Ode to a Peeper – by Rosemary and The Victim

Ok, so now that you’ve recovered from reading our first joint masterpiece... It took another year or so before Jennifer (a/k/a “the Victim”) and I were inspired to write another epic. It was entitled “Ode to a Peeper.” And again, some background begs to be sketched in, but I’m going to give you the poem first this time, and the background after:

Ode to a Peeper

BFOH has a sixth floor peeper.
He resorted to getting thrills cheaper.
He schemed and planned as he hid in the stall.
No feet could be seen, he was crunched in a ball.
So the innocent prey had not a hunch.
Soon to be spied, they returned from lunch.
The Victim’s behind was up in the air,
While Rose stood at a mirror and played with her hair.
Rose turned around, and what did she see?

But a sneaky male face watching The Victim pee.
Just then the perverted face disappears
When The Victim heard, she turned red to her ears.
The sight made Rose let out a screech
And the Peeper slithered out like a slug or a leech.
The moral of this story is plain to see
CHECK FOR MALE FEET BEFORE YOU GO PEE!!!!

So obviously, we returned from lunch one day and went to the restroom. Now, you have to understand that there were 4 stalls in that restroom, left to right, let’s call them A, B, C and D. B was open and that is the stall that Jennifer entered. C was closed and, it turned out, housed the aforementioned Peeper. D was open, but it had no paper. A was open, but it was what I lovingly referred to as the "mutant stall" because it was 2/3’s the size of the regular stalls and, while that might be ok for most people, I was not comfortable squeezed in there. So after whining, “Oh, man! That leaves me the mutant stall..,” I decided I could wait for one of the other two stalls and stood at the mirror by the door checking my hair. At this point, the Peeper must have figured it was safe to stand up and peep. I, looking in the mirror, saw this decidedly male head go up over the stalls behind me and I turned to see him peeping on Jenny-poo. I let out a squeak (it was more mouse-like than a screech, but for poetic license, we used ‘screech’) and he looked up, saw me, and smoothly hopped down (as he must’ve been standing on the toilet) and calmly exited the ladies room. The Victim knew only that I’d squeaked, so upon exiting her stall, she asked what was wrong. Obviously I told her and she was not pleased. But boy, was I happy that stall D had been out of paper and that I decided against using the mutant stall. In fact, I don’t think I ever used it again!

Around the same time, Georgeann had an encounter with possibly the same person. She was on the 9th floor and walked to the elevators. There was a “man” sitting in one of the guest chairs. He asked George if she had the time. Upon looking at him, George realized that his, uh… shall I say, "unit" was out flapping in the breeze. Poor George just looked at her watch and said, “Uh, 1:15” and then she used the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

Upon hearing of these events, Mr. Hahn (the “H” in BFOH), asked Jennifer and I to provide him with a written report regarding our encounter. (I assume he had George write one up, too.) So again, we trotted off to Grandy’s and instead of coming up with a serious report, we came up with the “Ode to a Peeper.” We did write an actual report, containing a diagram of the stalls in the ladies room as we assumed Mr. H had never had the pleasure of seeing it, and provided both it and the Ode to Mr. H for his review. Come to think about it, I don’t recall ever hearing anything more about the report or the Ode. Poor Mr. Hahn was probably speechless! Although I think the lock on the restroom door was repaired soon thereafter. Now that I write this, though, I solemnly vow to NEVER complain about the ladies room here at KDDK being locked ever again.

This was the final poem Jennifer and I wrote together. After this incident, we decided to aim our creativity toward writing a best-selling murder mystery, with the heroine being a cute paralegal, taking place in a law firm. Hey, they say write what you know, right? We used as our inspiration the various characters at BFOH. But before we got too far, our murder victim (who has since been suspended from the practice of law) left BFOH and our murderous feelings toward him (which had been our muse, of course) ebbed. Ah, good times...

So there you have it, them, my brushes with poetry. I truly think my talents lie more toward rambling prose. But I may still try to come up with a haiku for that one blog's contest... assuming I can find it again. That's all for now.