Author: Campbell, Bruce

The Annual Column No One Will Read (2011 edition)
 

Ah, itís THAT week. Every year at this time, while I slave away at my high paying, highly fulfilling day job, everybody else is off to Grass Valley. And because Iím so NOT at Grass Valley, it falls to me to keep an eye on the swanky CBA Headquarters, which occupies the entire top floor in the Monroe Tower in Ceres, California.

The offices get a bit spooky when youíre the only one there. Acres of half-darkened cubicles, surrounded by empty executive offices. As I do every year, the first few hours I amuse myself by photocopying parts of my body and faxing them to the CBAís legal team in Blanket.

Next, I snoop. Not everybody locks their office in the CBA HQ and nobody can lock a cubicle. Hereís a chance to learn a little more about my cohorts in the CBA. Rick Cornishís office is no mystery. At first, the walk-in closet with its rows of tie-dyed tank tops was amusing, but now Iím used to it. Ditto the Barry Manilow shrine. This year, I was a little disturbed by the bag of goldfish crackers, because every single cracker fish was missing its head. Iím sure thereís a rational explanation.

I poke around Montie Elstonís office. Predictably, itís neat and orderly. Treadmill and gravity boots are neatly aligned and gleaming. I open a desk drawer Ė whatís this? Oh, Iíve hit the mother lode! Itís a neatly typed list, and the heading at the top says ďBands Who Will Never Get to Play the Fatherís Day FestivalĒ. Iíve heard rumors of this document, but I always assumed it was an urban myth. Good news: YOUR band is NOT on the list!

I glance over at Marcos Alviraís cubicle and nearly swallow my gum. Thereís Dodger memorabilia everywhere! Whatís this? A framed picture with Marcos and Tommy Lasorda, water skiing? And itís signed ďThanks for the water skiing lessons! Love, Tommy!Ē Well, Iím shocked! Shocked! You think you know a guy, and then you see something like this..

Frankly, Iím a little shaken. Without all the hustle and bustle of a typical day at CBA HQ, with the rows of stenographers typing away on their IBM Selectrics, and the clatter of the ticker tape machine in the corner, the place seems way too gloomy. I canít wait to get away and head for Grass Valley. I shiver, then stride to the office door, set the alarm, release the pack of vicious Rottweilers, lock the door and head for home. Grass Valley, here I com
 
Posted:  6/15/2011



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