“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: December 07, 2003

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

For my cubicle dwelling and former cubicle dwelling friends

Top 10 Drawbacks to Working in a Cubicle...

10. Being told to "think outside the box" when you're in a freakin' box all day long.

9. Not being able to check e-mail attachments without turning around to see who's behind you.

8. Cubicle walls do not offer much protection from any kind of gunfire.

7. That nagging feeling that if you press the right button, you'll get a piece of cheese.

6. Lack of roof rafters for the noose.

5. The walls are too close together for the hammock to work right.

4. 23 power cords - 1 outlet.

3. Prison cells are not only bigger, they also have beds.

2. The carpet has been there since 1976 and shows more signs of life than your co-workers.

And the number 1 drawback to working in a cubicle ...

1. You can't slam the door behind you when you quit.

I know this may sound a little off coming as it does from a mostly unemployed person (I still TECHNICALLY have a job. I just don't technically go there and they don't technically pay me anymore.), but why do people put up with the cubicle? Yeah, I know, "That's where you have to sit because that's where they put the computer." Well I damn near got a cubicle job and I thank god every day that I decided not to study for that stupid airline code test, which resulted in my failing and getting canned.

Cubicles exist because people willingly sit in them. I urge you all, if you're sitting in a cubicle right now, reading this, QUIT. That's right, quit your job. If you don't like your fucking little box, or the shitty pay, or your moron co-workers, then fucking quit.

Good people get stuck in shitty jobs they hate because they're afraid of not having a job. Well if everyone that had a shitty job quit at once it would send quite a fucking message wouldn't it? We might earn a bit of respect from the assholes in charge. If you define yourself by the relationship you’re in, they say you have a problem. Well what if you define yourself by what you’re forced to do for a living cubicle-dweller?

Quit fucking taking it. QUIT YOUR FUCKING JOB!

Better do it now before they give it to a damn foreigner.

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

So I went for my annual drag through the discount stores today. See, being broke and therefore unable to buy holiday gifts for people, I assuaged some of the crippling guilt the holidays bring by agreeing to accompany my Mom and little sister to the ceramics store. Why did they need me at the ceramics store? Because it’s located in a neighborhood that’s even worse than the one my house sits in, if one can indeed gauge such things

Little did I realize that this would mean being awakened at the ass-crack of noon and dragged through retail hell. This means the craft stores, the dollar stores, and a total avoidance of anything that would even remotely interest me. Well, we did hit Radio Shack, but that place only interests me in how sad it has become. Not to imply that it was ever hip to begin with, mind you.

But it was while in that monument to cheap-assity that is Big Lots, while searching through the tools for something sharp enough to possibly slit my fucking wrists, I lost my shit.

That’s right. I, the man that routinely calls for the deaths of millions on rivers of flowing crimson blood, lost my cool. Is that possible you ask? Can someone that uses the word ‘motherfucker’ as a punctuation mark become measurably more angry and/or offensive? I leave it to you to decide.

First of all, it was December 8th. I don’t like December 8th. I have my reasons. One’s that I don’t care to go into here. Suffice it to say it has to do with the other reason I was cruising the burg with my Mom and little sister rather than sitting at home and doing more pleasurable things, like say, burning my pubic hair with a cigarette lighter.

Anyways, back to Big Lots. Tool section. 2 PM. Overcast, with winds from the south. I’m looking through a rack of rakes and shovels and assorted implements of destruction, when I hear the following conversation:

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:
“I need outdoor extension cords!!!”

Beleaguered Big Lots Employee:
“Our extension cords are right there Ma’am.”

More Polite Customer:
“Could you help me?”

Beleaguered Big Lots Employee:

Polite Customer:
“I’m looking for a garden weasel.”

Beleaguered Big Lots Employee:
“Why we have garden weasels right he…”

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:

Polite Customer:
“Thank you. Do you have one that does circumcisions?”

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:

Beleaguered Big Lots Employee:
“You’ll need an adapter for that, but we have them in section…”

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:

Polite Customer:
“Thank you very much, you’ve been very helpful.”

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:

Beleaguered Big Lots Employee:
“Ma’am, those are all the cords we have. If they don’t say ‘outdoor’ then we don’t have any outdoor cords.”

Old Woman With Bitchy Voice:

Your Humble Narrator:
“Pardon me Ma’am, but why DON’T you just go to Wal Mart? GO! Go be with all the others that are destroying the economy and culture of our country! Go to that monument to all that is soulless and wrong! Why do you come here? I’ll fucking TELL you why you come here, you come here because you’re looking for cheap, poorly made, crap assembled by slaves in third world countries! Go be a part of the fucking herd mentality that’s plowing all of our small local businesses under! Go, damn you! Your first mistake was coming here, your second mistake was expecting to find good merchandise, and your third mistake was being a rude fucking BITCH in my presence! And on December the 8th of all fucking days!!! GOD DAMMIT, WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCKING DIE!!!”

Granted, she didn’t know why I don’t like Dec 8th, but it somehow seemed relevant at the time.

So for the fifth time in my life I was escorted out of Big Lots by it’s employees. Well, this is the third time I was ‘escorted’. The other two times I was forcibly removed. Once because we got drinks and food and ‘camped out’ in the ‘outdoors’ section, and once because we got fishing poles in the ‘sporting goods’ section and tried to catch things from the other aisles.

Next time I’m going right for the fucking chainsaws I swear to god…