Conference Calls and Rug Burns

As I've stated many, many times before, I work in an office. Not just any office. I can't tell you the name of the company, because I never truly know who's reading this, and I say things that could get me fired. I do things that could get me fired. I shoulda been fired three years ago. I stroll in at least ten minutes late every day. Grinding and brewing coffee is more important than answering the phone most of the time. There are mutated green plastic army men on top of my computer monitor. They're mutated because I had a small torch, a utility knife, time, Krazy glue, and the dark motivation that comes from deep within to cut off several tiny heads and glue them all onto one soldier's shoulder. I use cans of compressed air to clean my desk because I'm too lazy to just wipe it down. There's a spot on the side of my mouse that's all worn smooth from my thumb resting there constantly. My gel-filled wrist-wrest has indents because my fingers sit on the home-row at all times. Those little ridges that are usually on the 'F' and 'J' keys are non-existent. The carpet in the narrow space behind my desk is littered with rubber bands from rubber-band fights. My mad Romanian co-worker calls them "gum bands." European people are funny. I have a wooden ruler in my desktop caddy that says the name of my company "= EVIL" in red Sharpie. The carpet is stained all throughout the office. The stench of stale cigarettes lingers in the shipping area. One time, I talked a co-worker into standing on the forks of the forklift while I raised it all the way to the top of the 20-foot ceiling. He was so close to the top that he had to crouch down to fit between the forks and the corrugated metal. I left him there for ten minutes. Maybe I'm the one who's evil. One summer afternoon saw me and a co-worker driving around Southfield, still on the clock, hitting a bong and laughing our asses off. Out in back, there are dumpster kitties that are more important to me than the bullshit conference calls that last two hours too long where some Executive Vice President rambles on about accountability, and his yes-men talk about the weather or repeat the same stupid problem or question over and over again, ad nauseum. I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF IT'S RAINING IN WILMINGTON, OHIO, YOU FUCKS! The multi-colored paperclips just started talking again. They've been quiet for a couple months. I wish they'd shut up.