Notes From the Ground Zero at Corporate Hell (Part III)
Well, ‘Corporate Hell’ has a new face of evil; the dreaded “Layoff”. I am now faced with the possibility at work that I may in fact be laid off soon. Uh-oh. The Corporate Bell tolls for thee…
But what will become of the grandiose lifestyle that I have become accustomed to? I’ll be reduced to dancing outside Tim Horton’s for spare change, my cat will be eating run-of-the-mill kitty kibble, my precious waistline will diminish away *. It will be a real shame if I can no longer afford the entire Boston Philharmonic to perform Beethoven’s ‘5th Symphony’ with me in the bathroom each time I take a dump (the acoustics are incredible!). What an enormous cultural leap backwards that will be for me. Oh, woe is me!
The writing was on the wall all but we never noticed. There were signs all around us for those that were observant enough to pick up on the dastardly omens. Surely the fact that that there are both Coke and Pepsi products for sale in the same cafeteria vending machine, and an Aquafina Water vending machine at that, was a sure definite sign that Corporate Armageddon was upon us. The dreaded ‘Four Managers of Apocalypse’ are riding down on our wretched blue-collar asses and you can actually hear the gulps of realization resound in the throats of the lowly office terminal monkeys slaving away in their cubicles. The locusts are just around the corner!
Soon, vultures will be picking at our bones as we stand withering from exposure in line outside the Unemployment Office. The very air permeating the building smells like the entire call center has taken a collective shit in their business casual khakis.
Motivating yourself to come to work now is like trying to psyche yourself up to go on vacation into the Cambodian ‘Killing Fields’. It does not help that the person working across from me today looks like Dith Pran sitting there with his headset on, unexcitedly making Courtesy Calls with all the lively enthusiasm of an old man pissing in a public urinal. If anybody were to actually wear a red headscarf into work today I would probably perform the ‘Five-Point-Palm-Exploding-Heart-Technique’ on myself then and there and get it over with! I have an easier time motivating myself to eat dogshit these days.
I can’t believe that after two years of productive employ with my company that I’m back competing with the disgruntled single mom’s, the sociopaths, the right-wing conspiracists, the born-again religious wackos; as well as every other nutbar, wackjob and jagoff that happens to walk in off the street looking for directions.
We should have observed the signs. The vending machine ceasing to be restocked regularly, the ice-cream machine arriving in September, the crotchety old biddy across the aisle from me who bitches endlessly about the settings on her desk swivel chair has being in an uncharacteristically good mood lately. Shit, when are frogs going to begin raining from the sky?
It always amazes me the reactions of people when faced with financial uncertainty. It’s kind of looks like a cross between a constipated McCaully Culkin and Rodney Dangerfield.
I am astounded when I am told that: “it is in my best interests to get laid off”. Huh? I guess I can understand the rationale to a certain standpoint; getting paid %55 of your average yearly income to sit at home on the couch, woofing down mini-breakfast donuts and watching Ellen DeGeneres ride livestock around the studio audience. Well that’s all fine and fucking dandy; but I can’t even live on %100 of my yearly income so that’s probably not in my best interests.
Shit, before you know it I’ll be using my newly acquired Tupperware containers to house and raise chinchillas in my apartment for their furs, or I’ll be collecting bottles and cans out of the garbage bins at bus stops. Maybe I can pimp out my cat as a sex slave to the other neighborhood felines. “Time to earn your keep, Furball! And don’t forget: NO KISSING!”
Basically this whole corporate downsizing horseshit at work has me as anxious as an unarmed Ted Nugent at a Greenpeace Rally; and judging by the moods of everybody around me, it’s going to be a hell of race to the nearest Clock Tower at the end of our last shift. Perhaps the rooftops were all booked up in advance already with anticipation of these pending layoffs and inevitable pent-up urges to begin picking off your co-workers with a deer rifle as if you were on a weekend turkey shoot.
Whatever. So long as I don’t end up selling circus tickets over the phone on behalf of local Fire Fighters or attempting to collect donations for the ‘March of Dimes’; raking in just enough income on my weekly paychecks to be considered as my very own ‘March of Nickels’.
I wonder if I qualify for special “Cat Support” or something?
