Joo get that thing I left you?

By guest blogger Mr.JR (not Mister Junior, but Mister JayArr)

Joanna and I have this game and it all really started after I saw No Country for Old Men. A couple of weeks afterwards, I was footing my way over to my office when I spotted something out of place, some sort of electronic gadget that was tossed near a garbage can, but not into it. It’s carelessness like that that makes Italian men dressed like Native Americans cry.

Naturally, my childlike sense of wonder compelled me to pick it up and stuff it in my pocket… a natural addition my weird collection of oddments, like the plastic magnifying box full of miniature babies or two wooden busts of a preteen version of the dad from Teen Wolf. He looks like a Howard.

As I sat down at my desk, I pulled out the yellowing, gray box that was about the size of a garage door opener. It even had the infrared bulb, but there was no button and no part of it was particularly pushable. It was right around this time that I made a grand connection: the box reminded me of the transponder from the aforementioned feature film (NFCOM, not TW)! I asked myself how I could have some fun with it and the solution came quickly: I’d slip it into people’s stuff… bags, jacket pockets, hoods and the like. They’d pull it out and just wonder where in the hell it came from and how it got there. I get giddy at inciting that sort of confusion, you see.

I don’t remember how the first bout of smuggling went, but Joanna and I have been engaged in a sly battle of handoffery since November. It’s usually the next day or a couple days after the placement when one of us will materialize at the other’s office with the simple inquiry; “So, uh, did you get that thing I left you?” I started saying that as a slight homage to Peter Potamus in the Harvey Birdman context.

This last time was one of the finest, I think. As Joanna was having a supersecret discussion with my neighbor in clandestine fashion behind closed doors, I darted to her office in search of the next hiding spot. Jacket pocket? Done that. Desk drawer? Naw, boring (she got me real good by tossing it in my tea mug once). As I quickly scanned her desktop, thinking she was going to appear at any moment, I found potential salvation in a Tupperware container, tucked between two slices of whole grain bread. I popped off the lid and much to my surprise, there was no fancy filling like organic peanut butter in this sammy-to-be, making for primo, non-messy placement. After sneaking in the transponder, I lovingly patted the top slice like a mother would who’s putting her son to bed. I went to my office and waited.

The payoff came as I’d hoped. As Joanna rounded the reception desk with sandwich in hand, I leaned back and grinned through the door with satisfaction. The notion of introducing potentially deadly microbes to her lunch had never crossed my mind until she lifted the top piece, revealing the dirty transponder which looked cozily transplanted.

Acknowledging my inconsideration, I wrote Joanna a blank check for my chicken nuggets from Wendy’s. I don’t offer up my nugs for no good reason, but I knew that what I was doing was right, though she only cashed in for one.

When Javier Bardem comes looking for his money, I hope the transponder is out of my hands. The last thing I need right now is a cattlestunning.

I also really hope that Joanna enjoyed that last nugget.

-Mr.JR

PS: LYDIA! LYDIA! LYDIA! LYDIA! LYDIA! LYDIA!

PPS: Joanna, here. If you thought I was going to let something as trivial as a germ-laden transponder ruin my gardenburger sammy, think again! Also, I feel our transponder tomfoolery has officially jumped the shark with this guest post. Perhaps we should identify some new, unsuspecting targets...any ideas?!??!!?!?