I needed some foliage in my office to liven things up, but there’s no way I’d get sunlight back in this corner, nor would I remember to water the plants.
So, I bought a set of artificial trees and plants, and I arranged them around my desk and bookshelves.
A stuffed woodpecker had built a nest in the tree while I was away at lunch.
“Very funny guys,” I said.
The next day, the flowers had been ravaged by a stuffed bunny rabbit, and stuffed beavers had chewed down the trees to make a dam by the copier.
Fucking bastards.
Tag: work
I wanted to be a dancer…
I wanted to be a dancer, but I couldn’t dance.
Instead, I was a choreographer. I made the dances that the dancers danced.
Then, I was a costumer. I made the costumes that costumed the dancers as they danced my dances.
For a while, I was a producer, producing the productions in which the dancers danced my dances while costumed in my costumes.
Was this enough?
No.
I directed.
I composed.
I designed.
I even catered the opening nights.
But all the while, I wanted to be a dancer.
Oh well. At least I got to fuck them all, right?
References
It’s important to check references.
Teddy’s resume looked impressive. He had the education and the experience to get through the first round of cuts. And he was open and personable in the interview.
However, when I called one of his references, her translator said “Good luck getting Teddy to work for you!”
I flagged the translation as ambiguous, and the translator dug a bit deeper for me.
Her tone wasn’t “Teddy will never accept the job” or “I hope Teddy accepts the job.”
Instead, the reference suggested it’s hard to motivate Teddy to do any work.
I shredded his file.
Library
Every time I do a search with Siri on my phone, Stacy yells Library and screws up my search.
“Siri,” I say. “Where is the nearest-”
“Library!” shouts Stacy.
And then a map arrears on my phone.
Fuck.
No matter where I am, she manages to disrupt my searches. Even when I am in the bathroom, she shouts through the door.
After all these searches, I know where all the libraries in the world are now.
So, I went to the nearest library, got out my phone, and asked Siri the question I wanted to ask.
“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” said the librarian.
Middle Man
Everybody’s always saying they’re gonna cut out the middle man.
Who is the middle man?
Why is he in the middle?
What’s he doing there?
If he was just getting in the way, why was he there in the first place?
Where do you learn how to be a middle man?
Middle school?
So, you want to cut him out?
If he’s not in the middle anymore, what’s he going to do with his spare time?
I’d rather have him there in the middle, where I can see him. There’s no way I’ll turn my back to a guy like that.
Backwards
Dan challenged the entire company to go paperless by the end of the year.
He bought smartphones, laptops, and tablets for the staff, but they used those to play games and update their Facebook statuses.
He removed all the printers and copiers, so people would write down notes to each other.
Until he removed the pens and pencils from the building.
Employees were so resistant to change, they would take paper towels and toilet paper from the restrooms and smear them with blood and feces.
That’s when Dan quit and left. Because he was sick of working with crazy people.
The Pile
Every Christmas, my desk at work gets buried by a pile of boxes, cookies in plastic bags, cards, and other gifts.
The cards, I read and throw away.
The cookies, I eat.
But the boxes, I stack up and stare at for hours.
I try to imagine what’s in them.
When other people try to tell me what was in their boxes, I stick my fingers in my ears and shout “DON’T RUIN THE MYSTERY!”
Now that I’ve been here for a few years, the stack of boxes is a bit unstable.
But my contemplative vigil remains steady as ever.
The flight
I don’t know what is shaking harder: this plane or me.
I hate flying. I really hate flying.
Well, okay, it’s not the flying, as much as the taking off, landing, and turbulence.
It scares the crap out of me.
I’ve tried hypnosis, music, pills, and booze. None of it works.
So, I just suffer and write.
In fact, I write my best work while on a flight.
The worse the flight, the better the writing, my publisher says.
She pays for my tickets, pills, and booze.
The airlines all want me as their resident writer.
I want to retire.
The Event
The catastrophic event happened faster than we could respond.
We tried to reduce pressure in the tank, but it exploded, killing 22 workers.
We are budgeted for 60 casualties in a cycle.
The plant manager congratulated us, and gave us a bonus.
However, more workers died as a result of radiation sickness.
The casualty count increased rapidly.
Soon, we had surpassed our budget, and our bonus was revoked.
We received a reprimand.
However, we were not terminated, as the plant manager had died.
Not that this matters much to us, as we vomit blood and await our own horrible deaths.
Rainbow
When I asked a developer how his software works, he said that it runs on the magical rainbow particles that are farted out by the unicorns in the basement.
“All software companies have them,” he said. “But we have to keep it a secret. So, we write a bunch of sloppy code and confusing documentation to hide the unicorns behind.”
I laughed, but the developer hushed me up quickly. “Don’t laugh so loud!” He hissed. “You’ll piss off the unicorns!”
“Unicorns!” I said incredulously. “In the basement!”
I opened the basement door, and…
Magical rainbow particles really fucking burn, man.