Blonde Joke Chapter One by Jeffrey M. Mahr   How does a blonde commit suicide? Dumps her clothes in a pile and jumps off.

"What was the blonde psychic’s greatest achievement?”

The two men surrounding Tom Brodsky shrugged as they waited for the punch line.

Surreptitious glances confirmed that Dr. Katrina Issekson was busy and apparently not paying attention.

“An in-body experience.”

Tom’s guffaws were deafening. The others blushed knowing that Dr. Issekson just had to have heard him. Dick Baldwin coughed and nodded covertly towards Katrina to try to get Tom to notice and stop. Harry Walton began sidling over toward his lab counter and began trying to look busy.

Tom continued oblivious to the actions of the others, “How can you tell if a blonde’s been using a computer?” Without even waiting, he choked out his answer between roars of laughter, “There’s whiteout of the screen.”

“Ah-Hum.” Katrina turned and cleared her throat.

“Oh. Hello, Dr. Issekson. Did you hear this one? Why do blondes like to drive BMWs? Because they can spell it.”

“Mr. Baldwin. Mr. Walton. I suggest you get to work. Mr. Brodsky you must have somewhere else you need to be, don’t you?” Katrina glowered at him briefly and then returned to her lab counter to stare once again at a graphic representation of a gene. She slowly twirled an errant strand of blonde hair as she tried to regain her train of thought.

Tom cocked a conspiratorial eyebrow at the other two men, who tried desperately to disappear into the floor in anticipation of the battle that was probably to come. Dick excused himself and headed towards the bathroom at a rapid pace, figuring he couldn’t be trapped in the crossfire if they couldn’t find him. Harry considered joining him, but instead followed instructions and bent over the computer on his lab counter working furiously and desperately trying to ignore either of the two people who could make his life an absolute hell.

Oblivious, Tom swaggered over to Katrina and put his arm around her as he spoke. “Did you know I have a BMW? How about a ride up to the bluff to watch the submarine races?”

“Mr. Brodsky!” Dr. Katrina Issekson’s scowl could have turned lava to ice as she quickly turned out of his grasp and faced him, hands on hips. “Mr. Brodsky, you are rude, crude and unintelligent. As I have told you repeatedly, I have no interest in going anywhere with you. Only the fact that I am unsure of the meaning of the phrase ‘submarine races’ keeps me from immediately filing sexual harassment charges against you. Not withstanding the fact that your father owns this company, if you ever touch me or speak to me again in a derogatory manner, I will file charges seeking enough damages to bankrupt your father, this company and you. Now get out of this lab immediately.”

Tom stared down at the irate woman in shock at her outburst apparently not understanding what he might have done to anger her so. Understanding slowly dawned in his eyes, more rapidly followed by anger. “My father owns GTI, but I run it. He may have hired you but I’m your boss and I can fire you, so don’t threaten me Dr. Issekson.

“My family retains more attorneys than the average small city. I strongly doubt that being asked out on a date will be considered sexual harassment and neither will a few clean harmless jokes.

“For that matter, part of your employment contract calls for professional conduct, conduct that does not in any way embarrass this company. That includes being unable to perform your duties due to extremes of emotionality. I suggest you take a pill and get back to work yourself.” With that, he stormed threw the swinging doors and out of the lab.

Passing Dick, who was peaking out from the bathroom door, he smirked and winked. “Start thinking about your next assignment Dick. The good doctor will not be with us much longer.”

Katrina glared after him, face burning red, fists clenched. Ex-football linebackers like Tom Brodsky always seemed to be a pain–and at twenty-eight, the youngest project leader in the company and female to boot–Katrina knew she was an obvious target for his special brand of locker room humor. After a last glare at the now closed lab doors, she took several deep breaths and forced her body to relax. Turning to Harry, she spoke with only a hint of anger in her voice, “Go feed the lab rats please.”

The annual convention of the International Association for the Advancement of Genetic Technology was to start tomorrow and Katrina was typing feverishly at her computer to finish off the paper she was going to present while Dick and Harry were gathering slides and samples to offer colleagues who wanted to verify her findings.

“Gentlemen,” a smiling Tom Brodsky interrupted their furious labors. “You have a convention to go to. Get out of here, get your bags and get to the company plane now.” Tom took the slides out of Dick’s hands, waved to Harry to put down the samples he was placing in the cooler before him, and started leading them out of the lab.

“But Dr. Issekson will need these for her presentation tomorrow.” Harry noted as he gave a worried glance towards the once again scowling Dr. Issekson and thought how that always seemed to be her expression when Tom Brodsky was around.

“You don’t mind, do you Doctor?” Dick asked over his shoulder as Tom had his arm around Dick guiding him away.

