i found the above list when cleaning out my desk. it is distinctively my handwritting, but i have no recollection of ever writting it. the only thing i know for certain is that it could be up to 4 years old.

this sort of disturbs me. i am positive i never wrote it. i have reached the conclusion that it was purposely left for me from the future me. future me is trying to tell me something about the future. future me must be worried the list would be intercepted by evil doers, so he wrote it cryptically. future me is a tard. future me could have just left a voice mail.

so, if you know what's so brilliant about an ac/dc sing along, supporting small music, a gundam hobbie and career counciling that i had to write it on scrap monopoly money, please explain. the future may depend on it.

the old office had automated urinal flushers. the new office has old fashioned manual flushers that require physical interaction to properly dispose of my urine.

long ago, when making the transition from manual to automatic, i was very leary of the technology. an electronic eye aids in the urinal's decision of when to flush. generally any type of eye, electronic or human, placed at dingus level, watching to see when i am finshed peeing is not good for my shy bladder. over time though, i got used to the watchful eye and even took a strange exhibitionist pleasure in exposing myself to the electronic eye. and upon finishing, i would walk away with the greatest confidence that the urinal would purge itself. infact after time i took the auto flush for granted.

at the new office, i am having a problem transitioning back to the manual flush. i now return to my desk wondering if i remembered to flush and if the rest of the office is gossiping about the new guy urinal snob that refuses to flush.

i'm not sure if this is the end of tales from the office or just a new beginning. yesterday was my last day at giganticorp. today i started a new job, and perhaps a new chapter of tales from the office. who knows?

some years ago, i found the above box on my desk. the box contains a book. the book contains hundreds, maybe even thousands of words in 18 point type, double spaced. the words fill many many pages crammed between two glossy hard covers. each book snugly protected by the box above and delivered to every single desk in the corporation. some lucky employees got two.

this was just one of several ego tripping propaganda pieces to help us understand the greatness of our giganticorp ceo. a writer was hired to document the ceo's infinite wisdom, bullet proof theories of business and fantastic philosophies. this book was the result. coincidentally it's the same infinite wisdom, bullet proof theories of business and fantastic philosophies that led to crashing stock prices, an ongoing sec investigation, and a swift kick in the ass, and out the door. fear not for this man, i doubt he ever felt the kick, his ass was protected by his over stuffed wallet.

i immediately recognized the box. it was remarkably similar to a previous box containing a similar book years ago. maybe they forgot i had not finished the first one yet. since i was fairly sure the book did not contain words i would enjoy or even pictures of naked women, i wrote myself a note on the box, and shelved it.

now years later, cleaning out my desk, i rediscovered the masterpiece. i decided it was best just to leave it behind for the next poor bastard that sits at that desk.

ultranote - a few weeks after the book was distributed, i was visiting a local used book store. i was delighted to see several giganticorp employees had traded in the books for cold, hard cash.

my team will be disbanded in december. i should probably be much more concerned than i am. i have survived countless rounds of layoffs in the past.

i believe it's a survival of the fittest. got me thinking... what unique genetic traits do i possess, aiding me in survival of the cube farm?

my colossal height - most managers are short despicable people, my height easily allows me to see over the cube walls. sort of an early detection system. i'm a long gone daddy before they ever arrive.

my extremely large head - most managers are also simple folk and easily distracted. just the sight of my large cranium can completely derail conversations. an intended discussion of lay-offs turns into a discussion of planets, or balloons or other such large round objects.

my faulty short term memory - i am fairly certain i've been fired many times but by the next morning i have forgotten and i just keep showing up.

my abnormally small orifice - the dirtiest of all my orifices is abnormally small. teeny tiny. one could claim it is nearly ultramicroscopic. it is nearly impossible to pass anything thicker than a pencil. the analogy of an elephant through a key hole comes to mind. any way, this malformed orifice results in frequent and lengthy trips to the men's room. most managers will not fire you when you're makin' mud.

wednesday i received an email from the time police. it chastised me for failing to log my time and activities. not for days previous, but for days future. through monday in fact.

so, basically i am in trouble because i am unable to time travel to the future and report back to the past about what i did in the future.

i also received an email from the human resources department about the benefit enrollment period. it was a warning, to inform me today is the last chance to make any changes before the changes period would begin.

so, basically they are saying, the changes period is to make any changes to the changes made before the changes deadline.

another recent email, informed us a specific employee was still employed with the company.

so, basically it was reminding us employees of the company are employed by the company until they are no longer employed by the company.

in a meeting, the project manager announced that the project start date had been put on indefinite hold. he said we should use the hold time to prepare ourselves for the eventual start of the project.

so, basically he was telling us to get ready to get ready.

today the a sales guy was proud to tell me he and the client had decided user interviews were not needed to perform our USER centered design process. as creative director of the USER centered design group, i was not consulted.

so, basically he was telling me it is no longer a user centered design process, it is now the sales guy centered design process.

it's truly a wonder how this company doesn't collapse from the unbearable stink of corporate brain farts.

so, basically i am telling you corporate america is screwed.

i need your help.

i am ass deep in a five hour, 430 question, psychological profiling exam. the company wants to measure our hidden salesmanship potential.

instead of simply asking an employee "do you have any sales skills or interest in sales?" the exam disguises the question in seemingly non-sequitur ways. here is an actual sample, when watching movies, i typically do not recognize the significance of evidence or behaviors that turn out to be critical. agree or disagree? now imagine answering the same question worded slightly different 400 more times. now imagine putting the barrel of a shotgun in you mouth.

so, this is where i need your help, the following questions have stumped me.

1. you are on a train traveling 45 mph. a shirtless man drops a 5 dollar bill on the floor. he looks at you and says "water is to ice as diarrhea is to loaf", strongly agree or strongly disagree?

2. you fear a magic monkey with golden testicles will explode from your butt and your peers will giggle. strongly agree or strongly disagree?

