Not much yet; still Googling.  Actually, a rather disturbing development occurred on this front:  getting busted at work.  Yep, I got caught asking Jeeves about Kevin and Tiffany.  I had just blown in from Wimpy's and usually the Big Cheese--Judith--is still chewing for at least another hour, so I figured the coast was clear.  So I'm furtively Googling away and from behind me I hear someone clear her throat in a very soft, sensual--and yet demanding--way.  I slowly unhand my mouse, turn around, look up, and there she is, peeping over my 3/4 wall.  She must have been on her tippy toes.  

 

Judith, at our company pool party, sneaks one out

 

Anyway, my one week suspension has itself been suspended because we're like way behind ATM.  It's scheduled to take effect in six months during our slow period if Judith or her boss catch me online "in a bad place" (her exact words) even one more time.

So, once again, big roar, but no bite. 

About all I can surmise--guess, really--is that Kevin B. lives and works in the same town.  Found a newspaper article about UPS in which he's quoted; his quote is rather lengthy and--in reference to UPS--contained an "us" and a "we" and a "What can I, Brown, do for you?"  So it's not too big of a leap to assume he works for 'em.  Or used to, the article being almost a year old.  Anyway, the main UPS hub in this area is approximately three miles east of where he and Tiffany live. 

So there's that.

Meanwhile, I trudge home, still reeling from my near-suspension, but before I have a chance to take off my penny loafers or my hip waders* Dawn calls me into our computer room.  And then shows me an email from Shelly, my ex.  Something about a postponement of their wedding, redolent with hints that they're "on the rocks."

"You're emailing her?" she says, dryly.

"No, I'm not emailing her.  I ran into her and this Nick guy at Wally~World a few weeks ago."

"And that's when you gave her this email address?"

"OMG, hun," I said.  "She means nothing to me.  Yes, we're still friends.  But I haven't been emailing her.  When we talked, she and Nick were planning their wedding.  Stuff."

"You're still friends.  With her."

"We're not active friends.  We did... we left on friendly terms.  That's all."

"I don't know, Herb.  This looks pretty chummy to me."

She hands me the email.  I'm almost asked why she bothered to print it off, but I stay mum.  In her missive Shelly calls me "Herbie," her pet name for me.  Really, it was rather sad.  Like all she wanted was a hug.

"Well, you're right," I said:  "she and I are not this close.  Not anymore.  She's having troubles all righty.  I should reply to her in a very unemotional way, tell her how you and I are doing great, how we were looking forward to some foursomes.  I'll try to--"

"Foursomes?  What?  I haven't even met her.  And I don't want to."  Scowl.  Not hate, but disappointment.

"OK, I won't email her."

"No.  Go ahead.  Shoot her an email.  Leave me out of it though."

The rest of the evening was relatively... quiet.  Yeah, that's the word:  quiet.  I decided to avoid mentioning my mishap in the cubes.  We watched American Idol.  The bald guy looks to be in the driver's seat.

 

 

FORWARD to what happened next

BACK to what happened first 

OVER to HerbNation HOMEPAGE  

questions? comments?

*I forgot what I was wearing.  Yep:  it was that kind of day, yesterday was.  I mean it's a salt mine:  sometimes I do office work, sometimes I'm out in the field, erm, "down in the hole."  Each morning I attempt to dress appropriately, Brooks Brothers notwithstanding, though I've got grubbies stowed in the boot of my Minor "just in case."  Anyway, this is all quite beside the point.