Tangenang shet meeting, pants

This morning, I received word that I will be in a meeting with my company’s C-level management unit and some of the country’s best Internet marketing minds. To say that I am a little ill-prepared for this meeting is like saying that I am only a “little overweight” or I “only burned down my aunt’s house in the province a little” back in 1988. I mean shit I could probably talk more about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle better than I could talk about the topic of this meeting. It went something like:

My boss: “I hope you got my message yesterday. [C-level management guy] is flying in today for [confidential company shit] and I need you to be there to explain [more confidential company shit] to them.”

Me: [Panicking. Thinking of an excuse but my boss already caught me browsing my fantasy basketball lineup while talking to my girlfriend on the phone about travel plans] “Do I really have to go?”

My Boss: “Yes.”

Me: “Shit.”

My Boss: “Shit” is right.

It’s too late to cram and prepare my reports now so I am only hoping that I do not make too much of an idiot out of myself in front of my employer and colleagues. But even that doesn’t sound too promising right now. If you’re a long time reader of this blog, you’d know that most of the time, I have no fucking clue with regards to what I do or what I’m supposed to be doing at work. I usually work around this by hiding in the conference room of my office with a perpetual scowl on my face. When people do find me in the conference room needing something, I usually just say something to the effect of “Can you leave it in my inbox? I’ll check it out later.” I cannot stress how effectively this has been working for quite some time now.

BUT, if you put me in a meeting scenario where serious business-type questions are asked–questions I do not have answers to, unless of course the questions are “Is Manu Ginobli for Chris Paul a good trade?” or “What brand does Pho Hoa use for their Hot Sauce? Where can I buy it?”– I’m in deep shit.

As if that isn’t enough, I’m wearing what are quite possibly the tightest, most uncomfortable pair of pants this side of Asia. See, I found an old pair of black dress pants in my closet yesterday and thought it to be a great idea to wear them to work today.

This morning, in the blur that is my typical morning routine, I showered put on the old dress pants I found in my closet, and drove myself to work. It was only after I got to work that I realized that it looks like somebody has spray painted my legs, crotch and butt with black paint leaving little to the imagination. Well actually, the crotch part I do not have to worry about since like I’ve said numerous times, I am hung like a light switch. Whatever.

Now I’m all jittery and shit. What the hell do I do? Do I ask somebody from my staff to cram and prepare the reports I need for me in order to save face? Do I hit up my old marijuana dealer to ensure that even If I do make a fool out of myself and forever ruin my career, I’d be at least happy?

So yeah, wish me luck. Or better yet, if any of you are around the Shaw Boulevard area and can offer to lend me size 38 dress pants in the next hour or so, I would be most grateful.  Or if you’re a girl whose moral compass points to whatever the opposite of true north is, a hand job or, if you’d be so kind, five minutes’ worth of fellatio would be very much appreciated. Thank you

Additional comments powered by BackType