My favorite category is of course, Drama - with Comedic performances taking a close second. Sometimes the two are so closely entwined, only a seasoned audience can tell them apart. Come to think of it, I imagine most administrative offices experience the same behavior, but in a basically male dominated Chemical Plant industry , the participants get little or no mercy from the audience. Men are very harsh judges of other men and yes sometimes they are downright cruel.
This year is starting off with a whole host of potential Oscar nominees and I might have to call in help to keep it all straight come awards time. One of the current front-runners is an aging athletic rotundic fella who is obviously and expressively sickish at least 4 times a year.
February has just begun and he's already ten days into his first presentation…and this exhibition of sickness is maybe one of his best performances!
I'm thinking "Oscar" in at least three (maybe four) categories. Drama, Comedic performance and Sound effects are shoe-ins, as no one has ever come close to getting four, at least not since my compadre "Maximum Bob" retired. My Buddy Bob, who I affectionately named Maximum Bob was, well, maximum in everything he did.
On any given day, Bob would come into work in the most wrinkled pair of Nomex coveralls ever seen, hair askew, face unshaven, shoes untied and in bad need of 14 or 15 cups of coffee (his usual). He would be literally dragging a bag full of various accouterments, but most of all, his treasured one-gallon freezer bag of prescription medicines.
At some time soon after his arrival, he would dig through the freezer bag while mumbling and with no apparent order, or amount, self-medicate. No rhyme or reason which container he opened was apparent to us, even if we watched closely and no manifest change in his demeanor or obvious symptoms developed throughout the day. This was "Sick Bob" and we knew and loved him well.
The next day Max Bob would burst through the control room door, bag over his shoulder, spring in his step and an Exxon Styrofoam cuppa Joe in his hand. His hair would be greased down Fonzie-style, uniform neatly pressed and even his shoes were tied. He would head directly for the locker room, much to everyone's dismay and shortly appear with his tool belt, gloves and with channel locks in hand; out the door he would go. Make relief - NO, he didn't need no stinking relief; he was on a mission from god!
Shortly after this, alarms would start to sound as Max Bob uncovered one mystery after another in his quest for excellence. The guys running the Control Panel did not like Max Bob as much as they did Sick Bob.
My favorite was "Dancing Bob". Dancing Bob was quite the exhibitionist and in his mind, an excellent dancer. I worked with Max Bob for about 15 years and as far as I could tell, there wasn't anything in particular that could trigger Dancing Bob onto the scene. Dancing Bob was a cross between John Travolta and Tom Bombadil from "Lord of the Rings" lore.
The first sign that Dancing Bob was on the scene was certain music would set him off. When this happened, DB would make an "O" with his lips, hunch his shoulders and hold both hands out in front of him, with thumbs up. Inevitably, you would hear someone say "Dear Lord" and off DB would go into one of his self-taught crouching tiger and feet shuffling dance moves.
I saw DB numerous times and at least twice he got so wound up that he disrobed completely. It was a gruesome and ghastly sight to see as he took our objective and embarrassed screaming as encouragement. The wildest incident took place in front of at least 10 people and involved the inspirational song "Chariots of Fire", one which we all agreed never need be played again in DB's presence.
Although my buddy Bob was a kind hearted fellow and a Purple Heart recipient from his Army days in Vietnam, he could also be provoked into assuming "Mean Bob" and MB was no one to truck with. He was grouchy. We much preferred "Hungry Bob". HB had peculiar eating habits. My first real encounter with Bob's alter-ego HB, took place early one morning, when I watched him heat up a plate of mustard sardines in the microwave and eat them while gnawing on a whole purple onion, apple-style.
A reoccurring comment in the lunchroom was whether Hungry Bob would eat this or that, which was left in the refrigerator. No one would take bets though and HB one time told me he had eaten a rat sandwich, while in Vietnam. I believed him. Heckfire, we all believed him. "Hey, you gonna eat that"?
Yeah, we have a few front-runners already this year here at the Plant for Academy Awards, but they remember a legacy that will be difficult to meet. Our friend Bob (is it any surprise he is a Bob?) is out there somewhere and even if you don't know him personally, you know someone just like him…now, don't you?
At some time soon after his arrival, he would dig through the freezer bag while mumbling and with no apparent order, or amount, self-medicate. No rhyme or reason which container he opened was apparent to us, even if we watched closely and no manifest change in his demeanor or obvious symptoms developed throughout the day. This was "Sick Bob" and we knew and loved him well.
The next day Max Bob would burst through the control room door, bag over his shoulder, spring in his step and an Exxon Styrofoam cuppa Joe in his hand. His hair would be greased down Fonzie-style, uniform neatly pressed and even his shoes were tied. He would head directly for the locker room, much to everyone's dismay and shortly appear with his tool belt, gloves and with channel locks in hand; out the door he would go. Make relief - NO, he didn't need no stinking relief; he was on a mission from god!
Shortly after this, alarms would start to sound as Max Bob uncovered one mystery after another in his quest for excellence. The guys running the Control Panel did not like Max Bob as much as they did Sick Bob.
My favorite was "Dancing Bob". Dancing Bob was quite the exhibitionist and in his mind, an excellent dancer. I worked with Max Bob for about 15 years and as far as I could tell, there wasn't anything in particular that could trigger Dancing Bob onto the scene. Dancing Bob was a cross between John Travolta and Tom Bombadil from "Lord of the Rings" lore.
The first sign that Dancing Bob was on the scene was certain music would set him off. When this happened, DB would make an "O" with his lips, hunch his shoulders and hold both hands out in front of him, with thumbs up. Inevitably, you would hear someone say "Dear Lord" and off DB would go into one of his self-taught crouching tiger and feet shuffling dance moves.
I saw DB numerous times and at least twice he got so wound up that he disrobed completely. It was a gruesome and ghastly sight to see as he took our objective and embarrassed screaming as encouragement. The wildest incident took place in front of at least 10 people and involved the inspirational song "Chariots of Fire", one which we all agreed never need be played again in DB's presence.
Although my buddy Bob was a kind hearted fellow and a Purple Heart recipient from his Army days in Vietnam, he could also be provoked into assuming "Mean Bob" and MB was no one to truck with. He was grouchy. We much preferred "Hungry Bob". HB had peculiar eating habits. My first real encounter with Bob's alter-ego HB, took place early one morning, when I watched him heat up a plate of mustard sardines in the microwave and eat them while gnawing on a whole purple onion, apple-style.
A reoccurring comment in the lunchroom was whether Hungry Bob would eat this or that, which was left in the refrigerator. No one would take bets though and HB one time told me he had eaten a rat sandwich, while in Vietnam. I believed him. Heckfire, we all believed him. "Hey, you gonna eat that"?
Yeah, we have a few front-runners already this year here at the Plant for Academy Awards, but they remember a legacy that will be difficult to meet. Our friend Bob (is it any surprise he is a Bob?) is out there somewhere and even if you don't know him personally, you know someone just like him…now, don't you?
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