Before Katrina could respond, Tom expansively answered for her. “Of course she doesn’t mind; she’s not leaving until later tonight so she’ll have plenty of time to pack the last few specimens.

“Now, did you hear this one?” Brodsky asked as he put his arms around the shoulders of each man and dragged them out of the lab. “‘Why do blondes have the letters TGIF written on their shoes?’ It stands for ‘Toes Go In First.’” The volume of Tom’s guffaws was reduced to a more acceptable level as the lab doors closed behind the three men. Muttering under her breath, Katrina returned to her typing.

Less than rested from her overnight flight, Katrina rushed to the hotel to check in. Hoping the unsupervised bellman would get her suitcases to her room without incident, she grabbed her briefcase, and the travel case with the specimens and slides in it, and rushed to the convention check-in desk. Unless there had been a change, her presentation was scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes and nothing was set up. Leaning over to sign her ID card, she heard an irritatingly familiar laugh.

“How do you amuse a blonde for hours? Give her a piece of paper with ‘Please turn over’ written on both sides.” The guffaws were back, joined by polite chuckles from several other sources.

Turning, Katrina was unsurprised to see Tom Brodsky standing amongst a group of men in expensive suits, no doubt sales representatives rather than scientists. Seeing that Katrina had spotted him, he called out to her. “Dr. Issekson, you better hurry or you’ll be late for your presentation.”

Seeing the ID card in her hand, he stepped over to her and solicitously took the card from her, knocking her cases to the floor in the process. Ignoring the scattered cases, he said, “Here, let me help you or you’ll be late.” Quickly stripping the covering off the adhesive backing, Brodsky pressed the ID down on her left breast and patted it down several times before Katrina could act.

Then, extending an arm around her shoulder to cope yet another feel of her breast in front of the openly snickering sales representatives, he took a step and dragged her along as he pointed. “You’re in the Presidential Room. Go through there and off to the left.” He moved away and stood waiting for her to continue on her own. She stopped, lips pursed in anger and turned back to pick up her briefcase and travel case before continuing without saying a word.

Tom watched her leave and returned to the group with which he had been talking. With a jerk of his head to the departing scientist, he commented, “Now there’s an oxymoron if ever I saw one gentlemen, a natural blonde with a Ph.D.”

It was close, but Harry and Dick helped. Dr. Issekson was set up and ready to go only five minutes late.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, we have mapped the chromosomes, labeled the genes and have made significant progress on relating the four proteins that are the building blocks of each gene–adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thymine, or AGCT as we call it–to various physical and emotional conditions. For example, for years we’ve known that there is a small stretch of AGCT at the tip of the X-chromosome that can predict homosexuality and another on chromosome 17 related to anxiety. We can now identify combinations of AGCT related to more than 1,400 different physical, emotional, and attitudinal characteristics of human beings with more being identified daily.

“Aside from the ethical considerations inherent in any discussion of human gene alteration, which have also been hotly debated over the last several decades and which I will not debate in this forum other than to offer a heartfelt prayer for intelligent and compassionate action, I present ‘virally targeted gene segment manipulation’ or ViTaGeSeM. Developed in conjunction with Gene Technology Incorporated, ViTaGeSeM is a computer-aided technique for genetic manipulation via a viral medium that will only attack specific gene segments. Unlike previous developments in this area that have attempted to adjust AGCT levels with concomitant difficulties controlling the microscopic quantities involved, ViTaGeSeM has two advantages.

“First, ViTaGeSeM may be applied either in a permanent or time-limited form. This should tremendously enhance our ability to assess various AGCT combinations as they can now be evaluated without permanent impact.

“Second, ViTaGeSeM operates by permeating the entire body to attack and replace the selected gene segments. The ViTaGeSeM viral medium can spread to include the entire body within three days. It is safe in any of several transmission formats and non-contagious short of direct blood-to-blood transfer, so only standard bodily fluid precautions are required. Even these precautions are only required for the first six days, after which the ViTaGeSeM transmittal medium is destroyed and eliminated by the body’s normal defense systems much like any invading cold virus. Depending upon the extent of the genetic changes, they will be completed within as little as another six days and not longer than six months.

“Finally, at the request of Tom Brodsky, President of GTI and his many accountants, I would like to add that it is projected that when in full production ViTaGeSeM will cost about half the price of current processes.” Katrina was pleased that the smattering of laughter was quickly drowned out by applause. She was even more pleased to see the scowl on Tom Brodsky’s face. “Serves him right!” she thought as she gathered her papers and waited for questions.

