Labor Day

It is 4pm and the office is pretty much abandoned. I have been elected, more like drafted, to stay behind for a package deliver.

The Queen had a long talk with G and it has been decided Section 9, that is the name of our group, will taken of financial trends and be put on celebrity and gossip which was our original designation. Did I just write designation? I have been hanging out with these people too long.

Anyways, Salad Dancer and the Crow took off early today. Usually I would be a b**ch about being the sole survivor, but those two were basically sleeping in the office for the last two weeks. So I was willing to cut them some slack.

So here I am all alone. My plans are up in the air for Labor Day. I have been invited to a barbecue. Not sure if I will go. Not sure what I am doing with my life.

And why am I doing this?

We are back on CNBC duty watching it very closely for some type of anomaly or benchmark or something.

Last week some fast talking consultant showed up when the market began to implode with a group of wall street suits into our office and had himself a pitch meeting. He was convinced that we could determine the direction of the market. The consultant barked out his plans point by point while the wall street suits wearing their hair high and tight.

The Queen was pissed as f**k. She had spent a ton of time being the lead on two projects and the last thing she wanted to deal with was this bulls**t again.

Then I heard some gossip from the Crow. Apparently the Wall Street Suits were part of some hedge fund/investment group and were completely at wits end at what to do next. So in comes captain consultant who they hired in desperation. Now according to the Crow, the rumor is that this group is done, but they are doing a hail mary play as a last ditch effort. According to Crow who heard this from one of the finance guys on our team, the consultant seeing that they were desperate for anything sold them on the idea if they hired a research group to do news analysis, they would be able to figure out a strategy to get out of the mess they were in.

Then we had another meeting with the Queen who gave us the real dirt.

"This is all an exercise in futility. This hedgefund is going down the drain. The hedgefund knows it, the consultant knows it, even the investors know it."

"Then what f**k are we doing here then?" asked Salad Dancer.

The Queen pulled out a fresh pack of DunHills from her LV hand bagk and proceeded to tap the bottom of it in into the palm of her hand.

"Rumor has it some of the wives of the investors are pretty pissed about what is going on." The Queen said as she proceeded to peel off the wrapper.

"So now some of the investors are demanding that the fund make an effort to make a comeback. So one of the heads of the fund contacted a consultant who contacted G."

"So this is all one big dog and pony show?" Salad Dancer grimaced.

"A show of CYA. It's for the wives and everyone's peace of mind. Everyone wants assurances that every effort was made. I talked to G. We'll be doing this for probably another so this is temporary. I don't like anymore than you all do. It is a complete waste of time, but G doesn't care, apparently the consultant is making a killing in billable hours and he is willing to spread the wealth before the milk money dries up and everyone puts their bras back on."

The Queen took out a lighter and walked off. "I'll be outside having a fag. Which means don't bother me."

After the meeting Salad Dancer was freaking out.

"Oh my god. Its the f**king dot com meltdown all over again. We are so f**ked."

The Crow piped in.

"It could be worse."

"How so?"

"We could be mortgage brokers."

Its crazy. I know. But it has taken my mind off the claque.

Claque attack.

Those b**tches are back and with a vengance. I can barely write. I am so pissed and frustrated. I can't believe they hired VD. I am just as qualified to do that job. I need ice cream. STAT!