I’ve had strange weeks before. This past week, though. Well. This past week has been fun.
“Aca-‘scuse Me?” (Exhibit 1 of 3)
A few weeks ago, Babs (mom) sent me a text.
“I have two tickets to an acapella Christmas show at at NJPAC on Dec 1 @ 8pm. Any chance you’d go?”
Longtime readers know “anything”+ “acapella” elicits the following response from me:
Based on all of the times Babs and I had been to college acapella performances, I figured an NJPAC-worthy show would be Glee meets Pitch Perfect. I hoped they’d cover Mariah Carey, maybe a little Jackson 5, and my all-time favorite, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
“This is going to be so fun!” we squealed over Sangria on Saturday night, the show now only an hour away. As the clock neared 8pm, we scooted past two blue-haired ladies, took our seats and opened the program.
“You said you’ve heard them before?” I whispered to Babs.
“I think so,” she replied. “On the radio.”
I looked at the song list and back at Babs, eyes as wide as Christmas saucers.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, a hush fell over the crowd, and twelve men in full-on penguin suits (not the fun kind) solemnly formed a semi-circle, singing at an octave they probably could have heard in whatever country the decidedly-NOT-Mariah-Carey song originated.
Tears of laughter streamed down my face and my shoulders shook as I tried not to make a sound.
“I’M SO SORRY,” Babs whispered, and I snorted audibly.
Trapped in our aisle until intermission, we counted down the somber, unrecognizable songs one by one, each featuring a soloist who, while talented, sang higher than seemed safe.
As soon as the last la Navidad was warbled, we ran out of there faster than my mascara. Did I mention Stephen Colbert was interviewing Meryl Streep on the stage next door?
“Shut Your Neck, I Mean, Face Right Now” (Exhibit 2 of 3)
This next story really needs no introduction. Here’s the message I received from my manager last Friday:
“I Manne-CAN’T Believe It” (Exhibit 3 of 3)
Last Wednesday morning, I stepped into the elevator at work and secretly played my favorite “I Wonder What Floor S/He’s Getting Off On” game. As usual, I correctly predicted another “8th floor.” (When the purse matches the shoes, or the dress socks are festively patterned, it’s definitely an 8th floor.)
This time, though, when the elevator doors opened, I spotted something…unusual. A woman, sitting in a chair near the coffee machine, frozen in place. Her hair had a strange, dull luster and she stared blankly into the distance.
Is that a…is she a…?
Yes. It was a mannequin. (Excuse me, “pulse-challenged,” as we’ve been coached to say by our Diversity & Inclusion team.) Enjoying Starbucks and playing Candy Crush like any normal employee at 8am on a Wednesday. She and I proceeded to have a lengthy conversation about “the 7th floors,” and when I returned to my own floor, I asked everyone I could find:
“Did you know the robots have already taken over?”
“I think it’s a decoy,” Karla replied, scratching her new neck tattoo. “Like the fake dog cut-outs they put in fields to keep geese away. They want to stop us from going to the 8th floor and stealing the good coffee.”
That’s a solid theory, Karla. But if I need to start updating my resume, you’ll let me know, right? …Right?
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It’s because Mercury’s in retrograde, isn’t it?
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Go Jules Go 
A. I wish I could have been to that fun little concert with you. We could have joined in in our own language and…whowouldaknown?? Amiright?
B. I have no words for the neck tattoo guy.
C. The mannequin is creepy. And the way she is sitting is *ahem* less than humbling. But she is creepy. I’m just starting to get over my Michael Myers nightmares from seeing the new Halloween and then you throw this into the mix…… not so cool, Jules.
I can’t decide if having the mannequin as part of the acapella concert would have made the whole thing better or worse. Having you there DEFINITELY would have made it better!
Sure, but in your lack of appreciation for holy sounds, you missed out on an opportunity to introduce yourself to several men who apparently spend most of their time with their all-male colleagues. If things worked out, you’d keep your work and personal lives separate. Maybe one of them has had a side hustle singing back up Mariah or dancing for Janet.
You should seriously consider a career in matchmaking. Because I know you need another job on your plate.
First off… I can’t understand how an acapella group singing about holiday oxen and asses could be anything delightful.
And secondly… I’m going to need the real reason there’s a slutty mannequin on the 8th floor. Please investigate and get back to me.
Oh, believe you me, we’ve got a whole team working on this around the clock. Of course, half of them are about to be made redundant…
Pretty sure neck tattoo dude needs to be tattooed from above by a flying mannequin from the 8th floor. They could call that game “Robot Crush.” It’ll be a hit. Also, the only reason to stick around for that acapella is if a couple of the high-pitched penguins were breakdancing in the middle of that horseshoe while their buddies warbled away!
I genuinely thought there would be breakdancing until I saw that program.
The second I saw that photo of the acapella group in the program I had one thought:
Mannequins.
After I saw the photo of the slutty mannequin I had one thought:
Where the hell’s Andrew McCarthy when you need him?
HA! That’s actually him – on the right.
I see you met my ex-wife.
There are a few jobs that a mannequin is actually qualified to do – for example, I read that some companies, usually startups, hire people just to look busy on a day of a visit by a client or an investor, and few actual humans are able to match the concentration and focus of a mannequin intently staring at a computer monitor.
We decided that if anyone works from home, the mannequin is going in their chair, and they’re required to find her a new home whenever they come back in.