The @-Work Nettwerk
Mundane Tasks and Capitalist Pig-Dog Commands

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Volume Forty-Nine: Creed Sucks

Todays Golden Cubicle goes to Jason Wills, of Toronto, Canada:
**Last night I dreamt that the waving Microsoft "It looks like you are writing a letter; Do you need help" icon asked me if I needed some work done on my hard drive. Needless to say, I woke up very sweaty.**

Our annual institution wide holiday party was yesterday. All the same characters were there: The cranberry-pineapple-orange-rum punch, and the balloon man with the bunny and the freakish elf on a unicycle. Only this year it wasn't a "unicycle," it was a "reindeer"--despite the fact that it had a plush cow head on it. Also a change this year. . .instead of asking if she could ride beneath my legs, the elf asked if I needed a "ride on the reindeer."

In response to some vandalism in my buildings elevator, the landlord installed a video camera. Within six hours the camera had been stolen, and the "In Case of Emergency, Use Stairs" stick man had a penis.

I got an email in my hotmail account this morning titled "Bats in Cracks," and it didn't involve flying mammals....

I am buying a new pair of shoes on my way home tonight.

This morning as I was getting ready for work, and following my normal routine of watching the weather on FOX 5, I saw a vision of George W. Bush's profile in the western half of the United States map. Needless to say, it has been a rather disturbing morning.

Yes, I sound like a woman on the phone. Yes, I play along, and yes, men hit on me all the time for my voice. Sometimes my voice is sweetly observed as "pleasing," and sometimes, if they're nasty, it's "sexy." But today was new. Even after I gave my name, they still assumed I was a woman, and I was stuck referring to myself in the third person when he brought up our conversation from yesterday, which he understood was with a man, the "subscription manager." I never want to confuse or embarrass anyone, so I didn't combine these identities for his humiliation or pleasure, which god help these old men, it could've been both. Given my interest in identity and communication, this quick and awkward discussion has left me breathless. My 52 year-old bosses response to an American-flag ribbon holiday card: "Looks like the Ryan Company got a little patriotic this year. 'God Bless America', gag me with a spoon!"

Today, I am able to forgive all wrongs done to me in the past few months at work. My supervisor, upon handing me new red pens and realizing I had nowhere to store them, quickly returned with a mug with this Marge Simpson quote on it: "If I cannot bowl I do not want to be part of your revolution." It's occurring to me right at this moment that I'm easy.

When it comes to candles, you usually get what you pay for.

Today I received a batch of October 2001 bills in the mail, turned a mysterious shade of dingy yellow by whatever irradiation anthrax-killing procedure the postal service is using. I also offered a colleague advice on dealing with a pot-smoking teenage daughter.

I've been at my new internship for a month. I was motivated first, but now I'm as low as I can get. Today I stretched my arms, legs, neck, shoulders all while I was sitting down. It took me 30 minutes to complete the routine. I determined that if I keep doing it 6 times a day, it will be time to go and I'll be flexible enough to blow myself.

My boss just said to me, "I've got to get this finished today, and I think I am going to finish it today, unless you have a heart attack. How are you feeling?"

While checking my bank account balances online at work (which I often do whilst counting days to the next payday), I noticed my credit card percentage rate dropped 1%.

If you are doing your business on the toilet at work, and suddenly the bowl explodes and there is shit all over you and the walls and the floor, the only thing really to do is wait until a good friend comes in, ask her to get your coat, wipe up what you can, quickly walk back to your office, send an email to your supervisors saying you are suddenly very ill, and take a cab home with the window open. This hasn't happened to me, but I feel like I ought to tell you what to do in case it should happen to you.

www.menwholooklikekennyrogers.com

Today I went to water the plant that has been on my desk for a while when I realised it had been dead for about a week. So I threw it out.

Work sucks when you smell like cat piss.

Today I finished work early and browsed Web sites for surfing vacations. I found one site with a great photo of a dog going surfing, so I saved it to my hard disk and made it my desktop background.

The man in the office next door to mine tried to deep-fry a turkey in a huge pot on his fire escape for Christmas dinner. The Turkey caught fire, and his vinyl siding started to melt, so he kicked it off the fire escape, sending the flaming, deep-fried turkey careening into the front lawn, where it came to a stop in a bush. And yes, a Christmas miracle…the bush began to burn. www.baltimoremaryland.com

Volume FIFTY: Not a Girl, Not Yet a Nettwerk

Today's Golden Cubicle Goes to Tim, of Kansas City:

**My office fax machine sits on top of the filing cabinets. Today I sat cursing the fruits of a Liberal-Arts Education as I filed "m's." Sometime between "Malloy" and "Mendoza" the fax machine started ringing, and printed out yet another fax advertisement. This one gave me a moment's pause. It was an ad for **americastoner.com.** It took me quite a while to figure our what they were selling. It makes a big difference where your mind puts the space between words that are joined together. I read it: america / stoner.com and thought it was maybe an add for a subversive underground magazine or something. Then the stark boring reality hit me. It was americas / toner.com. That made more sense for an insurance office. Sadly, when I showed my boss the fax, he immediately said americas / toner.com. Even after some prompting he was unable to even imagine that itsaid anything else. I now understand why we harbor such unspoken animosity towards each other.

