Saturday, June 11, 2011

Another Story about Jane

For anyone who wasn't at the meeting thingity today, or if there was some kind of profound comment you needed to make.

I give you: Jane's quest for a Porsche.


Jane really needed a Porsche. Not because she was vain, or materialistic, or anything. No, really - she just needed to arrive to a party in a Porsche. 

Jane didn’t have much going for her. She stole toilet paper from work, she was stuck in a cubicle with 3 men – one enormous in girth, one enormously obnoxious, and one, rude, intolerable punk – she didn’t know how to apply eyeliner, and she managed to singe off one of her eyebrows recently in a very unfortunate toaster oven accident. 

Of course, as is natural in the world, Jane’s friends were quite the opposite. One was a very successful, lesbian comedian – she had been on Ellen three times to date, and Portia wasn’t too happy to see her returning again. One was a lovely Swedish model, which really requires no elaboration. And one was a famous author of numerous self-help books, which helped millions of people worldwide except the person they were written about. 

This is why Jane had begun to lie. She invented a traveling lover who visited her all the time, except when she might be able to introduce him to people. She invented multiple episodes of intense office intrigue; including a terrible fax accident with compromising photos from upper management to various other men in the company. 

These lies were harmless, as they could never be proven true but could never really be proven false. Jane’s downfall was when she decided to lie about the Porsche. Apparently, a ridiculous bonus was given to her as hush money and she had, as any sensible person would, blown this bonus on a new Porsche.

Jane was beside herself now – she needed a Porsche to cover her tracks, to keep up the charade.

You see – when you “buy a Porsche” people tend to want to see it, and you tend to say “sure, you can see it sometime” because you think that day will never come. But it does, and then you’re screwed. Luckily, Jane may be a clumsy liar, a terrible toaster oven operator, and a generally plain, unappealing person in general – but she can be pretty clever when she reaches a new level of desperation.

Naturally, Jane understands that she can’t just walk into a Porsche dealer for a test drive, because Jane is not Megan Fox nor does she have some kind of sparkly credit card with a credible, recognizable bank. Jane is Jane and she banks with the Bank of the Mattress, located in her shoddy apartment.

But, Jane can test drive a Porsche if she turns up in a Mercedes, and she can test drive a Mercedes if she turns up in a SAAB, and she can test drive a SAAB if she turns up in a late-model Ford. Jane can likely sucker the Ford guys on foot.

Jane is successful in the Ford dealership, mostly due to poor sales and lack of women in the office, and quickly works her way up to a Mercedes, which she promptly slides into a Porsche dealership and then asks for the coveted test drive. At first, she’s greeted with suspicion, because she does not look like a typical Mercedes owner. She does not smell like a Mercedes owner. She really should not be driving this Mercedes, but, she is. And the Porsche salesman likes commissions because he’s a car salesman and they tend to enjoy such things, though the same cannot be said for Volkswagen dealers, who content themselves with stories about the 70’s and drink on the job. 

The Porsche is glorious. Jane cannot feel her butt because of the uncomfortable seats. She can barely see the road because of the odd tilt of the windshield. She nearly kills herself and countless others when she hits the gas and rockets off at too many miles per hour. Jane thinks she could get used to this. Jane is feeling very cool.

“Vendela!” Jane calls when she arrives to her Porsche’s unveiling party. She calls from the Porsche with the window rolled down, because that's what someone with a cool Porsche can do.

“Jane! So good to see you, darling!”

Vendela, the Swedish model – the blonde bombshell on the Victoria’s Secret commercials; the one’s you pretend you aren’t watching – quickly ushers Jane into her loft and loses her within seconds to a massive crowd of important people. Yes. Because when you are a Swedish supermodel you can walk around with a name like Vendela and people still want to talk to you. Designers, models, rappers, actresses, actresses’ men-on-the-side who double as gardeners, and countless other infinitely more fabulous people than Jane flittered around. Jane still feels cool – Jane arrived in a Porsche and her keys are sticking out of her “Coach for the street corner” purse.

Jane feels much less cool when she is taken from the party in handcuffs for stealing a car from a Porsche dealership. Apparently, they don’t want you to test drive a vehicle for 12 hours – they tend to believe something is up when this occurs. 

Jane hits rock bottom when she needs to acquire bail from her friends. 

Jane doesn’t think she’ll lie anymore. 

Then she thinks about toilet paper supplies at work – and decides not to lie anymore to her friends. The company is still fair game.

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