Post by Princess on Nov 19, 2013 18:52:35 GMT
Back in the office after the festive return, my body is sore and I smile for once while drudging away on accounting software. I despise my job, but that's why I need my relief. Perhaps I can take this as a new leaf, a new start to a new life. Living my dream and being normal at the same time, finding balance. My tie is still tight, but it doesn't remove the glee of a good win. I turn, and Tom is behind me, looking me over.
"So, Kristoff, you look happy, but...is that a bruise on your collar?"
"Is there, I guess I must have not taken too much care when tumbling around my attic this weekend." I lie, but of course I lie. Nobody in this company watches wrestling besides me, who would even know where I REALLY got hurt.
"And your day of vacation, that went well, right?"
"Ah, yes, always need a day away from the office on occasion. I wonder if I can reschedule my schedule to be ten hour days, Tuesday through Friday? That would be most efficient use of my time, since Mondays seldom have anything but meetings for you and it's a waste of both of our time."
"Interesting, Kristoff..." He seems perplexed by my thought, but at the same time, hopeful. "Oddly, we in upper management were beginning to think of something along the same lines, either giving people Mondays or Fridays off and three day weekends, for productivity."
"Ah, very good, Tom, I love that idea. So you can manage that then?" Secretly, this is to keep my Mondays and Sundays free for IWF and keep my two lives, separate.
"Yes, starting immediately. By the way, Kristoff, why was it again you left us for those two years? We missed you, truly."
****
I recall the day well, when I left NCW. I was let go, for personal reasons. I was burned out, I was getting fat, getting tired, getting lazy. A short, eventful career turned on its head so fast. One bad string of luck screwed me, and the humiliation stayed. Humiliation observed by returns of men and women who didn't hardly realize who I was anymore. I was lost, alone, and felt I hadn't any friends in the world. Some days, indeed, I regret the decision, others, I recall how I left one career for this one, and how I regret keeping them separate for so long. Balance, indeed, is what one man must do in order to keep sanity.
Ah, the offices of NCW were warm and welcoming the day I arrived, but the day I left, it felt like they were overcast and cloudy, as though my interior emotions had echoed on the walls. It was a little over a year after that the place closed its doors, to be replaced by this one. Why is it that my legacy was forgotten by all but so few, it's time to return, time to come back to...
****
Back in the present, Tom stares at me, before brushing it off and leaving me to my work. I've cleared my path in a new business, and found a way to balance my intellectual and more carnal careers, for now. Normalcy, indeed, is the thing I need most right now, in this, my period of recovery. I return to my work quietly, and smile.
__________________________________________________________________________
"So, here I am, two weeks into my return and there's no punches being pulled in giving me a real test of will. I'm being pitted against a returning legend, one of the men I USED to respect, along with a man I don't really know a thing about. Wow, how am I to compete in such a classic display of Heavyweight competition? Oh, wait, I forgot, these kinds of exhibitions are NORMAL, and that's what I excel at. So let's get down to the business of this, shall we?"
I am, once again, in my home-away-from-home in my attic gym, true it costs to travel between shows, but who says I wasn't financially intelligent enough to invest my prior earnings so I can enjoy this life? Behind me is a poster, though degraded, of Lance Ryan, back in his younger days, when he was an idol. However, it's now marked up with black scribbles of "LIAR!" and "ASSHOLE!"
"Lance, what you did at Sacrifice, what you helped Spike do is disgusting. Crucifying a man for your own enjoyment, for bloodthirst, for a message to try and intimidate others. But...it really doesn't do much but show how abnormal you are, how you have resorted to cheap tactics to intimidate in lieu of actually being skilled in the ring. Both of you should be ashamed, so ashamed."
Of course, I know they aren't, they've become best frienemies over the years, haven't they? Spike and Lance, two weapons that often meet and collaborate their own little cliques to make themselves feel superior. Yes, nothing but showboating, always with the intimidation, but that doesn't work on the enlightened, does it?
