The Air Dancer and Kitchen Sponges

Our company's "top-notch" boardroom was four levels beneath the New York City streets and smelled faintly of a locker room.

My Monday motivational prank on my co-workers - a Frappuccino poured into the coffee maker - had it's intended twitchy effect. The resulting sludge made everyone somewhat vibrate in their seats, wide-eyed and shaking, but that wasn't the funniest thing in the room.

In the corner, a giant, green, inflatable air dancer - the kind you'd see at a car dealership, flailed in a non-existent breeze!

"What's with the dude in the corner?" I asked Jackie.

She sighed. "Oh, that's Dan. Ignore him. Supposedly he's here to help sell our new line of sponges."

"Performance art? Here?" I giggled.

"He represents how our product stands out in a crowded spongy market," she mumbled into a yawn, completely unimpressed.

I stared. "By waving? Jackie, we make kitchen sponges."

Dan was committed, his nylon arms flapping as if the company's fate depended on it.

Then our CEO burst in, wild-eyed and smelling of Old Spice. "Good morning!" he beamed. "Here at Grabby Sponges, we pride ourselves on being very sponge-like!"

He then clicked the laptop mousepad and the Xanadu soundtrack blasted, obliterating the mood. With the combination of caffeine and music, my co-workers suddenly went crazy, ripping open the donut box and sending a few donuts sailing through the air. One donut hit Frank in the face leaving a large chocolate mark.

Glowing, our CEO pointed to the PowerPoint presentation. "Market domination! Market domination! But first - " he squinted, looking around the room, "Where's Sponge Care for Beginners? I told you all to read it!"

Jeff from Accounting yelled over the music and caught a donut, "Dude, we don't read books, it's all online!"

Our sweet-smelling CEO's face turned beet red. "Jeff! No sponges for you!"

Jackie gasped, crumbling her donut. "Oh dear, no sponges for Jeff." she murmured.

Dan kept his happy rhythm while Brenda from Sales balanced an eclair on her forehead.

The music stopped. Our CEO's smile had vanished. "Fine!" he belted out. "You don't want to read? Then you don't want to work here. Anyone without 'Sponge Care for Beginners' on their desk by next Monday is fired."

He added, "And if you need income after that, my advice is to find a freshly mopped floor in one of the hoity-toity skyscrapers in town, fake a fall and get a good lawyer. You clearly don't want to earn your money here!"

I thought to myself, "Well he's a buzzkill."

The party was over. A dead silence filled the room.

Dan's frantic waving slowed for the first time, his noodle arms drooping. The mindless motion ceased, leaving only a long, slow sigh from inside his nylon costume: "I have to go pee."