3. you give three cookies to carol and five cookies to bob. how many animal skulls under your sofa? strongly agree or strongly disagree?

oh, and if it helps your answers, this is not the kind of test i want to do well on. in fact, the worse is better. i would be devastated to find i have greater potential in sales than design.

actually i believe the real test is to see if you finish the test. anyone who can dedicate free five hours to such an exercise in stupidity must have very little to do and is considered expendable.

i once celebrated halloween as the evil midnight bomber, what bombs at midnight. the response to my costume was much like the you are suffering from now.

worst. costume. ever.

anyway, that's not what this story is about, so let's not focus on that. the important thing to focus on in this story is how i accesorized the worst costume ever. i made bombs. the bombs were made to look like the bombs ACME provides to all cartoon evil doers from snidley whiplash, to wiley coyote.

the bombs had humble beginnings as styrofoam spheres. the spheres were painted black. a two inch long wire protruding from the top served as the whick. small bits of tinsel attached to the wire gave the appearance the bombs were lit, just waiting to explode. the bombs were the best of the worst costume ever. they looked exactly like a cartoon bombs should.

so, after a halloween evening filled with frivolity, libations and confusing looks, my buddy, dressed as scratch man (an equally lame costume) returned me home. before leaving him, i wedged one of my bombs between the dashboard and wind shield as a parting gift.

here is where the "tales from the office" comes in. scratch man is employed by the same silly corporation as i. this silly corporation employes equally silly security personnel. one day scratch man parked his vehicle in front of said silly corporation, much like he did everyday, but this day would be different.

that day, scratch man was working on the set of a live corporate broadcast when the director's voice came over his headphones requesting him to report to the control room immediately. an odd request during a live production.

security was waiting for him in the control room. corporate security's training, which obviously included watching hours of cartoons each day, had paid off. the potential danger of a styrofoam orb adorned with tinsel is immeasurable. quick action and severe measures had to be taken.

they told scratch man to have a seat. they told him the jig was up, they knew about the bomb in his car. the officers grilled him, probing him for answers but scratch man is one tough customer. it takes more than barney fife in a rent-a-cop outfit to make scratch man sing. scratch man never flips an accomplice. because of him, the evil midnight bomber, what bombs at midnight remains free to this day.

free to wear confusing costumes each halloween. costumes like senior stink, a cross dressing luche libre.

second. worst. costume. ever.

just did a presentation for a potential client. upon finishing, someone showed me a photo of dubya presenting in the same room behind the same podium i had just stood behind.

i guess that explains the chewing gum affixed to the underside of the podium.

ok, I lied about that last part.

there was no chewing gum. it was boogers. lots of them. hanging like stalactites.

makes me wonder if i could have collected and ebayed the little boogers. what would someone pay for such a thing?

as previously noted, i am not a fan of small talk.

so why i cracked, i can not explain.

just the two of us standing in the break room watching and waiting for the coffee machine to fill the pot. i broke the silence with the worst of all break room small talk.

pathetic me - "gotta have my morning dose of coff-"

my new hero - "have a good day."

before i could finish my sentence he had cut me of and ended the conversation before it had begun. four simple, abrupt yet effective words had served multiple purposes. he shut me up, left no opening for new small talk, and did so using pleasant words making it impossible for me to be angry with him.

for the next 93 seconds we stood in complete silence watching the pot fill. i was consumed by his genius. his simple action had clearly established himself as the dominant. when the pot was full, it was understood he had first dibs. he filled his cup and left the room silently as if i did not exist.

moving forward, i have decided to use his technique in all potential small talk situations. you have been warned.

open letter, part one
8 am monday

to the lazy fuck, fuck you.

thank you for up righting my coffee mug you knocked over. i'm sure the last drop that you somehow managed to keep in the mug was the one of 3,498 drops that would have no doubt created an unbearable stench.

and i appreciate that you're a thinking person, never rushing blindly into action. leaving the spilt coffee over night wisely gaurunteed you would not risk scalding yourself if the day old coffee happened to be hot.

I'm glad you feel comfortable here. make yourself at home, feel free to shit in my waste basket or urinate on my phone. the walls are great place to archive you boger collection.

mi shit hole casa, su shit hole casa.

don't think i don't know who you are, i am certain you are the same person who did this, at least back then you left a note.

sincerly mystified by your stupidity,
griff

open letter, part 2
8 am, tuesday

to the one day older and slightly less lazy fuck. thanks for cleaning up.

i would have cleaned it myself, but i was curious to see if you would grow a pair and take responsibility for your actions. to my surprise, you did, and i commend you for that. it is soldiers like you that will make this a fortune 50,000 company one day.

sincerely stunned,
griff

I could tell by the way the phone message indicator was flashing that it contained an angry message.

nowadays, clients rarely jump off their wallet to pay for custom photography. i warn clients of potential pitfalls and dangers of using stock photography. unfortunately, the attractive price tag of stock renders the client temporarily deaf. so, we sift through the same stock image CD's we did on the 20 project previous which are the same 20 cds all the other creative agencies, corporate creatives, and power point jockys all around the globe sifted through for their last 20 projects.

the voice mail from the client was so angry, it was nearly incoherent. after listening to the message six times in super slow mode, i concluded the client was upset about the photo of a woman we used (and they approved) on the client's home page. the client claimed the woman was a sleazy sex therapist or some thing to that affect. after much research and googling, i discovered a full page men's health magazine advertisement disguised as a sexual advice column written by a supposed sex therapist. the "therapist" photo was the exact same stock photo used on the client home page. the "therapist" advised men to purchase a product that would greatly enhance the size and endurance of their floppy bits.

making matters worse, the client is in the healthcare industry, and on occasion may partner with subject matter experts. a connection to such a person may seem odd but not out of the question.

the client failed to see the advertisement's fine print explaining the advice column was actually advertising. the client was convinced we had purposely used the photo of a nationally noted sex therapist and syndicated sex columnist. again i reminded the client of the dangers of stock photography. later that morning we uploaded a new image. an image from a different but very common stock photography cd.

every day i wait for my message indicator to blink angrily again.

i was greeted by this sign as i drove into the parking lot.

i'm thinking; strippers, cocaine, techno dance music, wrestling midgets, flamable farts, bacon, and inflatable bounce houses.

come to find out my employer and i have very different definitions of "fun day". their definition is more similar to my definition of "hell".

today in the office cafeteria, there was free cake in honor of martin luther king's birthday. actually two cakes, chocolate cake on the left and a white cake on the right. each cake had it's own serving utensils and it's own plates.

seems a bit ironic. perhaps they should have had just one of those marbled cakes, both flavors swirling together and living in delicious harmony.

my initials were scrawled in thick black sharpie ink down the side of a mystery cardboard box placed under my desk. i broke tape and pulled the flaps aside to reveal a black leather travel bag. a gift from the company, recognition for 10 years of service.

the envelop contained a generic congratulatory card, adorned with the standard stock photograph of shaking hands. the inside was blank where a personalized note and signature might appear.

the box also contained an envelop marked "presentation tips". in the envelope was a palm sized card (accidently left in the box) intended for the presenter. the card (shown above) is a cheat sheet to aid the presenter's memory of the very special honoree's name and maybe the name of the company they work for.

i found tips 1 and 2 a bit ironic...

