The screaming little queen ran past my office door yet again, yelling down the hall in his high-pitched squeaky voice to one of our mailroom boys. This was the third time in an hour I watched him run, yes run down the hall of our offices.

Strangely, it's not an unusual occurance here at my work. Quite a few people, men and women alike, find themselves running to get their work done. This is behavior I cannot understand. The only time I've ever found it necessary to run at work was when I was in the Army and we were doing Physical Training. Period. I'm of the belief that if you ever find yourself running at work to get a task done, for any reason whether it's a demanding boss or self-imposed stress, it's time to quit. You should never have to go above a light trot to complete a work task.

When I shared this philosophy with a work colleague of mine, he couldn't disagree more. "Sometimes you have to run to get something done," he replied. "It shows a sense of urgency, a commitment to getting a job finished."

"No," I countered, "it shows a desire to put yourself on display to your co-workers. You're basically using your body language to say 'Look at me, everybody! Look at how dedicated and hard-charging I am compared to you, you desk-bound, lazy whores!'"

Work Colleague frowned at me. "Sometimes it's an emergency. Sometimes you have to run to grab someone or get something done."

"Nope. Never. Nothing we do here involves organ transplantation or fire removal. There is no reason for anyone to ever have to run in an office environment. 'Oooh! If I don't xerox this document like I was Wally West, the ENTIRE OFFICE INFRASTRUCTURE WILL COLLAPSE.' I don't think so."

I could tell Work Colleague was very frustrated with me. And admittedly, I was a little frustrated at his implication that I wasn't dedicated to my job enough because I laugh at others galloping down the hall. That's why I've come to you, dear readers.

Am I wrong? Is it ever appropriate to run in an office environment? Am I out of touch with current office trends? Or am I on target thinking it's nothing but histrionic, look at me folks behavior? Comments are below. Sound off.

Let me be the first person in the gay blogosphere (whatever that entails) to call dibs on "Jonny Zero," Fridays on Fox:

Sort of a low-rent Vin Diesel, yet strangely attainable. Delish.

Hmm? What's that? Hell no, I've never seen the show. I have some standards.

A quick perusal of the viewer mailbag reveals the following missive:

“Johnny – What is the deal with teasing us about wrecked rental cars and arrest warrants if you’re not gonna follow thru? What happened?”

Oooh, you are so right, anonymous reader. My big-ass bad. Let’s wrap these up cleanly, unlike that last episode of “Twin Peaks” where Annie was dragged into the Black Lodge by Windom Earle, Ben Horne was clocked on the head by Doc Heyward, Audrey was blown up real good in the bank safe and Agent Cooper got all possessed by Killer BOB, and then ABC CANCELLED THE FUCKING SHOW only to bring it back 10 years later as “Desperate Housewives,” complete with Secret Diary. I mean, that unresolved shit has stayed with me for years, but you can hardly tell.

So, there I was in snowed-in Lorain, Ohio, visiting my older sistah Kim and los bambinos. We got buried in a major snowstorm the night before, so my brother-in-law was making decent coin with his truck and snowplow, plowing out driveways and parking lots. Well, he should have been making decent coin, but he’s a nice guy, so he was doing it for free. Every half hour or so, his phone would ring and off he went, digging some unfortunate senior citizen out of her drive, so she could grab her Golden Buckeye Card and work that 10% discount at Country Kitchen. That sort of thing.

After about an hour of playing video games with the kids and watching bro-in-law pull in and out of the winding driveway for plow duties, I heard a loud bang outside. Since I was in the middle of a kick-ass game of Mappy, I didn’t bother to look outside. Minutes later, bro-in-law was standing in the living room with a blank expression.

“Did you get insurance with that rental car?” he asked.

“No, I’m covered with my Allstate. Why?” I asked, just as the thought of why the fuck else would anyone ask you if you had insurance, douchebag popped into my head.

Brother-in-law said nothing, but merely pointed out his living room picture window towards the driveway. There sat my rental car, the front end, bumper and hood smashed and crumpled into a pyramid, nearly blocking the windshield. Bro-in-law said he was backing out of the driveway and just plain forgot my car was parked there. It is still unclear whether he was backing out at 850 THOUSAND MILES AN HOUR or not. The drive back to the rental car place was a riot, trust.

So that wraps up the smashed rental car dangler.

I flew back home a week later. While going through the mail that had piled up, I came across an official looking letter from the Los Angeles Police Department. Oh, my.

Now keep in mind, it’s December 31, 2004 at 2p.m. The entire year of 2004 had been a constant shit storm for me, what with psychotic bosses, street beatings and hey, rental car smashings. Here I am one the last day of this horrific year, and the year continues to fuck with me until the last possible second. What else, am I going to discover an anal tumor at 11:58 p.m.? Bacdafucup, 2004.

The letter tells me I have an unpaid parking ticket from November 18, 2004, for “Failure to Obey” while driving my black PT Cruiser at 9:48 a.m. Since I have ignored and not paid this ticket, there will be bench warrant for my arrest issued if I do not call the LAPD Parking Enforcement Division by 5p.m., December 31, 2004.

I immediately call.

“You have reached the Los Angeles Police Department Parking Enforcement Division. We are closed for the New Year’s Eve Holiday.”

Jesus Horatio Christo.

Before we continue, some points:

• November 18 was a Thursday. I am seated in my office chair by 9:15 p.m. at the latest Monday thru Friday.
• What the fuck is “Failure to Obey?” That shit’s so vague they may as well have charged me with “Driving While Moving.”
• My car is red. Bright red. Not black.
And most important, • I NEVER GOT A GODDAMN TICKET FOR THIS.

And thus endeth 2004. The following Monday morning, I called the LAPDPED and explained the above. The nice person on the other end agreed with me that something was fishy and that I needed to draft a letter explaining all this and send it along. I also explained why I waited until after December 31 to call, since I was out of town and they were closed. Then I asked, “You guys are closed on New Year’s Eve every year, right?”

“Right.”

“And New Year’s Eve is on December 31st every year, right?”

“Right.”

“Do you think maybe it’s a good idea to change your pre-printed forms to read December 30th instead?”

No response.

I sent my letter that day. Today is January 24, 2005.

There still has been no response.