"I know you two, and Lance, you're little return is nothing more than another attempt to leave your name plastered on some companies Hall of Fame for the recordbooks after they have long become defunct. You did it with NCW, you did it with a LOT of places, and I watched you do it, when I was younger, and stupider, I believed you were the savior. HA! Now i know, you are the devil in disguise, you are here not to save us, but to DESTROY us."
Poor Xavier, I came back hoping to finally get a good match against you only for Lance and Spike and those goons to take you away again. I pray for your quick convalescence and return to beat them, then we can talk epic battles.
"And then there is this beast, Mala...Mal...Well since I can't pronounce it how about I just call you M. So, M. You are big, possibly stupid, and you let some guy in a suit parade you around like you're auditioning for the Ryse: Son of Rome Live Action Trailer or something. You like that, you know, my little nerdiness coming out? Oh, damn, I let my composure slip. Sorry, NORMAL! Kristoff, NORMAL!"
Sorry, I broke character, but then again, I'm not a character, so I guess it's fine for me to just ramble a little off topic. I smile, leaning back on the arm I have placed next to the desecrated Lance Ryan poster.
"Ah, yes, M. You are definitely an exquisite physical specimen, that's for sure. Now, did you use Baby Oil on your body for that last promo shoot, or was it man butter, because, sorry to say, but you do come off a bit...well...nevermind, I mean, I guess I have my own closet-case problems to worry about, huh."
Nod to those who remember, yes, Rob Diamond, I still want your sexy sexy man meat.
"Ah, so that leaves me to wonder, what kind of a Showcase match is this? We have an old man, returning to align with the Devil Himself, and a dumb young guy who can't speak for himself. I don't know what I'm doing in this match, am I the only SANE person here anymore? Am I the only man in this place who seems to be grounded in reality, however dull and dreary it appears to be? I guess, perhaps, I am. But then again, we all need to remember the basics, we're all new so...."
Oh god, I love props. I pull out my briefcase and open swiftly. Out comes three sheets of paper that look familiar to anyone who has ever worked in their lives.
"Now, I know we're not all from the same country, and we all work in the same place, but it's about time to talk about your W4's, right? You want to be paid, and not go to jail for tax evasion, right? So, why not make sure everything is square from the start, unless...of course, you weren't planning on staying long enough to be paid, in which case, there's something Pink in the future for you, and I don't mean that in a sexual way."
I know, I know, too much humor, back to the game, right. As I look in my briefcase I grab out two Pink Slips, oddly, with my opponents names on them.
"Wow, Lance, it looks like you get released in...two weeks for, jeez, what's the reason listed: "Being a Canadian and since the Toronto Mayor is a Better Heel than you". Wow, that's gotta hurt. And Ma...er, M. You get booted because "Assault of a fan resulting in permanent injury." Wow, uh...big, dumb, ugly and dangerous, huh? Man. Can't help but feel sorry for you guys. I mean, you will come back and say some big things, make threats, and try and tell me how you will rip my head off, shit down my neck, all that jazz. But remember, that's not NORMAL behavior, it's not really allowed, unless you're Spike Kane and are crucifying someone on national TV, this is a WRESTLING MATCH, you're not going to rip anything, shit on anything, and definitely, definitely not win if you're planning to play dirty and let your manager cheat for you. I don't know how many times I have to go through this first few week bullshit, being poked and prodded like I'm some nobody who doesn't know the first thing about doing an overhead belly-to-belly followed by a sunset flip pin. Seriously, people, I know my wrestling, I know how to double underhook a DDT from over 5 different positions, and could put you in about a thousand different submission holds, some of which just rely upon single pressure points and possible broken fingers, so seroiusly, PEOPLE! I know this, I'm PERFECTLY NORMAL! And you two, you...creatures of habit, seem to need real help being brought up to snuff on your own bullshit."
A laugh emanates from my throat, but I squelch it as fast as I can, knowing the insults will probably get me hung up next to Xavier Cross, Davey Ortega and the rest of them should Spike and his Throne of Blood or whatever win.
"So, I'm going to sit back at my desk, wait patiently for your responses, Lance and M. I'll hope you two don't become tongue tied, speechless, or start trying to dig deep for some inspirational quotes by Nietzsche because blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders. So, Lance, M. I'll be waiting for you to spout something off, because I'm the wise man, and you two are fools. I speak because I have something to say, and you have nothing to say but can't shut up!"