1. Plan ahead - set a specific time for the presentation. Know why the recipient is being honored.OR just scrawl the recipients initials on the cardboard box and shove it under his desk.

2. Invite the recipient's coworkers - ask one or two of them to be prepared to say a few words.OR let them discover it alone and celebrate in an ocean of friendless self pity.

ok, all that being said, i am grateful for management opting to shove it under my desk. an approach much preferred to the corporate modus operandi of gathering 20 or so intenesly disliked co-workers into a small conference room. commonly referred to as the 13 minutes of hell.

at 2:55pm the honoree pretends not to notice 20 people cramming into a conference room like circus clowns in a volks wagon beetle. one of the corporate cheerleader types is sent out to request your immediate presence in a "very important impromptu meeting". if the cheerleader is exceedingly clever they will drop the name of a current project when informing the honoree of the meeting.

upon entering the conference room, the honoree pretends to be surprised and amazed to find all of the people that were outside the conference room are now inside the conference room. shitty over frosted cake is served with the same plastic utensils used at last weeks baby shower for the office slut. no one passes on the cake, but everyone asks for "oh, ... just a little piece".

all pretend to care and make pathetic jokes about what a glutton for punishment the honoree must be for surviving 10 years. the event is scheduled to last 15 minutes but all are long gone by the 13 minute mark. everyone except the fat bastard who asks if the can take the remainder of the cake home to his 12 children.

upon finishing a 30 second impromptu jam session on his invisible kit, the drummer returned the sticks to their upright position, pointing skyward, tucked in an elastic headband, just above his ears. mounted on his head, the sticks resembled antenna.

the drummer sat silently and motionless waiting. many others also waited but were pretending not to. terminal c gate 18 was his concert hall and we were his captive audience.

the left antenna twitched slightly. he turned his head to the left, eyes unfocused. there was nothing to see. infinite rhythms pass though us unnoticed. microwaves, light waves, radio waves, electicity, the small rounded tips of the drummer's antenna sense them all. even more seemingly invisible, are transmissions from keith moon and john bonham. the drummer's brain cracks the transmissions and is inspired.

suddenly the antenna once again become drum sticks in his hands. he assaults the imaginary kit for 30 seconds. when it is over, he spins the sticks in his hands like a gunfighter in an old western and then returns them to their upright position, pointing skyward.

a losing lottery ticket lay at the bottom of my trash can.

each night the cleaning crew empties all waste baskets.

each morning the ticket is still there.

i believe the cleaning person is taunting me.

additional proof i work with pigs.

this potted plant is fed a steady diet of candy wrappers and scrap paper.

the new fangled coffee machine offers much more than coffee. It looks as if it came from the future and proudly stands 3 feet tall on the counter top. It's sleek black plastic front panel reflects an image of it's user. well, not the user as you may know him, but a future version of the user. an aged, paunchy, tired version of the user with a much rounder pumpkin like head.

i want to believe the distorted reflection is a result of the curved plastic panel, sort of like a fun house mirror. i fear that's not the case. the machine came from the future, it reflects the future.

i wonder if there is an older me in the future gazing longingly at a youthful me reflected in a strangly archaic coffee machine.

i have grown to hate this machine. i stand off to the side when using it so not to catch a glimpse of grumpy old man griff. the machine's only mitigating factor is that it makes a wicked good hot chocolate. i assume there was a quantum leap of hot chocolate technology in the 2020's.

passenger 24c, i don't hate you because you are fat, i hate you because the friction and heat between our thighs is causing our sweat to co-mingle in a way only lovers should experience.

passenger 25d, i don't hate you for your extraordinarily clean teeth. i hate you for thinking an airplane is a good place to bust out your dental floss and free the rotting flesh of the big mac meal from between your teeth.

passenger 23d, i don't hate you for the 27 second gaps in your breathing caused by a wicked case of sleep apnea. i hate you for making me fear you may die on this plane and possibly delay my arrival in dallas.

passenger 24c, i don't hate you for being randomly placed beside me. i hate you for not being the woman randomly placed in 23c that greatly resembles selma hyek and smells like a petite and fragile wildflower riding a spring breeze.

finally, passenger 24e, i don't hate you for your natural curriosity and interest in me, i hate you for constantly peeking at my sketch book attempting to read what i am writting andd wondering if i will write about you. fuck off you nosey bastard.

upon reviewing oodles and oodles of documentation at the client site, i found a document documenting the definition of the word document.

Document: A unitary collection of information intended primarily for human consumption. Documents typically have some sort of identifier that distinguishes the document from other documents, such as a filename or document number. Each document has an associated document type. Documents have a primary source form and possibly additional rendition forms.

i wish i could claim the brilliant writing as my own, but it is obviously the work of a technical writer who just realized the banality of his existence. a little gem buried in reams of paper waiting to be discovered.

passenger 26d used both a pink and yellow highlighter pens to mark passages in his spiritual self help book. he marked two or three lines per page.

i rudely watched from the seat next to him. i just had to know what little gems of knowledge were worthy of marking to read again and again. highlighting has always seemed alien to me. never in my entire life have i been moved enough to use a highlighter on a book i was not consuming for school or work.

the marked passages were about women. insight and understanding of how women should be treated. it was very sexist and spoke in generalities, as if all women were the same. many of the passages spoke of god and how he created woman (as if the author had consulted directly with god, the ultimate subject matter expert). the secrets in this book would educate him in a full proof method of successfully interacting with women.

later in the flight, i noticed 26d was brainstorming a list titled "rehearsal dinner attendees". the picture became clear. 26d will wed soon. soon the female he desires will be shackled to a man that reads manuals and listens to dr. laura rather than actually getting to know her.

good luck with all that.

here we are in seats 26d and 26e. both humans, both males - we are frighteningly similar down to our genetic code. Yet one small difference makes us more different than alike, he is a dumb ass.

first day back at the office from vacation.