P.S. Later when I was filing "W's" I ran across the name Weedin. It made me think about weed. And then americastoner.com. That made me smile. That and the fact that when you are on "w" you only have three more letters to go. Almost nobody has names that start with "x" so its really like you only have two letters to go. "Y" and "z" have about half the normal amount of names so really, once you hit "w" you pretty much only have one letter to go.**

www.hatsofmeat.com

If I hear one more person say "metadata" in this particular way I'm going to lose my mind. I am perfectly capable of tolerating "METT-a-DAT-a" but the more nasal "MAY-ta-DAT-a" makes the corners of my eyes twitch and is bound to set off a seizure if repeated too many times. I had better brace myself for the afternoon staff meeting.

Today my boss had me swing by the pharmacy and pick up her estrogen supplements. I thought, "Hmm, perhaps we know each other too well." Then I remembered the day we discussed Pap smears for about an hour, and decided *that* was the day we crossed the line.

Today at work I got an e-mail from Ronald Reagan. I want to write back and sign my e-mail "Casper Weinberger" or "Ed Meese," but I think the dude's name is actually Ronald Reagan!

Today some freak got in the elevator and leant against the panel with all the floor numbers and made me 5 minutes late.

I've alienated a woman I work with by telling her that Lightning Crashes is undoubtedly Live's worst song and in fact sounds just like Creed.

If you are really bored it is good to drink a lot of water. Firstly, you get to go to the kitchen a lot to fill up your glass and then you also get to make a lot of trips to the bathroom.

I'm wearing a t-shirt today that says, "I'm a sex pervert." in japanese. It has a smiley face under it. Nobody has any idea what it says otherwise it might be an HR issue.

Today on the way to work I saw some guy give a homeless man a $100 bill. At first I thought how great. Then I realized he was with some blonde and he was just trying to impress his date from the night before.

I came into work and the network was completely shutdown as well as access to the internet. After an hour of non-productivity the entire staff congregated in the conference room. The CFO informed us of "changes" taking place and that we were going to break up into two smaller groups to discuss them. We were handed sealed envelopes with our names on them as we left the conference room. After opening the letter it said "Glass Conference Room." I scurried back to my office to get a pen where I ran into Darla and Pat whose letters said "Go to Dennys." Needless to say I went to the conference room and got laid-off. I took a large box of those thin wooden glider toy panes on my way out. Then I got drunk.

I have been off work sick for several weeks. This is the email I received from my superior: "Please come back as soon as you can! The photocopiers are both broken! I had to type up an agenda and the headers and footers were wrong: all wrong! The page numbers have minds of their own! I don't even know what Excel is: what is it?? What is Access? Do you think we need a Database Manager? We're not coping! Please come back! Hope you are feeling better!"

Anatomy of a hangover - the workday:
Arrived an hour and a half late. Surfed the internet. Peed twice. Stared blankly. Read a magazine. Shat. Vomited in the office toilet. Felt embarassed when someone said the bathroom smelled like vomit. Went home and took a nap. Came back. Stared blankly. Drooled onto keyboard. Went home again. Nappped.

I went down the hall to the 5th floor bathroom, and I found a fake/prop arm that was bloodied and dismembered and one of those dred lock rasta wigs next to the door.

Transcript of an actual conversation I had with Hospital Security last week:
Wes - Good morning, construction office.
Security - Yeah, this is security, up front... we had a contractor come in here looking for keys... said he needs to get into a room in the basement.
Wes - Do you know which contractor that was, specifically?
Security - (hand over receiver, shouting to someone else) - Wayne, do we know who that was? (back on the line) - No, they didn't say.
Wes - Okay, then do you know which room downstairs they needed to get into?
Security - (again, shouting to someone else) - Wayne, did they say which room? (back on the line) - No, they didn't say which room that was.
Wes - Right. Well, uh, are they still there by any chance? Can I talk to them?
Security - No, they just came in and told us they were locked out. Then they left.
Wes - Right. Well, if I see them, I'll get someone to let them in. Okay?
Security - Great. Thanks. (hangs up)
Wes - (sighs)