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Wednesday, 26 April
Citizen! Time For Merriment!
Tomorrow is our monthly "Employee Birthday Jamboree!" at work where we fete the various drones in our department for managing to be born in this particular month. Way to go, Aprilites! Your fathers sure . . . uh . . . fucked your mothers probably in August! Woo!
It's really depressing in a lot of ways. For one thing, office "parties." This is really shorthand for "people standing around awkwardly in a hallway." We used to have a conference room for this sort of shit, but since we moved floors some time back, we don't really have anything to use any more. Not that the conference room was cheery in any respect: it was a windowless chamber with, well, a big table. Everyone sat up against the walls and stared at the wan donut assortment as if they were boxes of severed horse penises. Now, we don't have to stand in a Sartrean conference room any more--we actually have an outside balcony. However, since nine months out of the year, the balcony is whipped with icy rain or bone-slicing wind, or both, we usually end up standing in the hallway staring out at the Gehenna balcony where Judas is buried up to his neck in ice and screams mutely at us through double-paned windows. We still eat donuts. I'm pretty sure Judas wants our donuts, but hey. Fuck you, Judas.
These birthday extravaganzas ("Now with more sullenly signed cards!") are the responsibility of the department leads, of which I am one. We routinely put these off until the last possible minute, of course, because it's always just so dismal. These things are like a preview of your own funeral. "Yeah, happy birthday, Tim." "My name is Todd." "That's awesome. Hey, is this a Bavarian cream?" Just people standing around, pretending to interact meaningfully, when really, all your brain is on whether or not you'll look like a dick for taking the last gherkin.
Happy birthday, April nobodies! Are you going to eat that?
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I hate having to sign the birthday card after everyone else has already signed it and the phrases "Best wishes!" and "Have a great one!" have already been used a dozen times each, and you end up sitting there staring myopically, paralysed with indecision, trying to think of something original to write. "Happy birthday, Bob! Hope you, uh, get some pussy or something."
Actually, the fathers probably fucked the mothers in July.
Former corporate drone here, and I'd wait to try and be one of the very last to sign the cards. Then I'd find some place to cram in with tiny writing "I've always hated you" in a different pen than I signed my name.
what the heck are u up,.. a whole blog full of moaning ...
what the heck are u on!!!!,.. a whole blog full of moaning ¬!!!!...
moaning makes the world go round!!!
"...staring out at the Gehenna balcony where Judas is buried up to his neck in ice and screams mutely at us through double-paned windows."
When I read that line I actually had to duck my head under the desk; I was doing that silent-laugh-thing and I didn't want people to think I was having convulsions or -- worse yet -- crying, which might make them walk over, nosey fuckers that they are. (whereas they are used to me hiding under my desk...)
I think this post made my Friday. Yes, I'm sure it did.
But let's hope the weekend gets better from there. No offense.
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