Iron Fist

Really, I am doing plenty of creative writing these days, it’s just that instead of taking place on my blog most of it winds up in the email I send to my coworkers, filled with completely random observations or vitriol filled rants. For example, there’s this oldie, or recently when a coworker asked whether an incident I’d dealt with was fairly typical for my department, I responded with the following:

Dude, that’s pretty much our whole life. Seriously, sometimes working here is like working with handicapped third-graders, only I know that these office types all have college degrees and mortgages, which doesn’t make much sense to me. It’s nothing short of a fucking miracle that someone can get up in the morning, button up their shirt and put their shoes on the right feet, OPERATE A MOTOR VEHICLE AT SPEEDS EXCEEDING 60 MPH WITHOUT TOTALLY DYING, and yet come to work here and call in with something like “I can’t make the door work.” And then you call them back and you’re like “you can’t open a door?” and then they’re all “well, I can open it. But there was this one time, like last week, it didn’t open right away and I almost hurt my finger, ALMOST, but not quite. Also I think we’re out of napkins.” It’s hard not to say, “WTF? Aren’t you a grown-up? Don’t you do your own taxes and feed yourself every day and even somehow fucking RAISE CHILDREN and you’re completely crippled now because there’s not a napkin with five feet of where you’re sitting?”, but if you say that then they go, “I don’t think I care for your tone. I’ve known your Director for like forty years, you know. We were in ‘Nam together.” And then you get your ass chewed.

That’s pretty much it. Okay. How’s your day going?

I write screenplays involving people from other departments on my floor, I write recaps of conversations I have with incompetent people I speak to on the phone, I write pointed rants about pointless things we all put up with in corporate America. Some of it gets sent to co-workers to seem to appreciate my sense of humor; a lot of it just gets deleted.

I write all this stuff because it keeps me sane, also because it beats doing the crap I’m supposed to do for my job. But you know, I’m tired of feeling like my job is draining me of all my creativity. Actually, I’m just tired of going to work.

Therefore, I am calling for Blogger Ditch Day. This Friday! Let’s all ditch work! Call in sick, forge your own doctor’s notes, even use the old “my grandma is in the hospital” if you have to (although be warned karma will probably bite you in the ass if you do, and then it will be your own damn fault when your grandma actually is in the hospital). If you can’t ditch work all day, then just show up for morning roll call and sneak out at your first break! That way you get credit for showing up.

Then, we’ll all meet at the beach! I’ll bring some beer. If someone brings hot dogs and some wire coat hangers we can totally cook them over a bonfire. We’ll crack open tallboys and smoke cigarettes. There might even be making out! (Please note that I cannot guarantee this last one. Also, although I seem to know a staggering number of smoking hot bloggers, please do not ask me if I can “hook you up” with one of them. Dudes, you are on your own.)

Let’s hear it for ditching! In the meantime, you should continue your subversiveness in the workplace by walking around with some monkey themed flair.

See you at the beach!

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