* Although, maybe a forced “You-Can’t-Eat-What-You-Can’t-Afford” diet based on current financial restrictions may actually not be at all a bad thing.
But what will become of the grandiose lifestyle that I have become accustomed to? I’ll be reduced to dancing outside Tim Horton’s for spare change, my cat will be eating run-of-the-mill kitty kibble, my precious waistline will diminish away *. It will be a real shame if I can no longer afford the entire Boston Philharmonic to perform Beethoven’s ‘5th Symphony’ with me in the bathroom each time I take a dump (the acoustics are incredible!). What an enormous cultural leap backwards that will be for me. Oh, woe is me!
The writing was on the wall all but we never noticed. There were signs all around us for those that were observant enough to pick up on the dastardly omens. Surely the fact that that there are both Coke and Pepsi products for sale in the same cafeteria vending machine, and an Aquafina Water vending machine at that, was a sure definite sign that Corporate Armageddon was upon us. The dreaded ‘Four Managers of Apocalypse’ are riding down on our wretched blue-collar asses and you can actually hear the gulps of realization resound in the throats of the lowly office terminal monkeys slaving away in their cubicles. The locusts are just around the corner!
Soon, vultures will be picking at our bones as we stand withering from exposure in line outside the Unemployment Office. The very air permeating the building smells like the entire call center has taken a collective shit in their business casual khakis.
Motivating yourself to come to work now is like trying to psyche yourself up to go on vacation into the Cambodian ‘Killing Fields’. It does not help that the person working across from me today looks like Dith Pran sitting there with his headset on, unexcitedly making Courtesy Calls with all the lively enthusiasm of an old man pissing in a public urinal. If anybody were to actually wear a red headscarf into work today I would probably perform the ‘Five-Point-Palm-Exploding-Heart-Technique’ on myself then and there and get it over with! I have an easier time motivating myself to eat dogshit these days.
I can’t believe that after two years of productive employ with my company that I’m back competing with the disgruntled single mom’s, the sociopaths, the right-wing conspiracists, the born-again religious wackos; as well as every other nutbar, wackjob and jagoff that happens to walk in off the street looking for directions.
We should have observed the signs. The vending machine ceasing to be restocked regularly, the ice-cream machine arriving in September, the crotchety old biddy across the aisle from me who bitches endlessly about the settings on her desk swivel chair has being in an uncharacteristically good mood lately. Shit, when are frogs going to begin raining from the sky?
It always amazes me the reactions of people when faced with financial uncertainty. It’s kind of looks like a cross between a constipated McCaully Culkin and Rodney Dangerfield.
I am astounded when I am told that: “it is in my best interests to get laid off”. Huh? I guess I can understand the rationale to a certain standpoint; getting paid %55 of your average yearly income to sit at home on the couch, woofing down mini-breakfast donuts and watching Ellen DeGeneres ride livestock around the studio audience. Well that’s all fine and fucking dandy; but I can’t even live on %100 of my yearly income so that’s probably not in my best interests.
Shit, before you know it I’ll be using my newly acquired Tupperware containers to house and raise chinchillas in my apartment for their furs, or I’ll be collecting bottles and cans out of the garbage bins at bus stops. Maybe I can pimp out my cat as a sex slave to the other neighborhood felines. “Time to earn your keep, Furball! And don’t forget: NO KISSING!”
Basically this whole corporate downsizing horseshit at work has me as anxious as an unarmed Ted Nugent at a Greenpeace Rally; and judging by the moods of everybody around me, it’s going to be a hell of race to the nearest Clock Tower at the end of our last shift. Perhaps the rooftops were all booked up in advance already with anticipation of these pending layoffs and inevitable pent-up urges to begin picking off your co-workers with a deer rifle as if you were on a weekend turkey shoot.
Whatever. So long as I don’t end up selling circus tickets over the phone on behalf of local Fire Fighters or attempting to collect donations for the ‘March of Dimes’; raking in just enough income on my weekly paychecks to be considered as my very own ‘March of Nickels’.
I wonder if I qualify for special “Cat Support” or something?
* Although, maybe a forced “You-Can’t-Eat-What-You-Can’t-Afford” diet based on current financial restrictions may actually not be at all a bad thing.
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