Toasty Roast!

Recently, my friend, coworker, and (fake) brother announced that he would be leaving our motley crew at work. We were all devastated, though perhaps somewhat relieved there would again be room in front of the mirror. We decided to show our  love and send him off in the only way that seemed appropriate- we roasted the shit out of that mouthy little troublemaker. 

So with love, Brother, this one's for you.

I remember the first day I met you. I had maybe only been working 2-3 days. I was sitting in the old office and you were talking to our manager, and I can only assume you were in a more generous mood than normal because you proceeded to tell her that she looked miserable and dumpy that day. It made me wonder, "Who is this insolent, scruffy-haired teenage lesbian, and how does she still have a job here?"

I love that the Employee of the Month program was discontinued because you rigged it. Uh, I mean, because you won it after an overwhelming outpouring of support and recognition for your tireless efforts inundated the ballot box. You have the proof after all. You did make us all write congratulatory statements for you.

I was surprised at Halloween when our boss trusted you firstly, with an Exacto knife, and secondly, to carve our department pumpkin. But then it all made sense when I realized that it was just a sneaky way of keeping you in your corner, away from everyone else, and keeping you busy.

You also managed to make me feel genuine concern for your well-being when late one night when we were both closing and there was only one guest left in the spa, I heard a blood-curdling shriek from downstairs. I called the dispensary phone, no answer, your cell, no answer, and when I ran downstairs to make sure you were okay, I saw a trail of discarded towels that looked to have been dropped in some sort of emergency. No joke, I thought something horrible had happened to you, and that you maybe had fallen somewhere and were bleeding out on our beautiful marble floors. Turns out, you were just really upset that the Canucks had been scored against.

Your continual chirps about my hair, and how when I wear it in a bun you ask if I just came from working the deli counter at the grocery store, have strangely, become an endearing part of the day I look forward to. I like your new hair by the way, just a few inches longer in front and some highlights and you'll be giving Kate Gosselin circa 2009 a real run for her money.

But Brother, for all the flack we may give you, you were still one of the only people who managed to show up to work when the city almost didn't survive the one day snow storm of January 2012. People were warned to stay at home, the military base was shut down, all flights and ferries were cancelled, martial law was just about put into effect, but the spa was still open, and you bravely and against all odds demonstrated Herculean strength of character when you took the bus to work for the first time in your life. Sure, your mom watched from the window to see that you boarded it safely; I wouldn't doubt that she probably paid your fare and talked to the bus driver to make sure he knew where you needed to go. And then she felt so bad for making you take public transportation that she paid for you to take a cab home, but I don't want that to take away from your heroic efforts.

And now you're venturing off to a new city, into uncharted territory. Namely, you'll actually have to do your own laundry, buy groceries, cook meals, and clean up your apartment... on the days your cleaning lady is sick, and the care package from your mom arrives late.

You confided in me that you're thinking of going into modeling there, to which I say, you definitely have the right look to be a great hand model. And I've always thought you'd make a terrific actor. Your impression of a manatee marooned on the lunch room couch is always flawless, and I felt like your turn as a helpless toddler, trapped in the body of a 6"2 twenty-six year old working at a spa, was an Oscar-worthy performance. It was reminiscent of Sean Penn in I Am Sam.

Failing that, you've got the perfect face for the radio. But keep working out. One day you'll meet a wonderful girl, and a chiselled body will be her only consolation in a lifetime of tuna melts, Canuck open weeps, and never being as good as your mom at tucking you in at night.

Really though, you are my friend, and I am so glad that you are. I've always thought that anyone who is ballsy and sharp-witted enough to chirp me will likely become a good friend. I decided to give you a pass on the sharp-witted part regardless.

You are a kind, warm-hearted, and caring friend. I was going to say man, but I'm not sure if that has happened yet, and I didn't feel comfortable asking your mom. You've always been there to listen to me when another boy has dumped me or deleted me on facebook, and offer your support and advice. I'll miss the nights when we both had the closing shifts and would walk to our cars together, the times when we watched hockey games in the men's change room and ate yogurts, and I'll never forgot the time I was heartbroken and on the verge of tears, and you wrote a creepy note to cheer me up.

Brother, you will always be the heart of Team WSS (albeit a heart that takes frequent and extended lunch breaks), you will always be an unofficial member of the Bell family, and Mom still thinks you have a HOTT BODD. I am going to miss you. So very much! I mean that. The lunch room couch is going to be so cold without you.

Love,

Natalie