The Missing Employee, Mail Mysteries and Bank Blunders

...When we left off yesterday, my co-worker and Ms. Wilkes had just been in a catfight, ending in said co-worker (lets call him Mr. Tibbs) storming out of the office in a blaring hissy fit. At 5:00PM yesterday, the phone rings. I answer. It is Mr. Tibbs. In a low voice he mutters, "She must be talking quite a bit about me behind my back," at which point I returned with, "Actually she hasn't said a thing," at which point HE returned with, "It's ok, I don't want to put you in the middle of it, you don't have to tell me." In all honesty, she hadn't said a thing. As if his absence or sudden resignation were meaningless to her. Cold.

Today, when I stepped into the office, he was at his desk. Early. Working on a variety of different projects (or so it appeared). He chirped at me with a quaint little, "Good Morning", and went on about his business. What had she done before I had arrived to calm his nerves? Had they indulged in a twisted and unbearable form of makeup sex? Why the change of heart? I may never know, but one thing is for certain, they're like peas and carrots once more. Gag me.

Moving on.

There are a handful of incidents where a creative assistant may feel as if the company as a whole, no matter how big or small, is hiding something from them (almost like an "Enron" sort of vibe). For me, one of these feelings is the high profile secrecy of the daily mail delivery. It comes wrapped neatly folded and secured VIA rubber band. It looks like typical postal fair yet I am adamantly told by Mr. Tibbs that it shall be given to him directly and him only (never Ms. Wilkes). What can be so top secret that not even the Producer herself can see? Does he have a subscription to one of those kinky fetish magazines or something? The urgency around receiving the mail alone is completely and utterly SKETCH BALL. It makes me want to invest in a steamer so i can unseal and reseal each item without any sign of breakage JUST to see what's in the God damn envelopes (Below is a candid photograph of today’s mail. Note clues. SERVICE UPDATE. SECOND NOTICE.)

Along the same lines, lets talk about another strange (conspiracy theoryesque) thing that happened to me today and occurs ever so often. It starts as a routine run to make a payment at the bank around the corner. I get to the Teller (she's as perky and sweet as can be) and give her the payment slip ($250 dollars) and the company check to cover it. A minute passes. She looks up at me and says, "We apologize, but there are insufficient funds in this account to make this payment," at which point I think to myself, "That. Is. Scary." If a company doesn't have enough to cover a $250 dollars check...then...they're not only incompetent, but they're also potentially A.) Very low on money (which in this economy is frightening to me) or B.) They're once more indulging in schiesty business practices.

Since the two of them have been out all day, I've decided to do a little snooping around the office. I've found that they have over 6 different accounts set up linked with 6 different individual check books...creepy part is, all of them have different variations of the same name (plus of minus a letter, a number or a misspelling). Bizarre. There is some serious dirty going on behind the scenes here. Throw in some of the details of yesterday’s clash of the titans and I've got myself one hell of a conspiracy theory on my hands.

Stepping back now.

When faced with such incriminating evidence, I think that the best policy is to remove yourself. You're a creative assistant not Dick Tracy. Do you job, keep your mouth shut. If you see a plastic bag whose outline oddly resembles a dead body being dragged into the closet beside you, say nothing. If a week goes by and you begin to smell something emanating from underneath the doorframe that can only be that of a decaying corpse. Ask. Nothing. Pick up your can of Lysol. Spray liberally.