157 emails. a few of the emails vaguely hint at project meetings in atlanta beginning this morning and ending late next week. i think i am supposed to be in atlanta yesterday.

fuck.

posting may be spotty at best.

to pass the time in meetings, it's fun to match the participants to a celebrity look alikes. today i met with peter brady (brady bunch), rusty (mad tv), herman munster (the munsters) and chucky (child's play). it makes recounts of the meeting much more entertaining.

so then chucky tells herman he is stuck in a paradighm and must think outside the box. Peter said there was no time, with implementation in only a week. rusty freaked, claiming standardized methodologies and processes might delay the project.

peter brady is kind of a prick.

airports are not high on my "acceptable places to poo" list. unfortunately, airplanes are lower on the list resulting in the following experience.

this particular airport bathroom had only 8 stalls, all occupied and stenchified. two factors that are usually enough to make me reconsider and accept the risk of a fecal impaction. instead, i waited.

the distinctive sound of a stall door latch opening, filled me with optimism. i glanced up and made eye contact with a man who looked much thinner than when he entered. we said nothing, but gave each other a nod of acknowledgement. i started to move towards the stall, but he just stood there. he was waiting.

he stood waiting like a chauffeur, holding open the stall door. waiting for me to sit so he could close the door behind me. unacceptable bathroom behavior.

i froze. my panicked mind raced. maybe this a common custom in this strange land (atlanta). maybe he left a monster poo in the bowl and wanted to see my reaction. maybe he wants to join me in the stall for a synchronized pooping event. maybe he is just a poo collector. maybe this is good, I don’t have to touch the germ infested door. maybe I need to tip him. is 15% adequate?

i was extremely wigged out by this odd behavior. time stopped, milliseconds seemed like hours

to my left and slightly behind me, i hear that distinctive latch sound again. another stall was freeing up. i did a 180 an nearly pushed the exiting man out of the way as i entered the new stall. i locked the latch behind me and wondered how long the toilet chauffeur continued to wait.

in the mind of a gold pinky ring wearing sales guy, this (pictured above) is a fully comprehensive, highly detailed blueprint for an internet portal containing in-depth content and multiple killer applets that will send the client over the moon.

so planned and detailed this is, it eliminates the need for any type of discovery or design phase. this is the key that allows us to "just build the fucker".

in my mind, this is a piece of shit scribbled on a bedside hotel scratch pad devoid of any ties to reality at 3am after a 14 martini, ass kissing bender with a client representative nick-named "the human sponge" that has absolutely no authority to make any spending decision over $50.

some how unbeknownst to me, within the next 48 hours, i will turn this piece of shit into a visually stunning highly usable and accessible internet portal containing fascinating in-depth content and multiple killer applets that load over a 28.8 in less than 2 second and will send the client over mars.

who the fuck hums?
a drop of sweat landed on my shoulder and soaked into my cotton shirt.
who the fuck hums on an airplane?
another droplet trickled down my shin pachinko style and into my sock.
who the fuck hums on an airplane that's been grounded for three hours?
eleven minutes ago the pilot lied for the sixth time telling us we would be flying in ten minutes.
can rhythmically challenged random notes be called humming?
planes don't fly and air conditioning doesn't work when the engines are off.
does she think i find her humming to be relaxing?

my only recourse is to begin farting.

everyone is wandering around the office wearing jeans today. i think it is some kinda charity fund raiser thingy. i don't know, i hate charities.

these people look very strange in jeans.

levi strauss would puke.

dear god,

remember last week when i said i needed to win the lottery? well, this week i really mean it. i can't take it here much longer.

if that is too much to ask, i would settle for a simple scratch off winner that could cover the cost of tequila and a shot gun.

thanks god, rock on.

sincerely,
griff (the one you sort of goofed up on)

doing some testing at work recently reminded me of a time several years ago...

i reviewed compiled notes submitted by testers on a computer based training course i had recently finished building. one tester (of 15) wrote "the screen went momentarily black and a text message claimed the fish were spawning, then returned to the course". this was far and away the most bizarre comment in 30 pages of notes. it was so crazy i just laughed and dismissed it as the comment of an insane person.

in the second round of testing a few days later, another tester had a similar comment. i spent several days researching this error and trying to duplicate it. team members were accusing each other of putting easter eggs in the code. unable to reproduce the error i gave up, and just prayed it would never show up after final release.

several months later i was reviewing the course and the fish began to spawn. i laughed for 3 days.

the courseware had a forward navigation button at the bottom right of the screen. coincidentally, one of our testing macs had the famous after darkswimming fish screen saver installed. the bottom right corner of the screen was a trigger area to start up the screen saver. the testers moved the mouse to the corner, pausing long enough to trigger the screen saver. as the screen saver loaded the text message about spawning fish would pop up. the tester would then panic and unknowingly move the mouse which would disable the screen saver before the fish began swimming across the screen.

recently our CEO was dismissed. when the news came down, laughter and song spontaneously erupted through out the cube farm.

the stock is moving upward and hearts are filled with helium.

i imagine this feeling is similar to the storming of the bastille in 1789.

several people here have informed me of the existence of my evil twin down the hall.

evil twin part 1, the unfortunate urinal event

one of my co-workers had a close encounter with my evil twin in the bathroom recently. the co-worker was standing at the urinal when he saw me (or so he thought) in his peripheral vision saddle up to the urinal next to him. assuming it was me and that there was no one else in the bathroom, he greeted the evil twin with a loud and extended "GRRRRRRrrrrrRRRIFF!!". evil twin stood quietly peeing. no response made the co-worker think that perhaps i was embarrassed and did not want to talk. they both continued to urinate in silence. it was not till they washed hands, that the co-worker realized it was not me. he said nothing. co-worker told me it was very embarrassing.

