I’m a pretty easy going, laid-back guy.  But at the present moment, I am possessed by a spirit of vengeance that makes Charles Bronson look like Mahatma Gandhi.

Here’s what happened.

Part of my job is maintaining friendly contact with my company’s larger clients.  When they’re happy with the outsourcing service we provide, I can use their goodwill for promotional vehicles like press releases and customer case studies.

I’ve had particuarly good luck with the controller at our largest client.  (I’ll call her Jill.) Jill loves our service, and I’ve worked with her to create sales collateral and a web site testimonial.  She’s even scheduled to speak with two of our executives at an industry trade show.

I’ve never met or seen Jill.  But she’s polite, courteous, and professional.  Our conversations had consisted 100% of the usual pleasantries: “It’s so nice to find new ways to work together” and “This campaign will benefit both our companies.”

I wrote an article for a trade magazine about my company’s relationship with Jill’s company, so last week I emailed her and asked her for a photograph that the editor needed.  I didn’t hear anything for several days.  And then, yesterday, I received an email from Jill with a single sentence: “here you go”

The email included a jpeg attachment. The file was called “centerfold.jpg.”

It seemed strange to me.  But heck, maybe it was the centerfold of Jill’s family album, or something.  I clicked on the attachment and opened it.

A very tall blonde woman beamed at me. She was completely naked.

But her pussy kept the picture from being obscene.  By which I mean to say, the naked woman was holding up a large, gray cat.  The feline barely concealed the woman’s naughty bits.

Three possibilities sprang to mind:
1. Someone commandeered Jill’s email account.
2. Jill is psychotic.
3. Jill has a sense of humor, but a highly inappropriate one.  I mean--she doesn’t know me.

I emailed Jill back, treating it as a joke: “There is absolutely no doubt that this picture would liven up a boring trade publication, but maybe you have a more professional shot?”

I received a reply almost instantly: “What do you mean?  That’s the oldest profession in the world!”

I stared at the message in stunned disbelief.

I told the story to my supervisor, the director of marketing. His eyes widened.  They bulged.  He snapped, “Get her on the phone.  Do you realize that she’s scheduled to present at a trade show conference with our executives?”

I froze.  The director and I were picturing the exact same thing: Jill stands with our executives in front of hundreds of people, discussing the benefits of HR outsourcing, and suddenly decides to perform a strip tease.

So I called her.  And, predictably, she could barely talk.  She was laughing too hard.

Fine, so it’s a joke.  But as far as client/vendor jokes go, it verges on the sociopathic.  Just as I was about to ask the delicate question--"What made you think that you could send that to a relative stranger?"--Jill explained, “I had the idea for the joke and Ben said you wouldn’t be offended by it.”

Ben?  Our CFO?  Ben did this?

You have to understand.  Ben is a great guy.  I like him.  But he’s the only executive who is never seen in the office without a suit and tie.  He’s buttoned-down and businesslike.  He never raises his voice.  He always toes the line.

Ben did this to me?

Ben said to me later, “I simply told her that you weren’t easily offended and that you had a good sense of humor.”

Which is true.  I’m rarely offended.  I like a good gag.  I’m a good sport about things.  Oh, and also? I’m possessed by the living spirit of vengeance.

I own up to being gotten.  I freely admit it.  Never in a million years would I have predicted that my quiet CFO and a client contact I’ve never met would join forces to collectively rattle my cage.  But although Jill has diplomatic immunity, being a star client and all, Ben is fair game. And I have already plotted my revenge (with the marketing director providing the idea).  It may take a while to get around to pulling it off, but that’s okay.  I can wait.

After all, Khan said it best in that masterpiece of late Western civilization, “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Ever wake up from a sleep so deep that you confused the hell out of yourself?

When I awoke this morning, I was mumbling something like: “This isn’t just a fun little charge over San Juan Hill, Mr. President. The Roosevelt administration is in serious trouble.”

A millisecond later, I had no idea what I was talking about.

Some married friends of mine had a one-year birthday party for their baby today, and I was an invited guest.

Not having any kids myself, I often forget society’s shorthand for various life events. For example, my hostess came towards me and blurted out, “I’m expecting!” I had to think on my feet here and decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But she looked radiant and her arms were opened wide to embrace me, so I assumed she meant a second child--as opposed to, say, a tax audit.

The party itself was fun, but it’s interesting when you’re partying with a one-year old. First of all, you have to be careful not to hurt her feelings. You don’t want to remind her that you’re just there at her parents’ request until she’s old enough to get some actual friends.

It’s also different from a birthday party with one of your buddies. With them, you can say “Hey, remember that time on your 21st birthday when you got so drunk that you threw up?” With the baby, you’re more likely to say “Hey, remember that time when you threw up? Five minutes ago?”