My friends, one day last week at work, I happened to spy one of my cubicle neighbors covertly drop something on my desk. What in the world? Well comrades, it was a simply sublime stick of Schmidt's Coconut and Pineapple Deodorant!
I thought to myself, “Hey that was kind of…wait a second…hmm...” -- Anyhoo! Once I came to grips with the unseemly underpinnings of the furtive favor, I slid myself under my desk where I keep a blanket, sunlamp, various self-help books, and a cheap bottle of dark rum. I hope you can keep a secret because this is my hush-hush nook, where I take my midday siestas; and once comfortably nestled within the cozy confines of the desk’s underbelly, I popped open the deodorant. It had a lustrous and ambrosial visual quality, like nectar from a hummingbird. Taken aback by its pleasing allure, I took a whiff of its intoxicating scent then softly nestled myself into the loving caress of nap time…
No sooner had I drifted off than I heard a distant tinkling of steel drums. My eyes popped open and found myself in a makeshift hammock tied between coconut palms, on the edge of a beach, next to a tiki bar. Pina Colada in my hand, I gazed at the hula girls dancing with undulating arms outreached and hips aquiver, ukuleles strumming, as the sun was setting over aquamarine waves gently breaking onto the white sand beach whose warm grains lingered as they caressed my tatty toes.
This was no ordinary nap!
Under a cross-hatched bumbershoot of palm trees a conga line began and I was reluctantly cajoled onto the boisterous cavalcade. As my hips swayed to the tropical beat, a raven-haired hula girl took hold of my waist. With a long breath she inhaled my essence, purple gold light sucked from my chest like a vortex. She called herself Waikiki Winona, and her mint green eyes flashed like a tropical sunset. Transfixed I fell into her spell as she sang words that haunt and thrill to this very day…:
“Beach Bum Bobby he smells so good
Ke kanaka maika’i loa in the neighborhood
Pīnihiʻo ia a party when the sun goes down
ʻaʻoleʻo ia our office clown
He’s no longer the office clown”
Spellbound, I surrendered to the reverie and indulged in all the voluptuous pleasures this tropical chimera had to offer. I almost felt unworthy of bliss so sublime…
At one point I sensed the tapping of the real world threatening to wrench me back into its callous and colorless grip. So to repel this unwanted invasion I reached for the magical Schmidts Coconut and Pineapple Deodorant, took a deep whiff and in a green flash was reconstituted back to my palm fringed paradise.
My friend, how long I lay there on that idyllic beach with sand between my toes and sunscreen on my nose remains unclear -- as time itself seemed to float like driftwood while on that ethereal plane, but at some point I was nudged awake by a cleaning lady. She informed me that she had come to tidy up the office as it was getting late and didn’t want to wake me because I looked so contented.
Disoriented, I apologized for causing any inconvenience and slowly arose from my nook. She reached for the broom and as I tried to ease by, her head swiveled the way a feral cat catches a scent, and she, with a cheshire smile, turned and took me by the waist in a manner I had yet to experience with a cleaning lady. She proceeded to drew me closer, then looked deep into my soul with mint green eyes that flashed like a tropical sunset, and in the softest, most beguiling tone, sang the words that echoed though the cubicles, “Beach Bum Bobby he smells so good…”
To which I replied,
“No Winona, not here. People will talk…!"
Written by Bill Butrick
Edited by J.D Gardner