evil twin part 2, universes collide

the evil twin and i know of each others existence, but have never spoke. we look at the ground when passing in the halls. we respect our parallel universes and understand the importance of keeping them from colliding.

till today.

we walked towards each other, the hallway offered no turn offs or escapes between he and i. i tried to watch the floor, but glanced up only a few feet from him. he glanced up also. our eyes locked, we could not look away. i was looking into a mirror, an evil mirror. his mouth opened, "...grramph...".

i offered little in return, just sorta raised my eyebrows. we passed each other and kept walking.
i still am not sure what he mumbled, but it doesn't matter. he broke the silence. nothing good can come from this, we now share the same universe.

i think he is scheming some thing. i think a battle royale to the death for the griff identity is unavoidable. if you notice a slight change in the content of this blog, perhaps a touch of evil, you will know i have lost the battle.

after several years of wandering around this cube maze, i finally found the cheese. well, i am sad to report it is not actually cheese, due to budget constraints is an orange process cheese food substance.

the above picture was taken in the break room. it is 2 paper towels spread to cover shards of broken glass on the floor. it has been there for some time now.

wtf?

the time and effort put into foot sweeping the glass into a pile, finding a marker, scrawling the words on paper towel and covering the debris is probably greater than just sweeping the glass up.

the next time some one asks why our stock is so low, i will display this photo.

i now realize i am exerting too much effort at work. i have decided the walk all the way to the bathroom is unnecessary. now i just shit on the floor by my desk. i mark it with paper towel, that makes it ok.

i have also put too much effort into delivering quality solutions to our clients. today i just decided to hang paper towels on their monitors.

i and another waited for the elevator down. finally the bell chimed and the doors opened. i glanced down the hall. a suit was walking in our direction but he was a good 40 yards away. too far away to hold an elevator. i entered the elevator and pushed "g". the other guy entered behind me and held the "open door" button waiting for the suit to arrive.

we waited a long time.

when the suit finally entered the elevator the door holder tried to make small talk. it was a pathetic and embarassing attempt to schmooze with the suit. suit never thanked him and refused to be pulled into small talk. it was a long ride.

i wanted the puch door holder guy. why do peple live in fear of the suits? why do people kiss up to the suits? why aspire to be a suits?

word up to my peeps reprezentin' south cubeville. DONT FEAR THE SUITS!

sometimes i swear i still hear the screams of ex-employees coming from old dusty desolate cubes.

part of my job is to determine the direction of the creative services group to better this company.

what if i feel the best thing for the company would be to drop creative completely?

would it be wise to advise my own firing?

i just constructed a case study/success story to impress a potential client.

in the story, we brag about moving a former client from a keyboard based system to a mouse driven system.

man, we need some new success stories.

remember those brief two weeks of internet history when we were all millionaires and played foosball 10 hours a day? i just ran across the old desktop image i was using then.

the table is gone, the opponents no longer employeed here, but i am still the table soccer king.

the new ibm stinkpad laptop computer arrived only a few days before i would be needing it for a biz trip. i took it home to install some apps from cd. i noticed the cd drive had a little dvd logo. interesting, but i have to dvd's to try it out.

wait a second...i remembered, i do have one dvd.

over a year ago, a perfect mix of improper influencers (beer, late night television, wife sleeping, a telephone within arms reach, and a low low price) aligned. the result of this alignment was a purchase i can not explain (and probably shouldn't try). i am the not so proud owner of girls gone wild, episode 3. i am sure you have seen the late night commercials for these videos, they are the ones shot during mardi-gras when gravity is reversed and young women's shirts fly above their heads.

one would think that not owning a dvd player might detour the purchase of a dvd, but like i said, the influencers were strong and my mind weak. upon UPS delivery, my wife was less concerned about the content of the dvd than the fact i had purchased a dvd without a player. she was as perplexed as i was. with no player, the dvd was tucked away on a shelf and forgotten for a long time, til i saw that little dvd logo on the stink pad.

purely interested in only testing the dvd drive on the laptop, i inserted the dvd. it didn't work. being a mac guy i didn't know where to start troubleshooting. after 5 minutes of tinkering with no success i gave up and attended to some other things.

the next day i brought the stinkpad back to work for the net work administrator to install some stuff. she began working on the machine, i was very busy and sat with my back to her working on my desktop mac. she asked if she could use the cd drive to install software. i said "sure", not really paying attention to her.

"hey, that's odd, there is already a cd in the drive, what's this?..."

shit. my stomach flipped and dipped. i spun around in my chair so fast i nearly lost my balance. my face felt flushed and hot.

she pulled the cd out and held it up for me to see. it was the installation disc for adobe photoshop.

a large sigh released muscle tension and i suddenly felt like jello and slumped in my chair. "it's just photoshop" i said.

if you are one of the 8 people who saw me returning from the bathroom to my desk, and noticed the moisture spots on my pants, the spots were from the sink splash when washing my hands.

seriously.

when boarding the down elevator and some one asks "going down?", why do you laugh, that's not funny

when you see a co-worker in the bathroom and they say "fancy meeting you here!", why do you laugh, that's not funny

when the guy in the team meeting eyes your granola breakfast bar and says "did you bring enough for the whole class?", why do you laugh, that's not funny.

i am finished with laughter for the sake of being polite. laughs are precious and rare, i refuse to waste them on office humor and the people who spew it. taking it a step further, i will be using evil humor to ensure complete silence and squelch any chance for mundane office humor. it is my mission.

when boarding an elevator i will announce to it's passengers "i hope we don't plummet to our deaths in this tin box, i hate all of you and would rather not spend my dying moments with you assholes."

when recognizing a co-worker in the bathroom i will say "damn it, urinal 3 is mine, every one knows that, never use urinal three, what is wrong with you, if i ever catch you deflowering urinal 3 again, i swear to god, i will beat you like a red headed pinata! asshole."

when walking into the team meeting with my granola bar i will announce "hey smell my poop finger, i must have forgotten to wash after my morning crap session, it was a doozy. um, you want some granola, asshole?"

part 1

the tap attached to the coffee machine dispenses water directly piped in from hell. it's hotter than boiling, but still in liquid form (is that possible?). i find it useful for scorching out previous days of coffee sludge at the bottom of my mug.

today a man stood waiting and watching as i filled my 8oz mug with 3oz of hell water. he continued to watch as i moved over the sink, swirled the water about and dumped the coffee sludge, mixture down the drain.
 
