Who the F-Wagon Is, Phyllis: A Caper
Things of which I am certain
1. Mom cannot shut up about her.
2. She is not that girl in my dance class that smells like pee when she pliés. Her name is Marcia. I asked her.
3. She has received two catalogues at my home address, one of which has a benevolent woman in mom jeans on the cover, the other jam and beef sticks.
4. There is a note in my own handwriting on the fridge that reads “FEED PHYLLIS.”
5. I did not feed Phyllis.
Things that I am certain have led to my confusion
1. Generous consumption of bourbon concealed, for work purposes, in a neon green New Kids on the Block water bottle—a plastic savior constructed with enough BPA that it will surely kill me faster than the bourbon.
2. Horrific night seizures of vomiting, perhaps related to bourbon consumption.
3. Total lack of interest in mystery solving the moment that I find re-runs of The Office on cable.
Suspect list of potential Phyllises
1. Phyllis from The Office.
2. A toy bear wearing waders, issued by my mother for my birthday.
3. The rabbit outside of my window that is staring at me right now.
4. My mom’s life coach who told her to leave my dad, then bought me a burrito when my mom made me hang out with her.
Courses of action already implemented
1. Yelling “Phyllis” out the window, and then waiting.
2. Calling the catalogue manufacturers. (One turtleneck, five hot pepper beef sticks—no Phyllis.)
3. Asking my mother, who did not understand the question.
4. Going to hypnosis to see if I knew the answer all along. (I did not know the answer.)
5. Checking my birth certificate to reaffirm that I am not Phyllis.
Final course of action
1. Everyone please print the information that you have just read. Then, leave this note on your dining room table with gingerbread cookies and milk, accompanied by the following addendum:
If you are reading this, I ask that you please reply in the space provided below. I have provided you with cookies and milk in hopes that this offering will be enough to get you to reveal your identity. I have taken my quest for you to every home and every reader I can gather. My tears taste like bourbon, my turtleneck is choking me, and my home smells of raw, gamey beef sticks. Phyllis, who are you?
Please sign here (if Phyllis) X_____________________________
Please explain who you are:
Rate the effectiveness of the cookies in persuading you to come forward:
1. Extremely effective
2. Somewhat effective
4. Somewhat lame
5. Extremely lame
All rights reserved to Sarah Sorensen.