Why Can’t My Office Ever Get A Dead Body?

Today a friend of mine posted this status on her Facebook wall:

OMG, there is a car that has been parked outside my office for 3 days and today the police came because there is a dead body in the trunk!

So I got all clappy and jumpy and quickly fired off a comment:

Oh man, I wish something exciting like that would happen at my office. We NEVER get dead bodies!

Then I read all the other comments people had left. And they were all “OMG I’m so sorry!” and “That is terrible!” and “Are you okay?”. And my friend had responded back with “Yes, it was very scary. I started crying when the cops told us it was a woman. I feel so bad for whoever she is.”

And then there was my comment right below her last one.

Yeah.

I really wish I had read the other comments before I posted mine.

But that was really what popped into my head when I read her status. I admit it, I love drama. As long as it isn’t my own drama. I hate my drama. But other people’s drama? Awesome. Fascinating. Especially if it is a complete stranger’s drama.

Now don’t misunderstand me here…it is a terrible thing that happened to that dead-in-a-trunk woman, whoever she is. No one should have that happen to them. Unless they are a pedophile. Or a mass murderer. Or a creepy clown because eeww. So please don’t send me hate emails or leave comments here about what a terrible person I am. I already know that I’m a terrible person. That’s not news, people. That's why I never win the lottery. I just get so excited when something out of the ordinary happens during a typical day. It’s like all sense of reason and propriety fly out the window and I become a raging mob of one. I can’t look away, even if it might put me in danger.

One day at my old job, I was staring out the window avoiding my work when a bunch of police cars pulled up at the far end of the parking lot. And right behind them were two fire trucks.

My mouth fell open and my heart began to beat faster.

One of the police officers jumped out of his car and ran to the trunk, where he pulled out some kind of full-body protective suit.

I stood up. Something awesomely bad was about to go down.

The police officer hurriedly dressed himself in the suit while two others began putting together what looked to be a remote control car, only bigger. More like a remote control tank with a long reachy thingy on it. I looked out past the emergency vehicles and noticed a small cooler sitting in the grass on the median between the lanes going in and out of the parking lot.

Oh. My. God. That’s one of those things that they use to find bombs. That cop is putting on a bomb suit. THERE IS A BOMB IN THAT COOLER!

At this point I am jumping up and down and yelling out fragmented sentences like “Bomb!” and “Hey, outside!” and “Guys, seriously!”.

Finally other people begin to notice what was happening and slowly my window and the others around me filled up with gawkers. Everyone was just as excited as me. For a couple minutes.

And then they all started to panic.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving the building?”
“Why haven’t they told us to evacuate?”
“Do you think it’s really a bomb in there?”
“What if it explodes? Will it blow us up?”
“I need to call my husband!”
“Wait! We can get a better look from Ted’s office!”

That last one came from my mouth. Because I'm all about getting a good view when I'm about to get blown to pieces.

I ran down to Ted’s office and threw myself up against the glass so I wouldn’t miss a moment.

I was all “Can you believe this, Ted? I mean, this is amazing, right?? Who do you think put the bomb there? A disgruntled employee? A lover scorned? A creepy clown?” and Ted was all “Ummm, I’m gonna go, ahhh, to the other side of the building.” and then he disappeared.

I barely heard him. The remote control bomb tank had reached the cooler and was poking around it. Then the police officer in the bomb suit walked over, carefully picked the cooler up and carried it to the back of a white van that had pulled up a few minutes earlier. The cooler was placed inside, the doors were closed and the van drove off. The police officer took off his suit, stood around chatting with the other cops for a few minutes and then they all left as well.

That was it. Nothing. No explosion. No dramatic conclusion. They just drove off. And then I realized there weren’t even any reporters around. There was no bomb after all, apparently.

Well, shit.

I walked dejectedly back to my cubicle. It was all over and everyone else had already sat back down in front of their computers. I was really disappointed that I didn’t get to run screaming from the back of the building. I tried to keep the excitement up by saying things like "Can you believe that just happened?" and "Sooo scary, right?" and "Bombs. Crazy stuff, huh?" as I walked by my co-workers. None of them took the bait, they were totally over it. I went back to work a little more frowny than I had been before the fake bomb incident.

Fifteen minutes later, I noticed a shadow falling over my desk. I looked up. It was Ted.

“Could you please come clean off the hand prints and what appears to be a forehead mark from my office window?”

My life is so boring. If only there was a mass murdering, pedophilic creepy clown dead in a trunk outside my office. A girl can dream, right?

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