"well that was a waste of hot water now, wasn't it?" angry man was very serious.

wtf? wasteful? more wasteful than all the cold tap water, dish soap, and paper towel i would have used to clean it? what? is hell suffering a water shortage? his comment was so confusing, i am still bothered by it every time i pour a cup of coffee.

addendum - i wrote the above text 2 months ago but never posted it because it seemed rather mundane (not that the mundane isn't a big player here at ultramiroscopic!). A few days ago, part 2 transpired. thought i should probably post it. a confrontation seems eminent and the homicide detectives might find the information helpful.

part 2

i stood at the coffee machine running the hot water tap into my sludge ridden mug. from behind, i heard feet enter the break room. the mug was full and i took a step toward the sink to dump it. i looked up and instantly recognized angry man. i said nothing. i quickly decided to not dump the hot sludge water into the sink. i feared another confrontation. i just pretended i actually wanted the steaming sludge water.

the mug sat on my desk for 2 hours before i dumped it into a potted plant. i feared he might still be in the break room.

why do i fear this man? what kind of pussy am i?

my boss and i coincidentally stood in the same line. both waiting to pay for a cup of coffee.

small talk led to a conversation about the status of a high profile project. boss showed complete disinterest in the project conversation, but played along.

boss handed the cashier money and a frequent consumer card. the cashier used a hole punch on the card. boss stepped aside but continued to pretend interest in the project status conversation.

I wondered why boss stood so close and continued to clutch the card. then i realized boss wanted me to scam a hole punch on the frequent consumer card.

me - "oh, hey why don't we get another punch on your card?!"
boss - "oh, great idea! thanks"

cashier gave me the skunk eye and punched the card. boss quickly disappeared, leaving the status conversation unfinished.

i now better understand boss's priorities and concerns. developing my career is somewhere below obtaining a free 8 oz coffee.

i think i will surprise boss with one of them 48 ounce jobs from 7-11 tomorrow. that should put me on the fast track.

conversation one 8:40 am
clueless project manager - will your tools integrate with html
me - tools?
cpm - yeah, the graphic ones?
me - photoshop, illustrator?
cpm - uh...yeah, i need to know if those will support our solution.
me - uh, yeah ... but can you?

conversation two 10:05
cpm - the sight map will have working navigation, right?
me - no, that's the wire frame.
cpm - oh, can i have that later today?
me - but the site map isn't finished.
cpm - oh, does that one have working navigation?

conversation three 1:25
cpm - can the mac read html files?
me - huh?
cpm - i want to make sure this mac thing doesn't slow us down.
me - oh, i see, yep the mac can read html. even a few gif files too.

conversation four 6:20pm
cpm - hey, this sitemap doesn't have working navigation!
me - see ya tomorrow.

the people in this meeting room believe i am creating some sort of staffing plan. but i am not, i am typing this. i would rather be urinating but i am a visitor here and have no security badge.

no badge, no reentry. badge = freedom. i am a prisoner.

so hear i sit, with the worlds smallest bladder about to split at the seams. i'd ask to borrow someones badge, but i have done that 4 times this morning, the last time only 15 minutes ago.

oh, and i have to poo too. the stress levels here are wreaking gastronomic havoc on my gutty works. audible havoc. i think someone is moving furniture in my belly.

i wonder if anyone has ever shit themselves in a meeting room surrounded by strangers.

i wonder if these people will one day say "remember that guy that came all the way up from texas just to shit in our meeting room?"

another will respond, "yeah, i remember, ...then he jumped out the window to his death."

"yeah, now THAT was funny."

this company is so stupid big, they really have no clue as to what i do. so, they send me places. expensive places. places where they have other people who have no real clue as to what i do. we all sit around, look at each other and wonder what i do.

i wonder how we make money.

perhaps there is a printing press in the basement.

i have developed a simple criteria to help decide when it is time to quit my job.

at what lottery jackpot amount would you quit your job?

when things are going good my answer is usually around a million.

when things start to slip, i calculate what i would need to start my own business, $200,000.

when things start to suck, i calculate what i would need to support the family till another job can be safely found, $50,000.

when things suck, i calculate what it would cost to move back into my parents, $5,000.

eventually, you realize the winnings from a 1 dollar scratch off card is enough motivation to quit. that is when you quit.

it is 6:30 pm, i am 2.5 hours into a 1 hour conference call with sgt. rock and the team of misfit toys. there is no imediate foreseeable end to this call. in some sick and distorted path of thinking, we have decided it would be best for the client if we do the design phase before the discovery phase. perhaps we could squeeze usability testing in before the discovery phase.

this project is doomed to suck ass and i just want to get off the phone.

the international association of angst ridden art directors (iaarad) has mandated the use of physical force as response to specific client requests.

the client request, "make it sexy, we need more sizzle" warrants a three stooges two finger eye poke.

the client statement, "I know,... use the "shaking hands" (one white, the other black) clip art!" warrants a swift punch to the groin area.

the client request, "can you make the logo spin (or rotate) in 3d?" warrants a boxing of the ears.

the client demand, "the logo needs to be bigger." warrants a wet willie followed by a titty twister.

the client statement, "maybe if you combined the cutting edge comp with the conservative comp..." warrants a double fisted wedgie.

the client statement, "I'm going to run this creative concept by carl our night shift custodian, he took some adult-ed art classes." warrants a bare handed disembowelment.

the client request, "can we go back to the way it was when..." warrants the use of a sack of door knobs about the head and face.

local law enforcement has been notified of these exceptions to the laws regarding assault and will not pursue legal action against any art director forced to execute any of the above actions.

i am working with an ex-military guy, project manager.

every small event on the project reminds him of a story. "hmm, this project time line reminds me of the time my men stormed the beaches of..."

meeting are scheduled and meeting agendas are in 24 hour military time.

i am quite sure in his mind i am the mamby pamby, tree hugging, bleeding heart libral, creative director, maggot faggot.

my entire existence here is dependent upon my corporate id (a crazy mix six of random letters and numbers) and a password. the id never changes, the password expires every couple months.

my brain ran out of ROM long ago, so i alternate between two passwords. one of the passwords i like and actually enjoy using. the second, i hate. it trips up my fingers like a game of keyboard twister.

the good one just expired, 2 months of misery ahead. it sounds like a small thing but it affects every aspect of my being and how my future forms in front of me. nothing good will happen.

