning and afternoon breaks in the cafeteria. I would occasionally join, and the VP would do also sporadically show up, if for no other reason than to chide us about all the overhead sitting around doing nothing. He would generally dominate the conversation, and it always seemed to go the same direction. He wanted to know all the gossip. Who was sleeping with whom, was it true that a certain gal out in the plant preferred members of her own team… subjects I found totally inappropriate for someone in his position. As an aside, a year or two after I left the company, I heard he had been busted at a local park for soliciting sex from other males. You just never know.
Lo and behold it came to pass… that Jon was to remarry, eighth time, ninth time, who knew for sure. There were several women who worked in Operational Support with Jon, two or three of whom would be worthy of their own blog entry. Deciding it would be appropriate to have a congratulatory lunch for Jon’s forthcoming nuptials, a trio began arrangements for it to take place at a local Mexican restaurant. For reasons I never knew, his betrothed was not to be there. I’m not sure who came with up the idea — I suspected the bosomy redhead at the time– but the women of Operations decided what Jon really needed was a blow-up doll. They then further decided, independent of any and all input from me, that I should be the one to buy this blow-up doll with the money they had collected.
If there were sex shops in Ft. Smith in this epoch, I did not know about them. They, however, discovered a gift shop that had a doll that was more than a balloon, but that did not quite have the functionality of a similar product from an adult toy store. I took their money and my blushing face down to this gift shop and made the purchase, glad that it came boxed. The doll was essentially life size, more or less anatomically correct, minus orifices except for the mouth which was a very round depression that had to be saying, “OHHH Big Boy”. She came to us as Eve came to Adam.
On the day of the luncheon, in a back corner of the Operations area, opting to not shock patrons of the Mexican restaurant, the trio of schemers were dressing the blow-up doll in a tube top and mini-skirt. Almost as if summoned by forces beyond his perception, the VP appeared unexpectedly. Naturally, he inquired as to what they are doing, all the while approaching the blow-up doll; he then proceeded to wiggle his hand down her tube top. Overcome by a brain fart, one of the schemers who had a camera started to snap a picture of the VP in this compromising position. Frightening the imprudent photographer to the point of a vague apprehension for her continued tenure, the VP let it be known that his picture was not to be taken. Lowering her camera, the crisis passed, leaving them to escort Plastic Betty to the restaurant.
Arriving first at the Mexican restaurant, most of us were already waiting at the table with the honoree. Strolling into the restaurant slightly afterwards, two of the schemers supported on their arms the sensually dressed Ms. Betty between them, creating such a stir that all the diners looked up from their chips and salsa. Nearing the table, they seated Ms. Betty on Jon’s right hand. Almost as a chorus, several of the ladies began expounding and postulating on the general sentiment that Jon might do better with a blow-up doll than a ninth marriage. To all this, Jon just laughed. However, he maintained Ms. Betty at his right side for the entirety of the meal, and left the restaurant carrying her out with an arm around her waist.
Since I left the company shortly after this, I never did hear how Jon’s ninth marriage turned out. I could hazard the same guess as you, however.
The Señora and I were watching something on TV that tripped this story from my memory. After sharing it with her, I decided to write this little narrative.
If you want to be scared, type “blow-up doll” into a Google image search which is what I did to find my picture for this article.
Keep well.