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Authors: Christian Riley
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came over us from our supervisor. Nothing except an occasional odd glance to me, from Ted, which left me wondering what he was playing at.
A few weeks passed, and the office was storming ahead of schedule, days before Halloween. We were all in a chipper mood from our progress, and excited over the fact that Halloween fell on a Friday this year. Jennifer, our receptionist, made up a memo inviting us to wear costumes on the upcoming Friday, but the notice was hardly needed. There were about thirty of us at the Issaquah office, and with exception of myself, Ted and a few others, most of the employees were quite young. They needed little encouragement to dress up, especially on the last day of the week—and due to years of their youthful influence, neither did the rest of us “old timers.”
Ted was the questionable factor though. He was the new guy, and considering his uptight persona, along with the fact that he never made any attempts to socialize with any of us beyond the parameters of work, we all assumed he would come to the office on Halloween morning dressed as his normal self.
Friday arrived, bringing with it a thoughtful surprise for everyone. Ted regularly wore khaki pants and a button-down, long-sleeve shirt. Contrasting this, he also wore Nike running shoes—his silent way of bragging to us all that he, somewhere in his fifties, was still a capable runner. But on Halloween day, Ted showed up in a three-piece suit, along with four dozen donuts for the whole office. We were stunned. Adding to our considerable astonishment, he also made a point of interacting affably with us all. The man had dressed himself in a role demanding great respect, and played the perfect character to match.
His “costume” struck us as delightfully humorous in the beginning, but after a few hours, I could see the question hidden behind the eyes of my colleagues. I know this, because the same question danced in my head as well: How can this guy all of a sudden turn into the exact person our office needed? Ted went from “The Great White,” to “The Man in White,” literally overnight.
It chaffed us all. He was teasing us, mocking our intelligence, toying with our emotions. But the real kicker came at lunch time. We were all pretty much tired of Ted at that point, no one wanted anything to do with his offensive charade anymore. Nonetheless, Ted made his way back to the break room to mingle. He was making a great effort to “get to know us,” asking questions about our individual selves, and adding to our various conversations randomly. Fed up, I decided to turn the tables on Ted, and ask him questions about himself. Much to my surprise, the event was short-lived:
“So tell us Ted, what are you supposed to be dressed up as, anyways?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Dan?”
“No. Not really.”
“Why Dan…I’m a serial killer.”
And then he left the room, as simple as that.
The ensuing silence felt as if our entire break room had been instantly plunged into the arctic ocean, like one of those crab pots you see on TV.
“ Ohhkkaayy ,” Ben finally said, with a crazed roll of his eyes. Most of the others chuckled awkwardly, relying on humor to cut the edge Ted left us with, but certainly not me. I found the man’s words haunting. It was almost as if I truly believed him, like he was confessing to us his “other life,” in a demented way only he would conjure up.
I left the office that day telling myself it was all a practical joke; just Ted being Ted, serving us all a plateful of insults, followed by that last little morsel, in case the taste in our mouths wasn’t awful enough. I put the incident out of my head, trying not to think about it until the following Monday, when Ted showed up wearing his normal khakis with his long-sleeve shirt, his normal running shoes, and his normal condescending attitude. The Great White was back in the tank, and sure enough, damn if we didn’t regret it.
It was a sick game for the man,
A few weeks passed, and the office was storming ahead of schedule, days before Halloween. We were all in a chipper mood from our progress, and excited over the fact that Halloween fell on a Friday this year. Jennifer, our receptionist, made up a memo inviting us to wear costumes on the upcoming Friday, but the notice was hardly needed. There were about thirty of us at the Issaquah office, and with exception of myself, Ted and a few others, most of the employees were quite young. They needed little encouragement to dress up, especially on the last day of the week—and due to years of their youthful influence, neither did the rest of us “old timers.”
Ted was the questionable factor though. He was the new guy, and considering his uptight persona, along with the fact that he never made any attempts to socialize with any of us beyond the parameters of work, we all assumed he would come to the office on Halloween morning dressed as his normal self.
Friday arrived, bringing with it a thoughtful surprise for everyone. Ted regularly wore khaki pants and a button-down, long-sleeve shirt. Contrasting this, he also wore Nike running shoes—his silent way of bragging to us all that he, somewhere in his fifties, was still a capable runner. But on Halloween day, Ted showed up in a three-piece suit, along with four dozen donuts for the whole office. We were stunned. Adding to our considerable astonishment, he also made a point of interacting affably with us all. The man had dressed himself in a role demanding great respect, and played the perfect character to match.
His “costume” struck us as delightfully humorous in the beginning, but after a few hours, I could see the question hidden behind the eyes of my colleagues. I know this, because the same question danced in my head as well: How can this guy all of a sudden turn into the exact person our office needed? Ted went from “The Great White,” to “The Man in White,” literally overnight.
It chaffed us all. He was teasing us, mocking our intelligence, toying with our emotions. But the real kicker came at lunch time. We were all pretty much tired of Ted at that point, no one wanted anything to do with his offensive charade anymore. Nonetheless, Ted made his way back to the break room to mingle. He was making a great effort to “get to know us,” asking questions about our individual selves, and adding to our various conversations randomly. Fed up, I decided to turn the tables on Ted, and ask him questions about himself. Much to my surprise, the event was short-lived:
“So tell us Ted, what are you supposed to be dressed up as, anyways?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Dan?”
“No. Not really.”
“Why Dan…I’m a serial killer.”
And then he left the room, as simple as that.
The ensuing silence felt as if our entire break room had been instantly plunged into the arctic ocean, like one of those crab pots you see on TV.
“ Ohhkkaayy ,” Ben finally said, with a crazed roll of his eyes. Most of the others chuckled awkwardly, relying on humor to cut the edge Ted left us with, but certainly not me. I found the man’s words haunting. It was almost as if I truly believed him, like he was confessing to us his “other life,” in a demented way only he would conjure up.
I left the office that day telling myself it was all a practical joke; just Ted being Ted, serving us all a plateful of insults, followed by that last little morsel, in case the taste in our mouths wasn’t awful enough. I put the incident out of my head, trying not to think about it until the following Monday, when Ted showed up wearing his normal khakis with his long-sleeve shirt, his normal running shoes, and his normal condescending attitude. The Great White was back in the tank, and sure enough, damn if we didn’t regret it.
It was a sick game for the man,
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