Putting the Guys in the Office Under a Marvelous New Light

Do you work with lots of men? Do they, uh, seem normal to you? I don’t know about you, but ever since the revelations came spilling out of the Marv Albert trial, I haven’t been able to see the other guys in the office in quite the same way. I thought I knew them, but do I?

Take my boss. Please. He’s about the most serious guy around. If he had his feet any more firmly on the ground, birds would land on him. He approached me late in the week and began talking about the future of newspapering. Normally, I would act as though I were listening, but this time I burst into laughter. No matter how serious he tried to be, I kept picturing him sporting a pageboy and wearing a peach-colored teddy.

Call it the Marv Factor.

To understand the problem, you’d have to be a sports fan who has watched or listened to Albert over the years. Marv was the ultimate Mr. Cool, a New York hepcat who controlled the games he covered, rather than the other way around. Unlike some announcers who make a crucial moment in a game sound as if they’re being strafed by enemy aircraft, Albert never got carried away. You didn’t rattle Marv.

During his numerous appearances with David Letterman, Albert personified a man under control. His shtick was his “Albert Dubious Achievement Awards,” in which he’d narrate over funny footage of athletes goofing up on the field. While the jocks fumbled, Albert showed total aplomb.

But now we’re forced to grapple with a mental picture of Albert wearing something from the lingerie department. As the courtroom stories about Marv’s private life became public, I just know what he was thinking: “What I wouldn’t give right now for a white Ford Bronco.”

But he can’t run away from it. No matter how long we live, whenever we think of Marv, we’ll see him in drag.

Here’s the problem with that: If Marv Albert does it, who else? If someone who seemed as together as Albert shops at Victoria’s Secret (and not for his girlfriend), then who among us is above suspicion? Who else is not exactly as he seems?

I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I think people are looking at me kind of funny. A couple of women passed me in the hallway on Friday, but when they walked around the corner I heard them snicker. I hope it was just my tie.

That got me to looking around the office and thinking, even if only one guy in 100 likes to wear women’s clothing at home . . . well, we have 100 guys who work here.

Which one is it?

Eliminating myself, that leaves 99.

I want to know who it is. It’s not that I would think any less of the person; I just want in on the secret.

Actually, I’ve had some time to develop some leads. A sex therapist told me last week that men who like to wear women’s clothing tend to be good husbands. Right off the bat, then, I’m eliminating all the single guys in the office. That reduces the possibilities by about half.

Of the married guys here, I happen to know that two-thirds are crummy husbands. They either work too late or don’t take their wives out on their birthdays. That narrows the field to about 15.

I’m going to assume that wives don’t always know about hubby’s little hobby, so that means the guy can’t risk wearing his wife’s clothes. And if a guy has to buy extra clothes, he can’t be a cheapskate. That shrinks the group to no more than a handful.

Here’s where it gets tough. If a guy dresses like a woman, he has to have at least some fashion sense. No guy who goes to the trouble of being a cross-dresser likes to look in the mirror and see a hopelessly out-of-date wardrobe.

That leaves only one guy. I can’t believe it; he seems like such a normal guy. But just like Marv, those are the guys you least suspect.

I’m looking at him right now. Just like Marv, he’s acting pretty cool. An air of insouciance surrounds him. He’s fiddling with some papers and talking to someone on the phone. He doesn’t even know I’m on to him.

Somehow I have to let him know that I know his secret. Maybe a note in his mailbox. I hope it doesn’t embarrass him.

Oh, shoot, maybe I’ll tell everybody else.

After all, the truth shall set you free. And an office shouldn’t have any secrets.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821, by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail at dana.parsons@latimes.com