“It’s only an English grade,” the father said. My boss’ pen, balanced on one Jesuitical finger, tipped downwards, and along it slid my modest dreams.
I was thinking about sticking my pencil into the little button-hole eyes of my boss who thinks he’s a big shot, treating me like some insignificant clerk that files meaningless papers over 9 hours a day, 365 days a year for more than 20 years, while I am actually the secret daughter of the President of the United States! But then again, he’s just a poor guy who doesn’t know the truth so I’ll continue to work through the night as I don’t want anyone to discover my hidden identity.
While trapped in the chamber of his satanic majesty, I once again wondered if the pizza delivery field had been a worthwhile choice.
Then they sounded the horn, the chains grew taut about my limbs and I was hoisted into the air for the sacrifice.
“I’m gonna need you to stay till 4:30 today,” the boss said as he walked out the door at 3:20. The man chuckled, went around the office setting every clock forward one hour and left five minutes later.
I started working and nobody cared. Then I got done — and nobody cared.
Jenna Malone never killed on Tuesdays. Today would be the exception.
I’ve kissed so much corporate ass that I don’t even notice the taste anymore.
Other people can smell it though, and see the stains.
I understand you are jealous of the position I’ve reached.
It’s not my fault I worked hard for two years and now I don’t have to work again!
Thanks for stopping on by, and thanks for the sex/job/emotional support or whatever else it was you gave.
I looked for you in all the usual places; job agencies, friends of friends, publishing houses. Little did I know you lurked right there in front of me in my keyboard letters.
When I sigh at work I’m really saying “you’re a fucking idiot who should die horribly”.
Hey, did you hear that the rules have all changed?
Yeah, being a boring self-centred fuckwit is now sexy so you’re totally in dude!
Welcome to corporate slavery and meaningless drudgery.
Oh, I mean welcome to your cubicle.
If only we could teach teenage boys that the amount of hot pussy they can get is directly proportional to the amount of money they have.
Within a generation we’d have some of the hardest working motherfuckers in the world.
The amount you are paying me by the hour isn’t enough to make me forget that I am trading away something irreplaceable.
Lucky for you I don’t have anything better to do right now.
They said they expected high performance.
Sure, I can steal stuff off Wikipedia better than anyone I know.
Blind rituals, archaic strictures and useless rules.
Work, religion, love, it’s all the same.
Tomorrow at work they’ll ask me what I did on the weekend and I’ll lie and say “you know, just had a bit of fun” or something like that.
The truth is that on the weekend I mocked a few religions, declared a meal “the worst I’ve eaten” though it wasn’t, slept alone, and relaxed my hands on the wheel in yet another reckless game so the car strayed just a little onto the gravel.
A company would fire you without hesitation if it were good for business.
That is why we don’t tell companies our true goals.
When you said “attention everyone” I thought for a second you would actually say something interesting.
Like about how the guy leaving was a horrible person to work with, an insufferable bore and many of us there would happily kill him if we thought we could get away with it.