That's it, cut camera, I'm done.
"So, Kristoff, you look happy, but...is that a bruise on your collar?"
"Is there, I guess I must have not taken too much care when tumbling around my attic this weekend." I lie, but of course I lie. Nobody in this company watches wrestling besides me, who would even know where I REALLY got hurt.
"And your day of vacation, that went well, right?"
"Ah, yes, always need a day away from the office on occasion. I wonder if I can reschedule my schedule to be ten hour days, Tuesday through Friday? That would be most efficient use of my time, since Mondays seldom have anything but meetings for you and it's a waste of both of our time."
"Interesting, Kristoff..." He seems perplexed by my thought, but at the same time, hopeful. "Oddly, we in upper management were beginning to think of something along the same lines, either giving people Mondays or Fridays off and three day weekends, for productivity."
"Ah, very good, Tom, I love that idea. So you can manage that then?" Secretly, this is to keep my Mondays and Sundays free for IWF and keep my two lives, separate.
"Yes, starting immediately. By the way, Kristoff, why was it again you left us for those two years? We missed you, truly."
****
I recall the day well, when I left NCW. I was let go, for personal reasons. I was burned out, I was getting fat, getting tired, getting lazy. A short, eventful career turned on its head so fast. One bad string of luck screwed me, and the humiliation stayed. Humiliation observed by returns of men and women who didn't hardly realize who I was anymore. I was lost, alone, and felt I hadn't any friends in the world. Some days, indeed, I regret the decision, others, I recall how I left one career for this one, and how I regret keeping them separate for so long. Balance, indeed, is what one man must do in order to keep sanity.
Ah, the offices of NCW were warm and welcoming the day I arrived, but the day I left, it felt like they were overcast and cloudy, as though my interior emotions had echoed on the walls. It was a little over a year after that the place closed its doors, to be replaced by this one. Why is it that my legacy was forgotten by all but so few, it's time to return, time to come back to...
****
Back in the present, Tom stares at me, before brushing it off and leaving me to my work. I've cleared my path in a new business, and found a way to balance my intellectual and more carnal careers, for now. Normalcy, indeed, is the thing I need most right now, in this, my period of recovery. I return to my work quietly, and smile.
__________________________________________________________________________
"So, here I am, two weeks into my return and there's no punches being pulled in giving me a real test of will. I'm being pitted against a returning legend, one of the men I USED to respect, along with a man I don't really know a thing about. Wow, how am I to compete in such a classic display of Heavyweight competition? Oh, wait, I forgot, these kinds of exhibitions are NORMAL, and that's what I excel at. So let's get down to the business of this, shall we?"
I am, once again, in my home-away-from-home in my attic gym, true it costs to travel between shows, but who says I wasn't financially intelligent enough to invest my prior earnings so I can enjoy this life? Behind me is a poster, though degraded, of Lance Ryan, back in his younger days, when he was an idol. However, it's now marked up with black scribbles of "LIAR!" and "ASSHOLE!"
"Lance, what you did at Sacrifice, what you helped Spike do is disgusting. Crucifying a man for your own enjoyment, for bloodthirst, for a message to try and intimidate others. But...it really doesn't do much but show how abnormal you are, how you have resorted to cheap tactics to intimidate in lieu of actually being skilled in the ring. Both of you should be ashamed, so ashamed."
Of course, I know they aren't, they've become best frienemies over the years, haven't they? Spike and Lance, two weapons that often meet and collaborate their own little cliques to make themselves feel superior. Yes, nothing but showboating, always with the intimidation, but that doesn't work on the enlightened, does it?
"I know you two, and Lance, you're little return is nothing more than another attempt to leave your name plastered on some companies Hall of Fame for the recordbooks after they have long become defunct. You did it with NCW, you did it with a LOT of places, and I watched you do it, when I was younger, and stupider, I believed you were the savior. HA! Now i know, you are the devil in disguise, you are here not to save us, but to DESTROY us."