The 8 year old boy made funny faces at the 2 year old boy. the younger boy giggled and pointed back at the older. the boys were having fun passing time in the customs line of the toronto airport.

The older boy looked to be east indian. His skin was golden brown, and his black hair was straight. his clothes and bags made it obvious he came from wealth.

the 2 year old was black. his nappy hair went in many different directions. his clothes looked to be hand-me-downs.

the boys could not look any more different from each other.

the parents of both boys ignored the children's actions and refused to acknowledge each others existence. watching the boys interact, i am once again reminded that hatred does not exist without teachers of hate.

over heard from a woman walking the toronto streets speaking very loudly into her cell phone;

"so now that we are married, he thinks he can f**k me up the a**."

hmmm, i don't remember anything like that in my vows.

a week or so ago, these sprouted downward from the ceiling. they have become a mystery here at the office, and have generated much speculation as to what they might be.

i believe they are ceiling nipples. everyone will know i am right when the milk begins dripping.

how great is that? fresh milk dripping into your cube free of charge. i wonder when i get my ceiling nipples.

the peter principle (people rise to their level of incompetence) is probably the greatest business theory ever developed. a few theories i have developed about this ridicules place.

urgent disappearance principle - the greater the urgency of a project, the more likely it will disappear completely.

waffling principle - wait 24 hours before executing orders from management, they will change.

milton bradley principle - it is a game of chutes and ladders. lying ladders climb upward, truth chutes tumble downwards.

weasel de jour principle - if you don't like your manager, wait five minutes, there will be a new one to hate.

wicked growler principle - the shitty coffee is ruining the bathrooms.

recently the team gave me both a birthday card an anniversary (work) card.

underwear is a central theme in both cards.

is this coincidence or are is my team obsessed with my underwear?

i knew i was bootylicious.

i caught only a glimpse of the person boarding as the elevator doors closed. crap. missing the elevator on the basement floor means up to a 5 minute wait for the next one.

i pushed the "up" button resigned to an extended wait. within 10 seconds i was startled by the ding and the elevator doors opening.

my first thought was that i must have pressed the button before the elevator ever departed.

i stepped into an empty elevator. how could it be empty!? not enough time had passed for the elevator to travel any where and return so quickly. where did the person go?

before reaching the 5th floor i had formulated a theory. the company has gone through some messy lay offs recently and some harsh treatment from the press for it. the company is now vaporizing employees in the elevators. clean, quiet, and simple. i was unaware vaporizing technology was so advanced.

elevators are strange places here.

i used to fear lay offs, now i fear the elevator.

i reached into the darkness under my desk feeling for the zip disk on top of my mac g3 case. my fingers encountered some thing very alien and unexpected.

quick and sudden surprised confusion, like when you take a sip of water expecting it to be milk. not sure what it is, but very sure of what it is not. in the briefest moment your brain recognizes the texture, weight, shape to be very wrong. my fingertips had detected some thing slight, some thing delicate yet brittle.

as i quickly retract my hand, i hear some thing gently but solidly land on the carpet floor. i froze, slightly scared to find out what it was. the creative department is dimly lit to reduce monitor glare. the space under the desks could be used for mushroom farming. i pull the microsoft schwag pen light from my drawer to investigate.

the zip disk is on top of the g3 case. whatever it was dropped behind the g3. half under my desk on hands and knees i flaunt ass crack to anyone who is interested. slowly sweeping the floor with the pen light i catch a glimpse of two bug eyes the size of peas. the flight instinct causes me to smash my head into the underside of my desk. i sat on the floor feeling stupid for scaring so easy. i pull the g4 aside to find a giant dragonfly.

he was magnificent. obviously he had been mounted by some one who knew what they were doing. perfectly preserved with his wings spread perpendicular to his body. it was the largest one i had ever seen, possessing a five inch wingspan. his segmented body was a cool metallic greenish blue. the extra long tail was necessary to offset the weight of the two large spherical eyes. he looked like a super futuristic evil helicopter of some sort.

it has been over two years since i found him. the prankster is yet to reveal himself. such an odd prank. why was the dragon fly mounted in such perfect form?

thanks to witold riedel for reminding me of this story! read about his find!

sometimes i confuse acceptable behavior at home with unacceptable behavior at work.

in preparation for an impending monster yawn, a production artist pushed back from his desk leaned back as far as his chair would allow. arms unfurled, eyes clamped shut, mouth opened wide.

standard protocol at home is to insert your finger in the open mouth and wait for the victim to unknowingly close the mouth and gag on the pranksters finger. usually hilarity ensues and the boys fall over in fits of laughter.

the gaping mouth looked huge to me, like i could fit my whole fist inside. the target was so great and so easy i forgot i was at work. instinctually my fingers curled into a fist, except for one, pointer. pointer stood straight and knew exactly what to do. he leapt forward and dove into the abyss.

contact with pointer and the closing mouth shocked me back to reality. sudden panic. realization i am standing at work with my finger in a co-workers mouth.

not good. soon expecting harassment charges to end my career.

