think it's time for me to move on from my job. for the past two years i have been employed through a fortune 500 company. through these past two years, my hard work and diligence has led me to an office with a window and a secure hold on the lower ledges of the payroll. by office i mean cubicle shanty and window i mean computer, accessed with the internet. by lower ledges of the payscale, after taxes i make enough to eat ramen and easy mac.
my duties at work include answering customer complaints and registering them into a database that allows the company to better its profits, by catering to those complaints that justify a response. for the past two years i have found myself growing more and more apathetic to the churning combine of reports that continually get disregarded, seeing my work sputter uselessly around the office until it is tossed in the paper shredder along with the companies financial accounts.
it didn't occur to me how much i hated my job until today. as the billy goat sped past my geo metro i realized i probably wasn't making enough to substantiate myself with any claim to any human that i was worth more than a nickle and a dick in the ass. i pulled in to the bike rack and chained up my four cylinder motor heaven and walked into the office.
i get on the elevator along with the rest of the apathetic thursday crowd and realized something. i really hate my job. it isn't just the job itself, but everything about the job. and what i hate more is i've spent two years being indifferent to something i hated so vehemently. i get off at my floor and walk to my cubicle. i set down my coffee and realize today will be my last day. no two weeks notice, no going away party, no, i'm going to burn some fucking bridges today.
i pull open my top drawer and remove a stack of manilla folders, revealing my holy grail. i pull out the 7.5 oz bottle of southern comfort and comfort my morning coffee with a little treat of southern hospitality. as i sit back, i begin to map out the day's activities.
10 a.m.
as i sit and stare at the blank monitor in front of me, i can smell her. the cheap wal-mart brand perfume wafting through the office air nearly makes me gag, and i turn to see sandy. sandy is my supervisor, or at least she likes to think so. as she talks, her cheap lipstick caking around her mouth shoots at me, and her deuce-and-a-half frame has been rumored to have been scouted by the broncos.
"are you going to do some work today?" she scoffs. i turn back to my computer and flip on the monitor and it begins to breathe life again.
"of course, you dumb slut", i reply as i turn back to her, taking a large gulp out of my morning of goodness.
"what?! what did you just say?" she gasps.
"i asked if you had some gum or not", i retort and turn back to my computer, entering in my password.
"oh, well it didn't sound like that. you need to get the damson file done today, mr. dobbs wants it on his desk by 4", she says and turns and hits her huge ass on my cubicle doorway. the entire frame shakes and my heidi klum calender drops to the floor with a wicked thud. i heard an angel lose its wings.
12 p.m.
the southern comfort ran out sometime around 11 and i took a quick trip to o'danny's, the local market, to pick up some more booze and ingrediants. after pouring a healthy portion of soco into my supersized coke, i pull the stapler out of my second drawer and begin to inspect it. i unlatch it and pull it into its elongated form. i begin to perform durability tests by pounding it into the soft fabric walling that makes up my shanty.
"what in the hell are you doing?" todd pokes his head over the top of my unit.
"nothing", i reply as i quickly turn back to my computer.
"you were clearly doing something, what were you doing?" todd asks again, this time sounding angry.
"nothing, you gay whore", i answer and take a large swig out of my coke.
"what?! what did you just call me?" todd exclaims. he stares blankly at me, unbelieving of what he just heard.*
*on a side note, it was widespread rumor that during his vacation cruise last spring he met up with the cabin boy. at the company party he was rumored to have left with kyle, the copy boy who is about as gay as matthew perry.
"i said 'nothing, come to my door'", what? sorry, i'm drunk at this point and any answer seemed to do well in my mind. he scoffs and sinks back into his cell. i think i hear him call his mom and start to cry, but i may have passed out.
2 p.m.
i pull out the ingrediants from my bag and follow todd into the men's room. i make sure he doesn't see me following him. he enters the first stall and i enter the second. i drop my pants to my ankles and set my things on the toilet. i unscrew the peanut butter jar and uncap the ketchup. i begin to create a majical concotion around the toilet seat, making such noises as "errrrr....garrrrr...ferrrrrr...." as i squirt the ketchup and mix it with the peanut butter. i pull out a long strip of toilet paper and carefully wrap up a reasonable amount of peanut butter and ketchup in it, balling it up carefully.
at this point, my plan is almost complete. i set the toilet paper ball on the toilet and pick up my final ingrediant: a large cantelope. i let out a loud "errrrrrr!" and hoist the melon above my head, letting it drop with a loud *plop* into the toilet bowl.
"ahhh!!" i hear todd scream from the next stall over, "are you okay?" to which i reply by letting the toilet paper ball of ketchup and peanut butter roll into his stall.