Poor Xavier, I came back hoping to finally get a good match against you only for Lance and Spike and those goons to take you away again. I pray for your quick convalescence and return to beat them, then we can talk epic battles.
"And then there is this beast, Mala...Mal...Well since I can't pronounce it how about I just call you M. So, M. You are big, possibly stupid, and you let some guy in a suit parade you around like you're auditioning for the Ryse: Son of Rome Live Action Trailer or something. You like that, you know, my little nerdiness coming out? Oh, damn, I let my composure slip. Sorry, NORMAL! Kristoff, NORMAL!"
Sorry, I broke character, but then again, I'm not a character, so I guess it's fine for me to just ramble a little off topic. I smile, leaning back on the arm I have placed next to the desecrated Lance Ryan poster.
"Ah, yes, M. You are definitely an exquisite physical specimen, that's for sure. Now, did you use Baby Oil on your body for that last promo shoot, or was it man butter, because, sorry to say, but you do come off a bit...well...nevermind, I mean, I guess I have my own closet-case problems to worry about, huh."
Nod to those who remember, yes, Rob Diamond, I still want your sexy sexy man meat.
"Ah, so that leaves me to wonder, what kind of a Showcase match is this? We have an old man, returning to align with the Devil Himself, and a dumb young guy who can't speak for himself. I don't know what I'm doing in this match, am I the only SANE person here anymore? Am I the only man in this place who seems to be grounded in reality, however dull and dreary it appears to be? I guess, perhaps, I am. But then again, we all need to remember the basics, we're all new so...."
Oh god, I love props. I pull out my briefcase and open swiftly. Out comes three sheets of paper that look familiar to anyone who has ever worked in their lives.
"Now, I know we're not all from the same country, and we all work in the same place, but it's about time to talk about your W4's, right? You want to be paid, and not go to jail for tax evasion, right? So, why not make sure everything is square from the start, unless...of course, you weren't planning on staying long enough to be paid, in which case, there's something Pink in the future for you, and I don't mean that in a sexual way."
I know, I know, too much humor, back to the game, right. As I look in my briefcase I grab out two Pink Slips, oddly, with my opponents names on them.
"Wow, Lance, it looks like you get released in...two weeks for, jeez, what's the reason listed: "Being a Canadian and since the Toronto Mayor is a Better Heel than you". Wow, that's gotta hurt. And Ma...er, M. You get booted because "Assault of a fan resulting in permanent injury." Wow, uh...big, dumb, ugly and dangerous, huh? Man. Can't help but feel sorry for you guys. I mean, you will come back and say some big things, make threats, and try and tell me how you will rip my head off, shit down my neck, all that jazz. But remember, that's not NORMAL behavior, it's not really allowed, unless you're Spike Kane and are crucifying someone on national TV, this is a WRESTLING MATCH, you're not going to rip anything, shit on anything, and definitely, definitely not win if you're planning to play dirty and let your manager cheat for you. I don't know how many times I have to go through this first few week bullshit, being poked and prodded like I'm some nobody who doesn't know the first thing about doing an overhead belly-to-belly followed by a sunset flip pin. Seriously, people, I know my wrestling, I know how to double underhook a DDT from over 5 different positions, and could put you in about a thousand different submission holds, some of which just rely upon single pressure points and possible broken fingers, so seroiusly, PEOPLE! I know this, I'm PERFECTLY NORMAL! And you two, you...creatures of habit, seem to need real help being brought up to snuff on your own bullshit."
A laugh emanates from my throat, but I squelch it as fast as I can, knowing the insults will probably get me hung up next to Xavier Cross, Davey Ortega and the rest of them should Spike and his Throne of Blood or whatever win.
"So, I'm going to sit back at my desk, wait patiently for your responses, Lance and M. I'll hope you two don't become tongue tied, speechless, or start trying to dig deep for some inspirational quotes by Nietzsche because blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders. So, Lance, M. I'll be waiting for you to spout something off, because I'm the wise man, and you two are fools. I speak because I have something to say, and you have nothing to say but can't shut up!"
That's it, cut camera, I'm done.
Well howdy there pardner.