My morning began as a letdown, when I realized that the top portion of my razor had gone dull. Of the razor’s approximately nine blades, the top one had headed for the hills. I realized this as I felt my mostly shaven face. Unfortunately, a single row of hair under my nose remained. Same thing with under my bottom lip. I officially had a microstache. Think John Waters’s mustache, but a lot thinner and more facially Northern. A microstache of the most micro variety, the single row of hair. For the remainder of the day, I would be tormented by a little tickle from that row of hair. I could do it. Hang in there champ and remember to change your blade in the morning.
No one at work appeared to notice my microstache and as a result, I did not feel even the least bit micro creepy. This would change. I was chatting about using the employee exercise treadmill in the basement at work. Highlighting how it kind of creeped me out to use it after work, when the rest of the building was empty. In addition to being creeped out, I did not have anything to watch, while I was on the treadmill. A coworker pointed out that I could have watched one of the workout DVDs. Suddenly the visual transferred all of the creep vibe onto me. Had I watched the exercise DVD, while I was all alone in the building, while on the treadmill, while wearing my yet to be noticed microstache, I would have been creepy. Now, I was officially “Suspect Creepy.”
Later, the watercooler conversation (if we had a watercooler, but this was more of an entryway to my cubicle conversation) centered around how we were unable to get the Minnesota Twins home opener game audio streaming over our work computers. I believe that everyone would agree that this is a requirement for every office environment on Opening Day, even when a guy with a microstache is in the building. Well, the conversation turned to baseball on TV and I acknowledged that the “MLB Network” is my “safe” channel. “Safe,” as in every evening turn it to the MLB Network before turning off the television, that way I know that the kids will be watching something “safe” when they turn on the TV in the morning. Begs the question, what was I watching that wasn’t “safe?” A workout DVD? While sporting my microstache? Yuck. Creepy. Microcreepy.