Breast Milk Facials Get Out Of Hand

This is gonna be a long post, so strap in and make sure you have some time.

A little background is necessary for this story to fully make sense and be appreciated on the level of which it is worthy. In later November/early December my juvenile boss went on paternity leave. His wife gave birth to a son, and there was much rejoicing in the office. He stayed at home for about 3-4 weeks to hang out with wifey and new son, help change diapers, assist with 2 am wake up sessions, etc.

He came back right about the end of December, good for him because the end of December is just dead around here, no Judges are around so no cases are starting and everything just kinda stalls till the new year. So we all relax, and take the week to recharge a little bit, long lunches, faux meetings that are meaningless, hallway bowling with a lacrosse ball, and the occasional game of lock toss (loss toss is a very simple game where you tie a cord around the top loop of a master lock and see who can fling it farthest down the hallway without hitting any walls, the ceiling, light fixtures, or employees; it had to be cut short due to the number of ceiling tiles claimed victim).

One days at lunch, everyone was sitting around the conference room table and one of the female ADAs was beaming about how her husband got her a spa day for Christmas at one of the nicest spas in this Urban Center. She lamented how dry her skin had become in the increasingly cold weather and was looking forward to it being rejuvenated.

To this, my boss just shouts across the table, Just get some breast milk and rub it on your face, it does wonders.

We all just kinda sat there for a minute in silence. What exactly does one say to that? Oh, right. Of course. Thanks for reminding me. I can't believe I didn't think of that.

Finally someone had the good sense to call him out on it. He says...

Look, it's not as crazy as it sounds. We were at the doctor with the baby and the doctor was telling us how great breast milk is, how its got all these antibodies, and is rich in nutrients. That got me to thinking, when I got home I snuck a little bit of breast milk (edit: it is possible, albeit unlikely, that when he says he snuck breast milk that he did so directly from the breast, and not from a bottle. This should give you an idea of just what kind of mind we're dealing with here) on a pimple I had. I swear to God, within 2 days it was gone. This lead me to the natural conclusion that breast milk has got to be great for the skin, so I'm offering you all a bid to get into the ground floor right now. I'm quiting law and opening an super-exclusive spa that specializes in breast milk facials. Now obviously you will have to supply your own breast milk, but guys can get one using their wife's milk if they're into that kinda thing, but we're not gonna use other women's milk on people, that's a little odd. Anyway, who wants to join up, I need a few venture capitalists, anybody know anybody?

At first we all just kinda chuckled and dismissed him, but the phrase "breast milk facial" just kept popping up in conversations. It became a byline at every lunch. Meetings started to include subversive inside jokes. Breast Milk Facials started to really become a part of the office.

In early January the members of the Red Zone all got emails from one of the female ADAs attempting to gauge interest in putting together a volleyball team for an Urban league. Non-competitive, just fun, a chance to do something out of the office. People seemed generally amenable to the idea and my boss had even had a team for 4 or 5 straight years, ending in 2005. He was very excited at the prospect of getting back on the court (my boss is roughly 5'5"). That day at lunch, this female ADA and my boss were discussing the team at lunch and filling in the registration sheet they had printed off the website. They put in the requisite 12 names or so, gave a bunch of waivers out and had people start filling them in. Personally, I'm not much of a volleyball player so I was abstaining, I played on the football team, and would consider a basketball team or softball team, but volleyball just isn't my forte. I didn't think I'd be the worst one on the court, but definitely in the bottom half.

At the bottom of the registration sheet it prompts you to put in your team name. Without even asking the "team" what they should be named he simply writes in Breast Milk Facial. Everyone just acted as though this was inevitable, there was never any dissension or concern, no alternative ideas posed, no opposition whatsoever. Thus Breast Milk Facial, the volleyball team, was born. Team expectations were so low that out of 12 possible divisions (ranging from uber-competitive to paraplegic) Breast Milk Facial entered the twinkle division, second to the bottom.

It could've easily stopped here and gone down as one of the more nonsensical things I have ever witnessed over an ongoing span of 3 weeks, but it didn't.

Because there are so many teams per division, and so many divisions in the league, it is fiscally impossible for the Urban league to provide team t-shirts, jerseys, whathaveyous to the teams. So if the team wishes to all dress in conjunction, they onus lays on them. Most teams, I'm told, aren't serious enough to even toy with the idea of getting jerseys, they just show up, play, maybe go out for a bit afterwards, and then head home. But not Breast Milk Facial. The first game was just over a week away, and the leadership of the team was calling for jerseys to be made. Another email was sent out to the entire zone asking if anyone knew a reliable place that could silkscreen shirts and get them shipped fast. I replied that I had used one place in Philadelphia before, during college, and the shirts came out great and were done really quickly. I provided my boss with a phone number, and the website. He quickly replied that I was in charge of making the shirts, and that I needed to make this my number 1 priority, and I was to ignore all other work.

