I don’t do well with partners. I almost never figure skate in pairs. At camp, my swim buddy drowned (not my fault he couldn’t keep up with me). I once got a great deal on a bicycle built for two, took off a seat modifying it into a bicycle built for one. I prefer to take people down single handedly, like Rambo or John McClane, but with a Samurai sword. However, today a co-worker learned of my diabolical plans, backing me into a corner and forcing me to conspire with him against my foe. Now, this solitary predator will have to learn to hunt with another. Ah-woooooo (that’s the sound of me howling like a wolf, the prototypical pack hunter – it’s a metaphorical howl)!

Having a co-conspirator may work to my advantage. Among the plethora of valuable life lessons I’ve learned from the WWE, is that a tag team always defeats a single wrestler (unless that wrestler is The Undertaker, I’ve seen him easily defeat two fighters – but Jim is no Undertaker). Alone, I was unable to topple Jim Halpert with a bugged wooden mallard, a dozen Jewish pastries, and an Employee of the Month scheme so sinister even my grandfather would approve. So perhaps a partner is what I needed all along. Co-conspirators to take down a Co-Manager – it’s poetic…well, almost, if you say co-conspirator and co-manager fast enough they sort of rhyme.