My office is pretty much like any other in that it goes through mood swings. In general we all enjoy our work, but there are times when morale could stand to be goosed a little. With the holidays approaching, we decided it was a perfect time to do what we could to make work a little bit more, dare I say, fun.

(A minor note of explanation for those new to this column: I work at a public relations agency. The Fringe is a side gig. I note this as a solace to the many people who lament the fact that I’m paid to create this weekly pimple on the cheek of journalism.)

We put out the word to the office that we sought volunteers to be on a small committee that would strive to improve morale. Because “small committee that would strive to improve morale” is not very catchy, and as a tip of the cap to pop culture’s favorite new show, we named this committee the Glee Club.

Now, normally, being an active participant in something called the Glee Club would be the last thing on earth I would do. As you may have deduced if you’ve read the Fringe for a while, I am not exactly a bubbling cauldron of good cheer. If you look up the word “cynical” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of me explaining to children that the cute, fuzzy bunnies they love so much are horrific destroyers of gardens, and as such we shouldn’t cry when they get run over by 18-wheelers. Plus, you know, I got enough work to do. My first instinct, therefore, was to let more qualified people take the reins on that particular sparkly unicorn.

But then I thought about it. Joining this newfangled Glee Club might not be such a bad idea at all. Not that I’d enjoy it, necessarily, but there was some value in having the office cynic on board. In a remarkable and discomforting moment of good will toward fellow man, I realized that I didn’t want to see Glee Club be viewed as a bunch of cheerleaders irritating the crap out of the rest of us with Funny Hat Days and Cookie Exchange Lunches. Plus, if I had a say in things, I could make sure that ideas like Funny Hat Day are taken out back and beaten to death with crowbars.

So, I took a deep breath, prayed to the gods of workload that I wouldn’t deeply regret my decision, and sent an e-mail to my boss. I had officially volunteered for Glee Club.

I was still questioning the wisdom of my actions when the reply came back: Great idea. In fact, I think you should run it.

This is why I never volunteer for things; the possibility for it to blow up in your face and leave permanent, child-frightening scars is always there.

I reached for my keyboard so quickly I almost pulled a grossly underdeveloped muscle. I had to stop this thing in its tracks. My boss would understand. Nobody wanted me in charge of the office’s glee. What a terrible idea that was. All I wanted was to commit acts of unspeakable violence upon Funny Hat Day. I didn’t want to be in charge.

Before I could gather my thoughts, my boss sent a second note, this one addressed to the entire office. It listed the names of the five inaugural members of Glee Club, with mine at the top. He noted that I’d be the “Glee Master.”

My fingers were stilled at the sight of the term “Master.” A thought occurred to me.

I had been put in charge. Of office morale. Me. I pondered this for several minutes. It was, without a doubt, a terrible, terrible decision. And it was…fantastic.

I felt the dark clouds of power begin to form over my head. Oh yes. I was in charge. I had been granted a modest budget and a small cadre of well-liked coworkers to do with as I pleased. I had been given a slab of iron and told to make it into a fist.

Be glad you were never even born, Funny Hat Day. Yours would have been a brief and painful existence during my reign.

My skeleton-thin fingers extended like blood-soaked talons once again toward the keyboard of power. I typed a very different e-mail from the one I’d originally intended.

Instead of sending it merely to my boss, I directed it toward the whole office. And it went a little something like this:



From: Bob Rybarczyk

To: STL WSW All Staff

Subject: A MESSAGE FROM THE OVERLORD OF GLEE

People of the office, I bring you my greetings.

I am the OVERLORD OF GLEE. My MINIONS OF GLEE and I look forward to overwhelming you all with crushing amounts of GLEE. All I ask in return is your unwavering adulation and worship. I will soon begin making PROCLAMATIONS OF GLEE.

Do what you must to prepare yourselves. I, your OVERLORD, command this. I will answer no further questions on this matter.

I have spoken. So shall it be written, so shall it be done.

Cheers,

Bob (the OVERLORD)

I cackled softly (we have thin walls; I didn’t want my cackling to be heard on someone else’s conference call) and hit Send. If absolute power corrupts absolutely, well, then it was good to be the one wielding the absolute power. It occurred to me that this was a very wise thought, and should be included somewhere in the first OVERLORD OF GLEE OFFICIAL OFFICE CALENDAR, when the time was right.

I sat back in my office chair, wondering if I had perhaps overplayed my hand. Mine was to be a reign of terror; had I perhaps alerted the office dolts to my true self, thereby giving them cause to unite and rise against me? I had not intended for things to get truly ugly until after I had consolidated my power with a successful Frightening Hat Day.

To my pleasant surprise, however, everyone thought I had made a fantastic joke. “You’re so funny,” someone wrote back. “I’d love to be a minion – where do I sign up?” another said. “Can’t wait to have glee inflicted upon me!” said a third.

At first I was a little thrown by this. Not that I wanted to completely reveal my true self, but I was hoping to at least plant a few red flags, you know?

That’s OK, though. All in due time. All in due time, indeed.

The fools.

Bob Rybarczyk (brybarczyk@sbcglobal.net) writes stuff. No bunnies were harmed in the writing of this column, unfortunately. Look for his novel, Acoustic Kitty, at area Borders stores and online at Amazon. And coming soon: The Cat Ate My Nachos: The Very Best of the Suburban Fringe. What an excellent Christmahannukwanzaa gift, no?