Welcome back, dear friends, to Letters from Lloyd. It is so good to finally be done with this week. As some of my friends out there know, I got in a teensy, weensy lil' bit o' trouble last weekend. What started out as a simple, calm, relaxing game night among some friends of ours (and Dorothy...) turned into the most epic gay pool party of all-time. Now, that would have been just fine with yours truly, but Tom and I were house and dogsitting for Alphaboss and his Alphawife came home just in time to find two of our more naked friends bellyflopping into each other! (All this, BTW, was TOTALLY Tom's fault. Oh, but I'll get him back, alright. Maybe it'll even be a future 'Letter from Lloyd!').
Needless to report, Alphaboss was none too pleased come Monday. I sat in my assistant's perch, back straight, with an extra mochachino in me already to elevate my alertness, waiting for my punishment. After the requisite comments about my ethnicity, I was informed that this week would be the worst of my entire life. Every day, he said, I was to perform a task of Alphaboss' choosing, each worse than the last. Jenna Von Oy!
The Alphason has basketball practice on Mondays. I drive him there. It is a task I don't despise, because he's a good kid who can be bribed quite easily. This week, however, I had to coach his team! Firstly, I don't own sneakers (which is ironic, because Tom works at Footaction!) and I had no time to buy or borrow them, so I was forced to coach barefoot. Secondly, as you may have guessed, I don't know the difference between basketball and basket-weaving.
Driving to the practice, I experienced the most horrifying gym class flashbacks of my life. "Lloyd!" Coach Carlson would shout, "You're on the B-Team. Get over there." The B-Team was for the nerds, the Goths, the handicapped and the queers. Our job was to be tackling dummies, targets or punching bags. In this particularly waking, fever dream/memory I was playing badminton, with nothing but a flimsy racket to protect me from the onslaught of shuttlecocks flying at my face. I flail wildly, but cock after cock hit me. The real experience stunted my sexual development for 3 years.
Tuesday started like a normal day. Alphaboss was in a chipper mood. Maybe he had forgotten about his promise to torture me for five days straight? Maybe? Pleeeeeaaase!
At 11:30 everyday, if he doesn't have a lunch meeting scheduled, I ask him what he wants for lunch. "La Super-Rica, Lloyd." Okay, great. Mexican, I thought. My car will stink, but if that's all there is, I'm getting off easy...except I had never heard of La Super-Rica.
"Uh, Alphaboss?" I said, using his real name, of course. "I can't seem to find La Super-Rica in L.A."
"That's because it's in Santa Barbara, idiot. And I want it before 12:30. And I want it hot," he said.
I grabbed my jacket and bolted for my car. Santa Barbara and back in 60 mins?! My boss has told me my car looks like the prop car out of Fast and the Furious before, but I'd have to drive like Paul Walker in order to make it back in time.
I know this sounds impossible, but I was up in Santa Barbara before the clock struck 12. Seriously. I swear. I bribed 15 people to move up to the front of the line, ordered, got my food and skidaddled out of there.
Now, Alphaboss wanted his food hot, and I'd never have the time to microwave it when I got back, so I thought, "Lloyd, there's got to be some way to keep food hot in the car," when it hit me: put it under the hood!
I was flying back down the 405, making excellent time, when right around Agoura Hills, my car started to smell like burritos on fire! Shortly after, smoke billowed from the hood. OMG, the food was on fire! But I couldn't stop now because if I wasn't there by 12:30, it would all be for naught anyway. OMG OMG OMG!!
My smoky cloud of a sports car pulled into the parking lot at 12:29, and I popped the hood to find a completely burnt away paper bag, but two perfectly warm, foiled up burritos, ready to be consumed by the biggest jerk in the entire world.
Wednesday was an easier day than the two before. All I had to do was fire four of my boss' underperforming agents, three of whom had families. Alphaboss gets off on firing people who fail to perform to expectations. I, on the other hand, am a human being and all I wanted to do was crawl home to Tom and cry.
The night prior, I received a BBM from my boss telling me that I needed to pick him up at 5 am to go to the gym. This is standard operating procedure, so I figured I got off easily.
I arrived at his house and Alphaboss was waiting there in his cute little workout clothes with a sour look on his face. "What is this?" "My car?" I responded.
"Well, I'm not going ANYWHERE in this thing. You were supposed to have a limo for me! And you're supposed to be wearing top hat and tails, Lloyd! Don't you listen!?"
"Of course," I said, cursing him under my breath. A Top Hat and Tails? A Tuxedo? A Limo?
Limousine companies are open all night, so I called our usual guy and paid him $200 extra to let me drive while he went to Nate N' Al's. It was a good deal for him, and a pretty raw deal for your faithful blogger.
A top hat and tails? There certainly is no all-night fine clothier open in the area. I thought and thought and remembered that I once hooked up with an assistant wardrobe master for Paramount! They must have a Tuxedo in their prop house!
Now, calling him was a little dicey because I blew him off literally and figuratively. But my job was on the line, so I mustered up all the courage I could and called. He actually was thrilled to hear from me and took me into the prop house 20 minutes later. There we found the most adorable costume from a PBS performance of 'Nicholas Nickelby' that I am NOT giving back. Unfortunately, the prop house trip didn't come without a price...a price that will be left to the imaginations of my fair readers.
When I arrived back at my boss' home less than an hour later, he got in the back of the limo, failing to acknowledge how downright adorable I looked! Like I expected anything else...
I woke at 4 am, to a phone call from Alphaboss. "Lloyd," he said, "get your Kung Pao ass over to my house immediately." Still intent on impressing him, to repent for my sin, I put on a suit and drove to his house.
As I drove up, he was waiting for me. "Lloyd," he said, "my mother-in-law is staying with us in the guest room and she had an accident last night. Actually, I think it was several accidents. I would never make the maid deal with that disgusting mess, but since you seem to like to use this house to entertain people, I figured you might have a vested interest in keeping it clean. Gloves are under the sink."
So, I cleaned it up. Then I went to work and got yelled at for 8 hours. And now the week is over and I'm wrapping up here at the office. If Tom isn't cooking something and wearing nothing, I'm going to lose it!
Until next time, toodles!