I should have left my mani/pedi on Tuesday in ignominy, after my boisterous outburst of laughter. After all, this was one of Chicagoland’s most prestigious spas–one of those where you feel like you should be speaking in a hushed tone at all times while sipping your cucumber water. Instead, the whole room of women soaking their feet, who had no idea what I was laughing about, joined me. Even the lady with resting bitch face joined in, much to my surprise. I was sharing one of my crazy prank phone call stories with my fellow partner in crime that day–Rose–and I literally cried my makeup off laughing so hard. Naturally, this prank phone call story involves my other partner in crime, BFF Marovich and her brother Johnny Rockstar, but I can’t tell that one here. However…I will share here some of the fun we used to have when Marovich was a CEO. God, I miss those days.
When Marovich was CEO of her former company, the hijinks never stopped. I loved being there in the midst of it, as her dedicated outside marketing agency. It was worth the hour’s drive and parking in a terrible Chicago neighborhood. She would challenge her employees to take on all manner of ridiculous dares, all day long. One girl was forced to snake dance down the sidewalk in front of the building on a busy street, enduring the cat calls from every perv driving past. For our amusement, our friend and Marovich’s right-hand person Mary would chug down Diet Cokes and we’d time her epic, signature depths-of-hell belches. I think she reached 10 seconds during her peak performance. Here are just a few of the crazy antics:
Marovich had this phone system at her old company where she could patch together two calls and then listen in. Her mad genius mind patched together White Hen calling 7-11, Bosa Donuts calling Dunkin’ Donuts, and other industry competitors. As each side answered the phone, arguments always ensued over who called whom. Marovich would just kick back and listen for her own amusement (and mine).
Then there was the sweet and long-suffering little old Italian man she inherited from her father’s regime. Antonio became her janitor and errands runner. It’s a miracle we didn’t give him a heart attack. The first time I met and shook Antonio’s hand, it was with the fake rubber hand Marovich suggested I stuff inside of my sleeve. As it fell out on the floor, Antonio jumped. Very high, for such an old man.
Above Marovich’s desk was the antlered head of a giant moose her father, the business owner, had hunted. It was disgusting. Marovich accidentally broke one of the giant antlers. Fearing the wrath of her bombastic, short-fused father, she engineered an ingenious plan to get it quickly repaired. She gingerly balanced the broken antler piece back together and called Antonio to come in and dust her office…including the moose head. (I think this was the time Marovich and I hid inside of the louvered-door closet in her office with Mary, crossing our legs not to wet our pants, suppressing our giggles.) Naturally, Antonio dusted the antler, which flew to the ground and he jumped, mortified. It was like watching sped up, time-lapsed film as Antonio hustled to repair that antler in record time with a wood screw and carpenter’s glue.
Then Marovich’s banker would come in for meetings. At the time, her daughter was young and had lots of stickers at home. Glittery stickers. As her banker was on his way off to his next meeting, Marovich would gently pat him on the back as she ushered him out the door, affixing her daughter’s most glittery My Little Pony stickers to his expensive suit jackets. We always wondered what the people in his next meeting thought. And this was pre-Brony era. (Ever since then, when anyone touches my back, I’m always double-checking for the “Kick Me” sign.)
These are merely a few examples of the innocent fun we used to have. I can’t wait for the day when Marovich is at the helm of another company and we can “get the band back together, man.” I have a perfectly good remote control fart machine that’s gathering dust…