I Think I Might Be a Drug Mule

2 Feb

I think there’s something in the tissue boxes at work.

Yes, I know – tissues.  But I mean something else.  Something…better.

The custodian on my floor – let’s call her Marge – always tiptoes into my office, looks behind her to make sure she isn’t being trailed, and slips me a new box of tissues, telling me to “put them in my drawer”, all wide-eyed and crazy haired, as if hot off a chase.  I keep trying to get out the words “no thank you I have plenty”, but  there is a secrecy to our exchange — a sort of hushed urgency that makes me feel as if I’m missing something.

Am I missing something?

Sitting at my desk in the carpeted cages of the corporate jungle, I simply think.  I think so hard and so long about tissues that I worry I might say something ridiculous and tissue-related if someone calls and I have to answer the phone.  And yet try as I might, I could come up with no logical reason for why Marge conducts routine restocking in such a manner.

Let’s consider some possible explanations:

1) Tissues are harder to come by in the corporate jungle than I had anticipated and I take for granted Marge’s love and consideration for me.

2) Marge doesn’t actually work for the company but prefers her self-constructed reality to that of her real life and risks discovery each and every day if not careful.

3)  There is a valuable item, such as drugs or diamonds, hidden in the tissue boxes and I am a pawn in Marge’s illegal activity.

4) Marge doesn’t care for me and is stealing one box of tissues every two days from the supply closet in order to build up my holdings with the intention of outing me in front of Corporate HR.

5) Marge suffers from short-term memory loss and doesn’t remember a tissue exchange happening.  Ever.

I would dig to the bottom of the box to find the source of secrecy, but I had a bad experience with a tissue box conjecture once.  I was unaware that Kleenex had developed a signal to consumers wherein the last few tissues were peach as a warning that the tissue box needed to be replaced.  As a result, I ran around work pulling out funny-colored tissues and exclaiming that I was going to write the company for the mixup and demand a refund.

So you can see how I’m wary of any hasty tissue-related assumptions.   If one public tirade about a tissue box didn’t tip off the coworkers that I’m slightly unstable, I’m certain that a second will.  But I’ve got a full drawer of tissue boxes and I’m going to have to start piling them up in the cabinet if she doesn’t knock it off soon.

Unless, of course, the boxes are full of little baby diamonds and Marge is using me as her mule.

Which would be awesome.


Thanks for voting yesterday, guys! The poll is open until Tuesday, when I will reveal the winning design and announce how to get in the drawing for a free t-shirt to be sent directly to your hands.  I promise it’s painless.  

4 Responses to “I Think I Might Be a Drug Mule”

  1. Lucy's Mom February 2, 2011 at 9:51 am #

    That’s awesome how Marge restocks your Kleenex supply. At my office, Kleenex is a foreign concept to some of the men. They feel free to just let it all out, all over the place. My mind’s eye sees those little germ illustrations everywhere – on the walls, phones, the copier. Or a toxic cloud of sneeze floating through the air…..Thank God for the disinfecting wipes in the supply room. We do have a supply of Kleenex that you can help yourself to. Perhaps I should appoint myself the “Marge” of the office, especially since I can be wild-haired and crazy-eyed too. Jackie – I hope Marge is hooking you up with those baby diamonds 🙂


    • Jackie February 2, 2011 at 10:52 pm #

      LOL “a toxic cloud of sneeze floating through the air”

      You know what? Why don’t you start the baby diamond run with those Kleenexes? It’s a gold mine.


  2. square_one February 2, 2011 at 9:31 pm #

    Hahaha I too bank way too many hours away out of the day playing out crazy scenarios in my head when the answer is probably the most simple: Marge has a soft spot for you and shows it by depriving the rest of your office their tissues and giving you a box a day instead. Either that or you had a bat in the cave one day, and Marge, being the germaphobe that she is, has resorted to giving you the hint-hint by overloading you with tissues. I personally like choice 5: early onset alzheimers. That’s gotta be it!

    Love the blog : )


    • Jackie February 2, 2011 at 10:51 pm #

      haha thanks for stopping by – and for donating your brainpower to the cause. Maybe it really is me. Maybe I simply need to blow my nose and she’s been trying so hard to tell me.


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