Tingle - Reamed By My Reaction To The Title Of This Book

REAMED BY MY REACTION TO THE TITLE OF THIS BOOK

By Chuck Tingle

A familiar but sharp ringing cuts through my headset, and I immediately reach up to press the answer call button.

Hello, this is Josh Gorpin, Blues Brownies Incorporated . I say, leaning back in to my chair and giving myself a spin. Spinning is one of the few luxuries that I have here in this cramped cubicle.

Josh, its Peter. Comes the voice on the other end.

I roll my eyes. Dude, why do you keep distracting me? Ive got so much work to get done today before five.

Oh shit. Peter offers. Sorry man, I was just kind of bored over here.

Peter and I are both hard workers with comfortable salary jobs, but I often find myself being very jealous of the relaxed environment at his office, which just happens to be located a few miles e ast of my own looming high rise.

This company has a more traditional work environment, while Peter seems to have all the time in the world to send me goofy emails and completely inappropriate attachments.

Did you check out that link I sent you? Peter continues.

Yeah. I tell him, maximizing my email and staring at the pixelated message that sits unopened on my screen. Well, I mean no, I didnt open it.

Why not? Peter cries out.

Dude, you wrote not safe for work in the title and then sent it over to me while you know Im at work. I explain, slightly frustrated. Youre gonna get me fired.

Oh god, no Im not. Peter counters , mockingly.

Youre not even supposed to be calling me on this line, this is my work phone. I continue.

Yeah, but on this line you get to use your headset and I know how much you like that. My friend says with a laugh.

I know that hes just messing with me, but Peter is actually correct about the headphone thing so I let it slide. As ridiculous as it sounds, talking on the headset feels pretty bad ass.

So what is it? I ask . Im not goin g to open it at work so you might as well just tell me.

Peter sighs. Well, its better if you just look at it , but fine. Do you know who Buck Trungle is?

I begin to flip a pencil up into the air and ca tch it as we talk. Nope. Tell me.

An author. Peter explains. Like

I stop throwing the pencil. Like?

Peter sighs. This sucks trying to explain. Y ou kind of just have to look at the covers of his books. T heyre crazy.

Crazy how? I continue to prod.

Like super weird and totally gay. Peter tells me.

Why would I want to look at gay book covers? I question. Im straight.

Hey, me too! Peter protests, But theyre so funny dude, youve gotta check them out. One is called Space Raptor Butt Invasion .

I cant help up laugh. Seriously? Raptor like the dinosaur?

Yes! Peter shouts. Theres a bunch about dinosaurs, and unicorns, too. Theres even one about fucking a plane called Im Gay For My Billionaire Jet Plane !

Is he for real? I ask.

I dont know. Peter admits . I mean, it seems like he is but its kind of hard to tell sometimes. Like, this new book I dont even know what to say about it.

There is something strange is Peters tone as he tells me this, a powerful weight to his words that sets me ever so slightly on edge.

Whats the name of the new book? I ask.

There is silence on the other end of the line. I wait for a brief moment and then try again. Peter, whats the name of the new book?

Oh, sorry. My friend suddenly apologizes, ripped back into reality from whatever spaced out zone he was just occup ying. I think you should check it out for yourself.

Dude, just tell me. I protest.

Its in the link. Peter counters, a n odd flatness in his voice. Hey, Ive gotta go.

You have to go? I scoff. What , did someone finally give you something to do over there?

The line abruptly goes dead.

Peter? I ask. It takes me a moment to realize that hes ac tually gone and when I finally d o Im not exactly sure what to make of it. Regardless, its probably for the better because I can finally stop being distracted and get some work done for a change.

I pull my chair back towards my desk and place a stack of papers in front of me, pulling off the top few and then diving in to scan for mistakes. Right now Im editing internal documents regarding our acquisition of a brand new company; nothing exciting in any way, shape or form, but its something that has to get done.

Eventually, though, my thoughts begin to wander away from the task at hand, settling on the tiny yellow mail icon that remains unopened on my computer screen.

Not safe for work. I read aloud.

This type of warning is standard for things forwarded around in an environment like mine , a not so subtle suggestion to save it until you get home. The problem, however, is that its so fucking vague. Does it mean that the content inside is hardcore pornography, or just some silly joke with a little swearing?

I drag my mouses arrow across the computer screen, letting it hover above the unopened letter from Peter as my h eart rate quickens. Might as we ll live a little, I think to myself.

Im just about to click, when suddenly my phone rings through my headset once again . I reach up and click the button to talk. Hello , this is Josh Gorpin, Blues Brownies Incorporated.

Josh! Peter shouts loudly into my ears, causing me to wince. I can immediately tell that something is wrong.

Whats going on over there? I ask my friend.

Peter ignores my question. Josh, whatever you do, dont open the email.

What? I question, not exactly sure if I heard him correctly.

Whatever you do, do not open that email I sent you. Peter repeats.

I notice now that there is an unusual amount of noise in the background of Peters office, a cacop hony of sounds making their way through the receiver. It sounds like a mixture of violent shouting and long, low groans.

Dude, whats going on over there? I ask.

Josh, just listen to me. Peter says again, his voice growing frantic. Oh shit

Suddenly, the line goes dead again, prompting me to finally conclude that this entire thing has been some kind of tasteless practical joke.

Im about to open the email when suddenly Im interrupted yet again by Raxlo, the head of human resources, who appears in the doorway of my cubicle.

Hey, Josh. Raxlo starts. Theres a forward going around about this Buck Trungle guy, do you know what Im talking about?

I freeze abruptly, then slowly spin in my chair to face Raxlo. I hesitate before answering, not exactly sure if I should admit to anything at this point. Eventually, I decide to play my hand close to the chest.

Oh, no I don t. I tell him, playing dumb. Whos that?

God. Raxlo says, straight faced.

I eye him up and down, trying to discern if hes fucking with me or not, but despite Raxlos awkwardness he appears to be genuine in his answer.

God? I ask.

Raxlo nods. To me and you, yes. Not to them out there.

Im utterly confused, but I decide to simply nod in response. Okay. Well, I dont know him.

You can go home early then. Raxlo informs me. Everyone else is having a meeting in the conference room.

Are you serious? I question, but Raxlo leaves before I can even get the words out of my mouth.

I stand up from my chair and look around the rest of the office, noticing now that well over half of the employees have stood, as well, and are now making their way to the main conference room.

Sufficiently creeped out, I reach down and grab my bag, then begin heading towards the elevator.

Already within the conference room, I can see a handful of my coworkers undressing in front of the large paned windows, but the second we make eye contact one of them walks over and draws the blinds.

Something is definitely wrong here, but for the life of me I just cant seem to put my finger on it. Instead, I find myself panicking, trying to calm myself as I ride the elevator down to the first floor and then heading out into our offices parking lot. My heart is slamming in my chest, my senses on high alert as I climb into my ride and pull out onto the street.