Working in an office is akin to being a hitman – never sit with your back to the door, always be aware of impending threats and never lose your cool. Consider me at the top of my game. I’m livin’ by the rules and stayin’ alive (à la John Travolta). I’ve worked in many an office (yeah, I’m bitter) and among the many perils rife in The Game is that of remaining unseen by a hunter. With my computer screen often visible to advancing threats, my ears are thus so finely tuned, I can detect an unlawful approach at 15 metres.
“Bogey at two o’clock! Abort! Abort!”
You could be watching You Tube, checkin’ out Lindsay Lohan’s latest mug shot or worse, plotting your defection and peepin’ at jobs online. Whatever the infraction, a hitman’s reflexes must be lightning fast. Anything less will get you killed. I can launch paperclips like poison darts, type 100wpm and reduce my screen in a split, should I whiff danger on the wind.
Don’t kid yourself, it aint enough to be fast. Maintain your cover. You don’t see Jason Bourne screaming like a girl and assuming the foetal whenever he’s cornered.
Remain calm. Act natural. You just might get out alive.
But, comes a time, a hitman aint knocking ’em off as fast as he once did. Young bucks are comin’ up quick, prepped with superior skills and kills. Cut to today.
I’m in the bathroom at work (standing at the mirror, it’s important to note) and … I hear the air move. It could have been a fly, I tell you. I turn … and find an Indian woman beside me, a little too close to first base for my liking. What the? Where in heckfire did she come from? She’d slid up beside me like a motherlovin’ ninja. Ever the artful hitman, my double take was concealed, but my instinct was to reach for my metaphorical magnum.
How is it the running of a comb through my hair sounds like I’m dragging a dead body down a side-alley, but motherlovin’ Ninja exists within the Cone of Silence? I see you movin’ but … I stop draggin my corpse to listen … ? Nothin but eery silence.
I aint gonna lie, the locale didn’t help the creepy. I clock at least 10 toilet stalls ripe for body disposal, with not a pisser in sight. I’m made.
“I see your hitman, and I raise you a ninja.”
Ever heard the term, silent but deadly? It don’t only refer to the cutting of cheese, my friend. A ninja can do all a hitman can do, except they’re like, way cooler. They live between the shadows, carry a Samurai and have a proclivity for black.
Could it be, my protagonist had arrived? Yes… yes, it could.