The banquet was as uncomfortable as Katrina expected. Harry and Dick were nowhere to be seen, probably an intentional situation as they too tried to avoid events that required Brodsky and Issekson to be together. Unsurprisingly, Brodsky’s behavior vacillated from insincerely solicitous, one minute treating her as his date, to rude and demeaning, the next minute coming out with yet another deprecating comment. She could barely tolerate the arm around her shoulders and having him order for her. The omnipresent blonde jokes did absolutely nothing to help.

“Hey Franz,” he called to another suit across the tale and several chairs down, “Did you hear this one? Two blondes are in the parking lot trying to unlock the door of their BMW with a coat hanger. The first blonde says ‘I can’t seem to get this door open.’ and the second blonde says, ‘Well you better hurry. It’s starting to rain and the top is down.’ Did you get it? The top is down.”

Between the blonde jokes and Tom’s hand finally coming to rest on her knee, Katrina had had enough. She abruptly excused herself and left. Laughing, Tom called out after her, “Is anything wrong dear?”

The sound of someone knocking on her hotel room door woke her. Still groggy, Katrina glanced at the time on the clock radio by her bedside. It was not quite four in the morning. Grabbing a robe, she padded tiredly to the hotel door and peered out the spy hole.

“Go away Mr. Brodsky. We have nothing to say to each other.” Katrina turned to return to bed only to stop when Brodsky began pounding on the door and cursing.
“Go away or I’ll call hotel security.”

“And tell them what, that you are in my room? I made the reservations Doctor. They are in my name, not yours.” The slight slur to his speech told her that Brodsky was drunk.

The temptation to call his bluff was very strong, but she was willing to bet there would be no more sleep this night if she did. Several days of limited sleep preparing for the convention, followed by a miserable night flight to get to it, followed by a late night in her room answering the questions of the press and her colleagues while graciously accepting their praise had resulted in one very tired Ph.D. Seeking a compromise that she hoped would allow some badly needed sleep she called back. “Very well, Mr. Brodsky. I need to get dressed. I’ll meet you in the hotel coffee shop in fifteen minutes for exactly fifteen more minutes.”

“No. Open the door now Issekson.” The pounding continued.

“Continue what you’re doing and I won’t need to call security, someone else will. That is my final offer, the coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”

Katrina began dressing and would say no more. After several more half-hearted attempts Tom left. Katrina continued dressing and was shortly ready. Cautiously checking the door’s spy hole and seeing an empty hallway she headed off to the coffee shop.

As she approached, she could see Tom waiting impatiently in the nearly empty room. Katrina watched him alternate between sipping his coffee and tapping his fingers on the tabletop as she stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. She hoped that the coffee would assure he was sober enough for a rational conversation.

“Now, what’s so important that you have me sitting in a coffee shop at four in the morning?” Katrina slid into a seat opposite him.

“I wanted you to know that I considered your comment about GTI’s accountants and me in poor taste. As per your contact, you are expected to refrain from making derogatory comments about your employer or its representatives. To insure that there are no further such comments I am formally instructing you to pack your bags and leave this convention immediately.” Tom had been hunched forward so that his face was just inches away from Katrina’s. He slowly leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. His face was impassive but there was fire in his eyes.

“Was that all? If you’re done then I’ll be going back to bed.” Katrina started to rise.

“That was not a joke. I want you out of here and I want it now.” Katrina sat back down again.

“Let me make sure I understand this. On behalf of GTI, I’ve just announced the discovery of ViTaGeSeM to the inter-national scientific community and you want me to leave the convention where I announced it because you are insulted by a comment in my presentation that your office instructed me to include. What’s really going on here Mr. Brodsky? You’ve done your level best to prevent me from developing ViTaGeSeM. You’ve been rude and insulting. You took my lab assistants away from their packing the day before the convention requiring me to take a later plane and almost miss this convention. I realize you don’t like me, but I don’t understand why you would act in a manner designed to injure the company for which you are responsible. As I said before, ‘What’s really going on here Mr. Brodsky?’”

Tom sat silently while she spoke. Then, gritting his teeth, he repeated his original message, “I’ve given you an instruction Doctor. Pack your bags and leave. You’re in a company-paid hotel room and the company no longer wishes to permit you to use it.”
“And I repeat. What is the problem?” The silence extended for quite a while as the two stared coldly at each other. A waitress came out of the kitchen and saw that her one customer had company. She started over with a menu, but veered off to another table to fiddle with the setting when she saw their faces. Eventually Katrina became bored with the standoff.

“This is fruitless. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.” Katrina stood.

“I expect you to be out of that hotel room and on a flight back to GTI by eight this morning. Here is your plane ticket.” Katrina stared dully at Tom for several long seconds before she left.”