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M.A.G. 2002

May 8, 2012


    One minute I'm standing on a filing cabinet, my head poked up through a moved drop ceiling panel trying to eavesdrop on the meeting going on in the adjacent conference room, and the next thing I know I'm hanging onto a wall rubbing my legs together, attempting to dodge the rubber bands coming at me from one of the suits sitting around the conference table.

     My job is in jeopardy. That's why I was standing on the filing cabinet with my head stuck up through the ceiling--to hear what they were saying about me. I couldn't hear them clearly--I had to try and move one of their ceiling panels too. I'm lucky the conference room is next to my office.

     My right leg itches and the pink insulation makes me sweat and through all of this I can only think of my wife. "If you lose this one, Mirsky," Elaine had said on my first day, "I'm history. I'm not going to support you any longer. Face it. You are not the brightest bulb on the marquee. Do your job--and for once keep your mouth shut."

     I'm in trouble. What the hell is a suggestion box for, if not for suggestions? I just wanted the big boss and the managers to know that they weren't being discreet in their expense accounts--especially with their secretaries. Okay. So I probably screwed up because someone knew my handwriting. I should have typed the note.The least they could do is thank me for trying to protect them. I can be trusted. Maybe I should tell them about Elaine and offer to trade my silence to keep my job. I'd even promise not to use the suggestion box anymore. If I can hear their discussion about me I'll be better able to mount a job-saving defense.

     My leg was really itching and I couldn't bend over to scratch it because I'd make a racket--either knocking the ceiling apart or falling off the filing cabinet. I was standing on one leg and having trouble keeping my balance, all-the-while trying not to sneeze from the insulation while scratching my itchy calf with my shoe. "There must be an easier way," I thought. "If only I could be a fly on the wall."

     The next rubber band almost wings me and I fly off to try and hide behind a curtain but I have no control over my flying and I land on the table. I look up at my boss and he looks as big as the city of Toledo--even though I've never been to Toledo. He rears his open hand back and coming at me from an angle slaps the table trying to squash me. Instinctively I do what all flys do--I fly straight up avoiding his sideward movement and I end up on the back of his chair, unnoticed.

     I'm out of breath and panting my little fly pants and flapping my translucent wings to cool myself off, and then I realize that I'm finally in a perfectly safe position to hear what's going on. I realize that I was able to wish myself into becoming that fly on the wall. Imagine the possibilities. Just the inside information I could glean for the stock market could set us up for life. I wouldn't tell Elaine, though, I'd let her think I'd suddenly become brilliant--found my niche in life. My bosses voice snaps me out of my revelry.

     "Buzzz," is what I hear him say.

     "Buzzz. Buzzz," someone else says.

     "Buzzzzzz. Bz. Bz."



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