I woke up feeling refreshed. For not having a normal night's sleep in some time, the rarity of getting a full eight felt strange. Batteries recharged, I felt a morning trip to the gym was in order. A chance to simultaneously enjoy three time-killing hobbies: Listening to music, sweating, and oggling women in tight clothing.

Somewhere deep into my workout I took a look around the gym and noticed that nobody was here who looked like they really needed to be. For some reason every time I'm at the healthclub there isn't one fat person to be found. Just the beautiful people. It could just be an L.A thing, but there are plenty of fatties in Los Angeles. I can't go within 100 feet of a fast food place without crossing their path. Where do they go to work out? Do they work out? I looked at all the firm, fit bodies caught up in their routines. They fatties need it more than anybody in here.

I was still contemplating my dilemma over the lack of fat people when out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy holding what I think - I hope - was his girl, tightly by the arm. The kind with the grip you hold somebody with right before you smack them. Then the yelling began.

"I know you weren't looking at him, bitch!! I know you didn't just give him the look!"

"Let go of me, you're crazy. You're hurting me!!"

Luckily it didn't go any further than that. Every male personal trainer fell onto this guy like the Niners defense on John Elway. This guy never stood a chance. A few more guys working out in the vicinity even came over to assist. All to help remove this jackass from her arm. I guess chivalry isn't dead after all.

Good workout, traffic-free drive to work, hit all the green lights - today was starting off quite well. Error free. Hand in glove. Tab A in Slot B. Rarely is anything as easy as Tab A in Slot B. There was even good music coming from the radio, usually not the case. Things were good.

That all changed when I pulled into work.

It started on the elvator ride to my floor. That's when I first noticed the looks and the eyes being made. Not to me, but at me, when somebody wants to draw attention to a person they've previously mentioned who's now in their presence. I looked at them - their eye motioning stopped immediately - and offered a weak, forced smirk before stepping off the elevator.

The second time was in the hallway, when a guy I rarely deal with, let alone talk to, slapped me on the back while spitting out "ha-hey-hey, Reed buddy! All right!" Jeez. I've got a mid-30s doofus of a copywriter giving me the atta boy. Why don't you focus that enthusiasm into your own life, buddy? Take that energy and use it against that beer gut of yours, that horrid wardrobe that screams "Mervyns sale," that obvious lack of living your own life with any standards, huh? How about you give a rat's ass about yourself instead of vicariously living through anybody readily available?

All I offered aloud to him was a "heh, yeah."

I was in my office for little more than three minutes before the next barrage came in the form of Melinda.

"OH MY GOD, you were here late last night with Gloria Simms? You don't even work together. What was going on?" She puntuated her question with a cutsey grin that was supposed to suggest she knew how the whole sordid affair went down.

"For fuck sake Mel, not you too!" I motioned her inside so I could close the door. As I stepped forward to grab the handle I noticed a few other people making eye contact with me who averted their gazes and went back to whatever they were working on. Fucking wonderful.

Melinda took her favorite spot at the edge of the desk, right on the corner where she could tightly cross her legs and let the hem of her skirt inch up a little to show off her toned, tan legs. Ours was a symbiotic relationship when it came to her legs. Really. I liked the view and she liked torturing me with the view.

"Gosh Reed, I guess you weren't into me on Halloween because you were too busy making plans for the boss, huh. You could make a girl jealous being like that."

"Christ, cut it out, wouldya? I was here last night with the interns when you should have been, and when I went out to my car Boss La - Gloria - was having car troubles. That's what happened."

Mel wrinkled her nose and looked at me with suspicion. "Oh, car trouble," and she made quote signs with her fingers as she said this. "And did she play with your driveshaft?"

I frowned and shook my head. This is the problem with the jerkoffs under the big top. The very ones with whom you spend your time in the foxholes and think you have some semblance of a working relationship with, they're the first ones to pull the rug out from under you.

"She had a dead battery," I said as I rubbed my temples. "I gave her a jump."

"You gave her a jump. Yeah, that's pretty much the story I'm hearing. Or is it you jumped her? They both sound so similar." She smirked again.

"God, is that what they're saying?" I asked. I cracked open my door and quickly looked around for the gossip hounds before shutting it again.

"Yeah, pretty much. But even if you were fixing her car, people say they saw the two of you go into her office and shut the door."

Is that what happened? Gloria shut the door while she looked for her distilled water? I was so tired last night I couldn't even replay the events well enough to remember if her door was open or not. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter at least. I knew the truth and that was all that mattered.

"Listen to me Mel, I helped fix Gloria's car. She was appreciative. I went home. Nothing else happened. I was doing the same thing Triple A would have done if she had had Triple A. End of story."

"If you say so..." she trailed off.

"That's what is wrong with trying to be a good Samaritan around here: You're punished endlessly for it. I swear, if Jesus were around today Lazarus would not have been raised and the fishes and loaves of bread would have never materialized. It wouldn't have been worth the flack Jesus would have caught for it. Where'd ya get the fishes Jesus? Got a receipt for that? Been getting the five-finger discount at the local bakery for those loaves? You couldn't have bought those Jesus, you live a life of abject poverty."

Mel giggled. "No need to be so melodramatic about it." She recrossed her legs and smoothed a portion of her skirt.

"Oh, like the people around here know any better! Like they were there! When everybody sees that Gloria isn't acknowledging me and I'm not spending any time in her office like, oh, every other day I've come to work, people will see they've been clucking like hens about nothing. It's all malicious gossip, Mel. That's all."

Mel started to reply but it was interrupted by the phone. I looked at the ID on the small readout screen and it said "Jeremy Guillen." Gloria's personal assistant. Great.

"Hello?" I said. It sounded more like a question than a statement. How pathetic.

"Hi Reed, it's Jeremy from upstairs. Gloria wanted to speak with you this morning and wondered when was a good time."

I paused and took a deep breath, then looking at Mel, spoke into the phone: "How about now. I'm not doing anything important?"

The glorious start to my day was going south in record time. Why can't anything be as easy as Tab A in Slot B?