Bill Murray

Bill Murray came to my office today.

Well, not the Bill Murray.  Just a Bill Murray. 

Officially he worked for one of our IT companies, here to troubleshoot a thousand dollar printer that should be printing but wasn’t.  (Turns out it was the wiring to the jack where the T1 cable went.)

He was the perfect blend of Carl Spackler and Peter Venkmann, with just a hint of Phil Connors for added spice.  It was all there in his “performance” as he went here and there, checking out the inner guts of the printer, climbing into the ceiling, testing wiring and whatnot: the droll one-liners, the faux put-downs, the Vegas lounge singer, the transparently phony best-friend-ever persona. 

Don’t get me wrong; I love Bill Murray.  This guy was very funny.  He sang, he quipped, he threatened to “take us all outside” for, I guess, a beating.  He called us the “cool kids” because we had a better printer than the sales department.  He advised us “not to miss me when I’m gone.”  There were a couple of “don’t try this at home” type warnings for our, and our printer’s, benefit.

After a while it got kinda wearisome, though, but like any good comedian worth his comedic salt, he knew when to get off the stage.  “Thanks,” he said as he sauntered through the door, “I’ll be here all week!  Try the venison!”