Co-Worker Doppelgaengers

It hit me the other day in the weekly staff meeting, that the guy sitting down the table making the same dumbass and subtly disturbing comments about dealing with problem customers with anti-personnel mines and Glocks looks just like Fats the Dummy from the 1978 Anthony Hopkins film, Magic. Yow! I mean, it's the same guy, right down the the red ball nose, the cheeks, the smile, that horrible dead hair, even the ears. How unbelievably, unnervingly creepy is this? I've got to be careful that I don't let on that I know Fat's gotten out, or I'll get the same treatment that poor stupid Corky got in the film. Although, thinking about it, it'd almost be worth it, just for the quality time with Ann Margret . . .


Got another co-worker, more correctly a senior leader at an organization with which my company contracts, and I swear she is Theodore "Beaver" Cleaver with the double-X chromosome rig. Same gapped spud teeth, same round face, same haircut, except on a woman. Same flat, dumpy body shape, which for some reason I find highly unnerving. I'll say that she doesn't have that Beaver Cleaver voice, though, which his a gift from the gods. The only remarkable feminine thing about her is her taste in her (pierced) earrings, which is quite good. This is surprising, given her obvious taste in female business attire, making Nancy Reagan's wild, bold, trendsetting attempts look provocative by comparison. She knowns her business, though, I'll give her that, and what she really knows is the bureaucratic politics. She is extremely sharp, catching and remembering things that I've long since lost. She is a steel trap, that's for sure, and I've got a lot of respect for that, if only I could stay awake when she's chairing a meeting. I got a glimpse of her badge the other day at a meeting, and it was downright scary. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was "Down's Syndrome." Man.


Then there's the Natalie Wood look-alike, a wonderful woman at my company. Her body type is shorter and a bit more squat, which actually suits my taste much more. She's not a fireplug, but just a little bit on the good side of heavy, just right in my opinion. But the face is it, especially her eyes. Her smile and eyes, the two together, are absolutely stunning, just really remarkable, and that's the Natlalie Wood connection, the same flashing eyes, with both mischief and a blistering sexuality behind them. She's spoken for and I'm married, and if it were different I'd have to find a way to ask her out. She had on some nail polish the other day that transfixed me, a mix between a deep ruby red and a light purple, screamingly sexy but at the same time completely appropriate for work, and not the least bit trashy--marvelous. At any rate, I'd like to somehow tell her how attractive she is, just as a compliment to someone I enjoy and admire and like working with. Can't do that, of course, not in this day and age. She's a good worker, too, highly knowledgeable, professional and fantastic to work with, and has helped me out on a number of occasions. And a good shit, too, just an all-around good-to-go-to person.

And there's the other contract customer who looks like a young Harold Ramis, except in a military service uniform. He hasn't quite got the nose or the nasal voice, but the rest is all there. Disconcerting, sometimes, as I find the name "Egon" rising up in my mind as I talk to him.


Across the elevator lobby is a media company. Very cool abstractedly disorganized and highly colorful carpeting, a really dumb glass (and likely expensive) and chrome sculpture-thingy which I'm guessing is supposed to represent flowers and such, sitting on the trendy three-legged irregular yellow table, and a big illuminated case behind the reception desk for all of their little golden local awards. And in the middle of it all manning the phones and Diet Cokes for visitors, the poser little sister of Kathleen Turner's China Blue from 1984's Crimes of Passion. The hair is exactly the same, but missing that little-girl blue satin outfit, thankfully. It's, ahem, the fuck-me high heels every day, too, the same pair every day. Not the just-high-enough-to-be-professional-but-still-look-at-me-being-sexy-at-work heels, but the no-shit 5" pumps, in plain black (and in serious need of some polish, due to their daily wear). Now, I'm a guy who really loves a good pair of sexy high-heel pumps, but not these at work. There's a time and place for this sort of wonderful thing, and it's not at the office. She hasn't quite got the walk down with the shoes on, and she looks as if she's uncomfortable, or unsure of her balance, probably both. A bit too much makeup, trying a bit too hard, I think. She wears a gold ankle bracelet on her right ankle--does left of right signify/mean something?--and I'll give her proper due and credit because the anklet is always on the outside of her dark pantyhose, where it should be. She's striking, something shiny that catches the eye, but on closer inspection she's actually kind of a turn-off. I can't help but wonder if China Blue really is her model, and if not, what exactly is the message she's trying to put out to the world via her look.


Very disturbing, it was Ms. Jean Teasdale (http://www.theonion.com/content/columnists/view/teasdale) trundling down the corridor toward me the other day. I mean, it was highly unnerving, the very same, right down the glasses and the hair. Our copy is very friendly and actually quite good at what she does, in no apparent danger of being relegated to the Dress Barn or a coffee outlet, but the physical similarities are more than striking. As for the cats and the other froo-froo attributes, I'm blissfully unaware and want to keep it that way.