2.6.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am currently hiding underneath my desk. The copyman was fired yesterday. And he’s got a pistol. He’s been following people around campus for a few days before getting fired, sitting in his van. I have always been fearful of people sitting in their cars. I mean, why not go in to wherever you are, why sit in the parking lot? It’s one thing if maybe you’re finishing up a phone call or a sandwich, I can see you wanting to sit in your car and do those things before heading into Best Buy. But to just sit there, like staring, being creepy—no, thank you. If you’re going to stab me, get out of your car and just do it! You sitting there freaks me out! Waiting, watching. This man has just been sitting in his car and, so it seems, copiers across the land are going unserviced.

The office I’m hiding in is full of ladies, and me. We had an impromptu staff meeting in the copy room. I felt like “Mad Men” and Joan Holloway was delivering some kind of salacious, or in this case dangerous, news. I also felt a bit like Klymaxx, with copy room substituted for the ladies. I covered my mouth when she said he had a gun. MF, I’m getting out of here next week, moving on to a new job. Please don’t let me die today. Not like this! I’d always been friendly to this dude. I didn’t call his bosses complaining about his lecherous tendencies. Or that he brought his lunch with him one day and sat down to eat it in our kitchen. I don’t think we even called to have our copier worked on. I mean, yeah, the office is a warm spot I guess. He’s a mess.

Everyone got worked up into a tizzy. I just don’t want to die. Someone suggested we get guns. I suggested we all get tazers. I feel like you might know where I could get them, you or my best sister friends. I don’t want anyone to die, I just want them fucked up a little. I’m in no tizzy, but I am under my desk. They’ve decided to have everyone enter through the one door right in front of my desk. I suppose this is because I am the lone dude, or because I work at the reception desk and it just kind of lacks walls and its own door. This means I am the first line of defense if the Copyman comes here. It also means I’ll be the first victim. If he doesn’t see me, I must not be around. Thus, I am under the desk.

On an unrelated note, have you heard about Robin Quivers and her miraculous weight loss? I had no idea she was so large. Large enough to lose 90 pounds. She’s like a secret Carnie Wilson or something. But the weird part is that younger dudes are asking her out. Isn’t she a lesbian? According to Wikipedia, she had been with Mr. X for a while. Mister. Hmm. Well, young dudes are hollering now. I’m not sure how to respond. Gross?

If you don’t hear from me ever again, I guess it’s because the Copy Man got me. Or maybe I’m out with Robin Quivers. Hope the show is going well out there. We need more details!

Jon