"ehhhhhh.... yeah....", i reply, breathing heavily, "can you kick that back over hear?" i hear the toilet flush and the poor gay bastard bolt out of the bathroom.
today i quit my job. i didn't really quit, i'm just not going to go anymore. are they going to fire me? i don't know. i'm just not going anymroe
my duties at work include answering customer complaints and registering them into a database that allows the company to better its profits, by catering to those complaints that justify a response. for the past two years i have found myself growing more and more apathetic to the churning combine of reports that continually get disregarded, seeing my work sputter uselessly around the office until it is tossed in the paper shredder along with the companies financial accounts.
it didn't occur to me how much i hated my job until today. as the billy goat sped past my geo metro i realized i probably wasn't making enough to substantiate myself with any claim to any human that i was worth more than a nickle and a dick in the ass. i pulled in to the bike rack and chained up my four cylinder motor heaven and walked into the office.
i get on the elevator along with the rest of the apathetic thursday crowd and realized something. i really hate my job. it isn't just the job itself, but everything about the job. and what i hate more is i've spent two years being indifferent to something i hated so vehemently. i get off at my floor and walk to my cubicle. i set down my coffee and realize today will be my last day. no two weeks notice, no going away party, no, i'm going to burn some fucking bridges today.
i pull open my top drawer and remove a stack of manilla folders, revealing my holy grail. i pull out the 7.5 oz bottle of southern comfort and comfort my morning coffee with a little treat of southern hospitality. as i sit back, i begin to map out the day's activities.
10 a.m.
as i sit and stare at the blank monitor in front of me, i can smell her. the cheap wal-mart brand perfume wafting through the office air nearly makes me gag, and i turn to see sandy. sandy is my supervisor, or at least she likes to think so. as she talks, her cheap lipstick caking around her mouth shoots at me, and her deuce-and-a-half frame has been rumored to have been scouted by the broncos.
"are you going to do some work today?" she scoffs. i turn back to my computer and flip on the monitor and it begins to breathe life again.
"of course, you dumb slut", i reply as i turn back to her, taking a large gulp out of my morning of goodness.
"what?! what did you just say?" she gasps.
"i asked if you had some gum or not", i retort and turn back to my computer, entering in my password.
"oh, well it didn't sound like that. you need to get the damson file done today, mr. dobbs wants it on his desk by 4", she says and turns and hits her huge ass on my cubicle doorway. the entire frame shakes and my heidi klum calender drops to the floor with a wicked thud. i heard an angel lose its wings.
12 p.m.
the southern comfort ran out sometime around 11 and i took a quick trip to o'danny's, the local market, to pick up some more booze and ingrediants. after pouring a healthy portion of soco into my supersized coke, i pull the stapler out of my second drawer and begin to inspect it. i unlatch it and pull it into its elongated form. i begin to perform durability tests by pounding it into the soft fabric walling that makes up my shanty.
"what in the hell are you doing?" todd pokes his head over the top of my unit.
"nothing", i reply as i quickly turn back to my computer.
"you were clearly doing something, what were you doing?" todd asks again, this time sounding angry.
"nothing, you gay whore", i answer and take a large swig out of my coke.
"what?! what did you just call me?" todd exclaims. he stares blankly at me, unbelieving of what he just heard.*
*on a side note, it was widespread rumor that during his vacation cruise last spring he met up with the cabin boy. at the company party he was rumored to have left with kyle, the copy boy who is about as gay as matthew perry.
"i said 'nothing, come to my door'", what? sorry, i'm drunk at this point and any answer seemed to do well in my mind. he scoffs and sinks back into his cell. i think i hear him call his mom and start to cry, but i may have passed out.
2 p.m.
i pull out the ingrediants from my bag and follow todd into the men's room. i make sure he doesn't see me following him. he enters the first stall and i enter the second. i drop my pants to my ankles and set my things on the toilet. i unscrew the peanut butter jar and uncap the ketchup. i begin to create a majical concotion around the toilet seat, making such noises as "errrrr....garrrrr...ferrrrrr...." as i squirt the ketchup and mix it with the peanut butter. i pull out a long strip of toilet paper and carefully wrap up a reasonable amount of peanut butter and ketchup in it, balling it up carefully.
at this point, my plan is almost complete. i set the toilet paper ball on the toilet and pick up my final ingrediant: a large cantelope. i let out a loud "errrrrrr!" and hoist the melon above my head, letting it drop with a loud *plop* into the toilet bowl.
"ahhh!!" i hear todd scream from the next stall over, "are you okay?" to which i reply by letting the toilet paper ball of ketchup and peanut butter roll into his stall.
"ehhhhhh.... yeah....", i reply, breathing heavily, "can you kick that back over hear?" i hear the toilet flush and the poor gay bastard bolt out of the bathroom.
today i quit my job. i didn't really quit, i'm just not going to go anymore. are they going to fire me? i don't know. i'm just not going anymroe