I made just one futile attempt to remind him that I'm not actually on the team, and therefore have little vested interest in making good shirts and getting them here in time for the first game. His reply was that job security comes with obedience and alacrity. I decided that designing these shirts couldn't possibly take too long and I could probably get something passable and still finish up all my work without too much difficulty.

The best laid plans of Mice and Men often go astray.

I designed the front of the shirt in less than 4 minutes. The design was a hit. It was BMF in stretched black letters, white outline, on a red shirt. Under the giant letters was a dripping baby bottle. You don't have to say anything, I know what you're thinking...classy.

The problem arose with the back of the shirt, for the sake of time and facility I suggested either leaving the back blank or come up with some catchy phrase to put on. This idea was summarily dismissed and the collective decided that they each wanted an animal on the back. Yes, an animal, why? You want to know why they wanted animals instead of names, numbers, identifying markers of any other kind? Because animals are, and I quote "cute". That is the only reason ever given.

All the shirts were then going to have to be individually ordered instead of in bulk. I pointed out that this jumped the price from around 9-12 bucks a shirt to about 25 a shirt. They were all okay with this. This irritates me because this means they must get paid a figure exponentially higher than I do. But I digress...

So I then had to ask everyone what they wanted their animal to be. Luckily the entire team comes from the zone so it wasn't tough to track everyone down. But then I had to browse clip art galleries galore to find suitable animal silhouettes for the project.

This I managed to get done, along with my normal regimen, by the end of the day, along with no guarantee whatsoever that these shirts would be arriving before the first game was scheduled to take place. But people were so giddy about the prospect of a customized new t-shirt, they hardly even noticed. Somehow, and this I really do not understand, we had the shirts within 3 days. 2 business days before our first game, plenty of breathing room, I was dumbfounded, but hey, kudos to the printing company, the shirts looked amazing, and they were quick. I recommend them to everyone who asks me about shirts (side note: no one has asked me about shirts since this incident, but should anyone, I will be recommending this company).

At this point my involvement ended. They had shirts, a schedule, and I had peace and quiet. That is, until the day before the game. The female ADA who was captaining the team (and one of the only 2 people on the roster with any organized volleyball experience, HS varsity volleyball team at a Jewish Girls School) came and asked me to play the next day. I replied that there was no way they could possibly need me to play, they had a 12 person roster, shirts, and more excitement than I could even fathom. She then regaled her lamentations: Zane (yes, of course Zane is on the team, if it involves intensity or competition, sign Zane up) or should I say Bull, Rhino, Goat, Koala and Flamingo can make it, but everyone else has some sort of obligation for the first game. We need a 6th or we forfeit, and you're the only one we can bully into coming.

But I don't even have a t-shirt, how can I possibly play up to standards without the official team jersey, what is my animal gonna be? It's just too emotionally damaging to be the odd-man-out here, think about my psyche, think about how I'm gonna feel when the other team points at me and laughs because I don't have the official team shirt. Do you really wanna do that to me? How does that make you look? I think you need to take a long look in the mirror and decide if you like the person looking back at you?

Naturally this didn't work, but it was worth a shot.

Eventually my need to be accepted by my peers and superiors won out...Did I mention that after the game the team goes out to karaoke and I had the opportunity to watch my boss sing? Maybe that was the reason...

Either way I reluctantly agreed with exhortations to expect nothing exciting from me on the court.

I managed to dig up a red shirt, close enough in color that it worked. The other team was definitely a group of bad sports, good volleyball players slumming in the low divisions in order to build up self esteem, or something equally as pathetic. Needless to say, BMF suffered 3 crushing, tearful, soul-shredding defeats (you play 3 games per night against the same team). But amidst the losses, BMF chants arose like the phoenix from the ashes of our team's self-confidence.

Karaoke was certainly entertaining. A few of the other office-mates came to meet up with us and good times were shared by all as Flamingo (the only one there with real karaoke talent) belted out Fergie' - Glamorous. Later, funerals were held for Bon Jovi's - Livin' on a prayer, Pat Benetar's - Love is a Battlefield, Tom Petty's - Last Dance with Mary Jane, some song by Sunfire, and Sister Hazel's - All for you.

When I tell you that some people at this bar shouldn't be allowed to sing, I mean I think a few of the people I work with were mentally drafting legislation that would preclude certain individuals from coming within 5 feet of a microphone as some sort of public health law.

At this point, I don't know whether I'll be asked to rejoin the team for the next game, it's Jan 31st. I guess I'll have to keep you posted.