Notes From the Ground Zero at Corporate Hell (Part IV)
(Dedicated to X-Nem for the blatant ripoff of his good idea.)
So today begins the next chapter in my employment at Corporate Hell. Today I interview for another position with our twin Corporate Hell site that occupies the entire West Wing of our building; "same horseshit, different horse" if you ask me. At least they are potentially willing to rescue me from the looming Pogie Line and rehire me on a fulltime basis to continue working the shovel end of their shitty business.
The real exciting part is that I get to come and go through the front doors (for the first time since that initial fateful day I first lumbered into this ‘Pit of Despair’ two years ago) like any other normal, dignified, self-respecting individual instead of having to walk around the building and use the back door by the dumpsters. What a treat! I haven’t felt so empowered since Steven Segal’s big pro-environment, anti-industry spiel at the end of ‘On Deadly Ground’; that is to say: "Whoopee-fucking-doo". Only this time, instead of a whole rogue squadron of evil flunkies, I’m the only one getting judo-chopped square in the schiznits.
It was fun to see the looks of shock from my corporate compadres as they witness me passing through those front doors; they are much like those same anxious looks you see on the faces of the prisoners during the prison break scene at the beginning of ‘The Running Man’ as that one, lone, desperate prisoner makes his premature break for the camp's perimeter with that armed explosive still around his neck: “Terry! Don’t do it! The perimeter is still ACTIVATED!” Hopefully, my head won't explode like an overripe melon. I can also feel the sudden sucking on the back of my neck from the collective intake of air from my gasping co-workers as I make my way through those front double glass doors like I entering a cowboy entering a cyber-saloon after a long ride.
However, there still remains a part of me that feels like the old cur dog whose master has taken him for a long drive to the country with his gun. I can’t help but slightly feel as if I’m being intentionally misled here somehow, like there are two beefy guys in balaclavas and power ties on either side of those doors laying in wait to jump me as I pass through.
After touring the neighboring call center that I am transferring to, I realize exactly how sterile and stunted my current work environment really is. In fact, it would be like comparing the warmth and ambiance of something like Disneyland to that of a Polish salt mine. It’s ‘Shangri-fucking-La’ over there! It’s true what they say: “Go West, young man!”
They have movie posters on the walls, hip advertisements in the bathrooms, colorful banners and tapestries hanging from the ceiling, electric heaters in the Smoker’s Pit, red upholstered swivel chairs, and even a ‘Gallery of Stars’ decorating the hallway entranceway to the work floor. Wow, it’s like taking a tour in high school of a college campus during Homecoming. I’m waiting for lingerie clad beauties to come shrieking out from behind closed doors wildly swinging feather pillows with pure delicious abandon and guys doing bucket bongs on the cafeteria floor. There are even people working here with dreadlocks! How cool is that? The seats look plusher, the cubicles look less constricting, the walls seem brighter, the vending machine cuisine looks fresher, the office memos look more chipper, and I will even wager that the kettle boils faster too.
So anyways, it looks now like I will be abdicating my position here at my current Corporate Hell as I move on to greener pastures at another similar Corporate Hell. Well at best, I’m moving from one dried up patch of scorched earth to another ~ WOO-HA! All that will be left of my two year employ here in this wasteland will be the little notched marks on my cubicle wall that I etched out each day to keep track of my time served.
I wonder what Dr. Leaky would think if he were ever to unearth this old work space of mine as part of some future archaeological dig a thousand years from now? What kind of a photograph of Corporate History will be recreated from the remaining kitty calendar and dog-eared work manuals at my work desk?
“Here we have uncovered an exceptionally preserved specimen of an early office hominid; or ‘Lackey” as we’ve nicknamed him. Note the predominantly hunched spinal column, pronounced forehead, and sunken eye sockets. You can easily tell he met his end due to a severely crushed spirit by examining the large tracks down the sides of his face where he probably cried to himself for eight hours a day.”
Soon, I expect a huge black obelisk to come and plant itself in the middle of my work aisle so that I can poke it inquisitively with the remains of yesterday’s lunch.