3 hours into a 7 hour meeting. 22 minutes into what should have been a 30 second conversation about pup up windows, i considered shoving my sharpie ultra fine tip pen deep into my eye socket. anything to brake the monotony of the meeting.

the potential for permanent blindness and potential brain damage seemed like an acceptable risk at the time.

would the creator of the wicked growler left behind in stall 3 please return to dispose of it properly?

i understand mans basic desire to create and the pride you must have for such a creation. i am impressed/horrified by it as i am sure most others are also, but this grandstanding behavior can not be encouraged.

the olfactory impression is quite impressive in itself, the visual aspect (although quite spectacular) is simply over the top.

it can only lead to a competitive shit fest. now none of us really want that do we?

i walked into he breakroom to use the sink. the pepsi guy was restocking the pop machine. he was wearing shorts. tiny music came from his headphones. sunglasses perched atop his head. he was tan.

we glanced at each other. nothing was said, but much was communicated.

i thought, what a great job he has. listen to music all day, drive around town, wear shorts, get a tan while working, you and the cans no one to bother you, physical work that ends when the day ends, no long term projects with deadlines.

he thought of me, what a great job he has. hang out in a cush office all day, no traffic hassles, doesn't have to wear a stupid uniform, gets to interact with other people, no strained muscles, all the free coffee he can drink.

back at my desk, i did a monster board search for pepsi driver positions.

no rules apply to the men's room here, anything goes. common sense and etiqutte are no where to be found. we often share amazing potty stories, a co-worker related the following.

standing at urinal one he noticed urinal three guy was eating crackers. crackers balanced on the top of the urinal. snacking and pissing at the same time. shoving one after another into his cracker hole.

WTF?

i find this more amazing/disgusting/weird than palm pilot guy, who feels it necessary to tinker with his little pilot as he urinates.

the best thing about my recent business trip was the availability of Leinenkugel's. a beer i miss dearly since moving to texas.

as an added bonus, i found Kabooms, a toasted oat cereal in the form of small multicolored severed clown heads mixed with tiny marshmallows. the very first cereal i ever consumed as a child.

i sat in the hotel room eating bowl after bowl of kabooms, substituting leininkugel for milk. the ratio of one box per six pack is perfect.

after ripping the bedcover from the bed, i notice the phone message light flashing. how nice of my wife to leave a message for me before i even arrive!

push one, push star the voice message begins. the voice is female but not my wife's.

"damn it, where are you, why don't you call me back? i just wanted to let you know that carlos and iggy are looking for you. please, please, please call me back, shit!"

obviously the message was meant for the previous occupant. suddenly i realize how boring my life is. carlos and iggy have never come looking for me, and even if they did i doubt anyone will tell me that they are.

i re-listened to the message several times pretending it was for me.

the message became my obsession. who were these people and what exactly is going on. i invented hundreds of scenarios. perhaps carlos and iggy were big time cuban cigar dealers looking for their american connection. perhaps carlos and iggy were an older gay couple looking for the former occupant to claim his newly born puppy begat from their shar-pei, ginger snap. perhaps carlos santana and iggy pop were trying to find a drummer for their new co-operative recording together.

a guy named bob once looked for me, but no one called to warn me.

the absolute first thing you must do upon walking into your hotel room is to rip the top bedspread from the bed.

that thing never gets washed, and god only knows what has taken place on top of it. i have seen enough amateur porn on the internet to know porn amateurs never make it under the covers, every thing is done on top.

that thing is cootie infested.

i struggle to make it 7 minutes into espn sports center. 3 attempts to shut off the tv, i am outsmarted by the remote. my brain is wrecked.

i lie in the dark, trying to figure out when i must catch the shuttle to the airport. unable to make the calculation, i set the wake up call for 5am hoping that it all works out.

hotel pillows suck, i doubt the wake up call will be needed.

i had spent the week (or at least 90 hours of it) writing a sow (statement of work). absolute pure torture.

sometimes you live life other times you just exist.

the line to board my flight moved slowly. slow enough to watch a man be "randomly" selected for a body and bag check. security escorted him to a table only a couple yards away. Security was interested in his carry-on. his carry-on was a steel lock box with a cream colored rubberized coating. he was instructed to open it.

never have i seen this type of box used as a carry-on, very curious was i to know the contents. i thought perhaps a transplant organ of some sort. perhaps some green glowing urainium rods. perhaps stainless steel tubular canisters containing even more curious content.

he took his time finding the keys to the box, almost begging to attract a larger audience. completely engrossed, i would have refused to board the plane till this drama had fully played out.

my view was temporarily blocked, but the voice of security was easily heard. "you sure do like to keep your candy safe, don't you?” i immediately assumed that "candy" must be slang for drugs, or munitions. The line took a step forward. i saw the open box and it's contents.

clark bars and paper clips.

clark bars are probably the least dangerous of all candy bars (now a snickers is something to fear). even from a goodness perspective, clark bars hardly warrant being stored in a lock box. the four boxes of paper clips seem to be standard issue. they were stored in those plastic boxes with the latch so hard to open it usually result in a game of pick-up.

clark bars and paper clips, that was it. not even mcgyver could do anything with clark bars and paper clips. this would be a safe flight.

i recently went to the printer to pick up a document. the printer is shared by more people than you can shake a stick at.

an email rests face up and pushed to the side. obviously unclaimed for some time. i recognized the recipients name and decided to hand deliver it.

then i was drawn into the content of the email. it was from a woman other than his wife. she had enjoyed the pictures he sent. small icons printed on the page represented attachments. she was returning the favor.

shit, what do i do now?

return it to the printer and leave it to shock and amaze others? try and save him further embarrassment by hand delivering the email, pretending i did not read it (lame)? hand it to him with the old wink, wink, nudge, nudge? email him pictures of myself?

dear reader, what is the etiquette for such a situation?

i put it back on the printer and waited. i kept the printer under surveilence for several hours. sooner or later he would print something new and return to find both old and new pages. the suspense was both sickening and delightful.

as the great willie wonka once said "the suspense is killing me, I hope it lasts."

much later he came to collect. he looked at it, looked at it harder, both confused and horrified. he quickly shuffled the page into the freshly printed stack. he then looked both ways as if crossing a street. his head slightly tilted downward. he was looking for witnesses. i was cleverly hidden.

next time i an xeroxing several copies to plant in printer trays around the office for fun.

i wouldn't mind this job so much if i didn't have to show up every day.

sometimes i just want to build a giant pillow fort here and hide inside with a flashlight reading richie rich comic books.

on my way to visit someone about something ultimately unimportant, i bounced a small colorful super ball purchased from a gum ball type machine. when i arrived at her cubical, she saw the ball in my hand and asked what it was.

"a superball!" i continued, "for 25 cents, the cost to fun ratio is..."

before i could finish she barked "zero?!"

what a joyless person. how does one become so joyless?