So today begins the next chapter in my employment at Corporate Hell. Today I interview for another position with our twin Corporate Hell site that occupies the entire West Wing of our building; "same horseshit, different horse" if you ask me. At least they are potentially willing to rescue me from the looming Pogie Line and rehire me on a fulltime basis to continue working the shovel end of their shitty business.
The real exciting part is that I get to come and go through the front doors (for the first time since that initial fateful day I first lumbered into this ‘Pit of Despair’ two years ago) like any other normal, dignified, self-respecting individual instead of having to walk around the building and use the back door by the dumpsters. What a treat! I haven’t felt so empowered since Steven Segal’s big pro-environment, anti-industry spiel at the end of ‘On Deadly Ground’; that is to say: "Whoopee-fucking-doo". Only this time, instead of a whole rogue squadron of evil flunkies, I’m the only one getting judo-chopped square in the schiznits.
It was fun to see the looks of shock from my corporate compadres as they witness me passing through those front doors; they are much like those same anxious looks you see on the faces of the prisoners during the prison break scene at the beginning of ‘The Running Man’ as that one, lone, desperate prisoner makes his premature break for the camp's perimeter with that armed explosive still around his neck: “Terry! Don’t do it! The perimeter is still ACTIVATED!” Hopefully, my head won't explode like an overripe melon. I can also feel the sudden sucking on the back of my neck from the collective intake of air from my gasping co-workers as I make my way through those front double glass doors like I entering a cowboy entering a cyber-saloon after a long ride.
However, there still remains a part of me that feels like the old cur dog whose master has taken him for a long drive to the country with his gun. I can’t help but slightly feel as if I’m being intentionally misled here somehow, like there are two beefy guys in balaclavas and power ties on either side of those doors laying in wait to jump me as I pass through.
After touring the neighboring call center that I am transferring to, I realize exactly how sterile and stunted my current work environment really is. In fact, it would be like comparing the warmth and ambiance of something like Disneyland to that of a Polish salt mine. It’s ‘Shangri-fucking-La’ over there! It’s true what they say: “Go West, young man!”
They have movie posters on the walls, hip advertisements in the bathrooms, colorful banners and tapestries hanging from the ceiling, electric heaters in the Smoker’s Pit, red upholstered swivel chairs, and even a ‘Gallery of Stars’ decorating the hallway entranceway to the work floor. Wow, it’s like taking a tour in high school of a college campus during Homecoming. I’m waiting for lingerie clad beauties to come shrieking out from behind closed doors wildly swinging feather pillows with pure delicious abandon and guys doing bucket bongs on the cafeteria floor. There are even people working here with dreadlocks! How cool is that? The seats look plusher, the cubicles look less constricting, the walls seem brighter, the vending machine cuisine looks fresher, the office memos look more chipper, and I will even wager that the kettle boils faster too.
So anyways, it looks now like I will be abdicating my position here at my current Corporate Hell as I move on to greener pastures at another similar Corporate Hell. Well at best, I’m moving from one dried up patch of scorched earth to another ~ WOO-HA! All that will be left of my two year employ here in this wasteland will be the little notched marks on my cubicle wall that I etched out each day to keep track of my time served.
I wonder what Dr. Leaky would think if he were ever to unearth this old work space of mine as part of some future archaeological dig a thousand years from now? What kind of a photograph of Corporate History will be recreated from the remaining kitty calendar and dog-eared work manuals at my work desk?
“Here we have uncovered an exceptionally preserved specimen of an early office hominid; or ‘Lackey” as we’ve nicknamed him. Note the predominantly hunched spinal column, pronounced forehead, and sunken eye sockets. You can easily tell he met his end due to a severely crushed spirit by examining the large tracks down the sides of his face where he probably cried to himself for eight hours a day.”
Soon, I expect a huge black obelisk to come and plant itself in the middle of my work aisle so that I can poke it inquisitively with the remains of yesterday’s lunch.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home