The Graveyard of Broken Technology

The countertop across from my work area has evolved into a graveyard of broken computer parts. It's like being seated across from a Dell cemetery.

Call me weird, whatever, but this mount of crap ass monitors, hard drives, keyboards, headsets, mouse clickers, as well as whole other hosts of random wires, technical doodads, and computer whatchafuckit's, does absolutely nothing to improve my sour disposition throughout the regualr work day. There’s just something fundamentally wrong about being expected to work beside a mound of shit and it's bound to make one more than a little discombobulated while laboring. It’s like working in the Death Star’s trash compactor. I’m forever waiting for that trash monster to suddenly come out from nowhere and grab me by the legs and drag me kicking and screaming under my desk to my ultimate demise. And what’s even more disconcerting than that – is that some days I even pray for it!

It makes me feel like something that's been left out for scrap by the side of the road. Now I know how my first 1976 Chevolet Tornado felt. Is this supposed to motivate me?

Now, I agree, I don’t know particular computer parts from a cow’s asshole*, but I do know broken shit when I sees broken shit. And this shit is broke! What? Are they waiting for somebody to miraculously build them another super machine from the abandoned bits so that they can one day proudly proclaim: “Number Five Is Alive”?

Are we supposed to be hoping that the computer fairies will come during the night and restore these particular broken-ass computers back to their original working order? Because this sure doesn't feel like the 'Shoemaker and the Elves' here!

Or are they juicy offerings to prevent the vengeful wrath of some All-Mighty office god that I don’t even know about yet? Is that what those guys are always praying for in that secluded back room? Should I be more worried than I am now? Thank God I'm not a virgin**!

I mean, honestly, is this a professional office place or fucking ‘Sanford & Son’? All that’s missing from the scene at this moment is some old graying black guy in the corner bitching about his bad ticker.

I would love to show some true “business initiative” and just start throwing all this useless shit out but I’m afraid I could unwittingly trigger the rise of the machines who would then begin Armageddon and the ultimate global extermination of mankind. Perhaps that's not really my team manager but an artificial organism…living tissue stretched over a metal exoskeleton sent by Skynet to eradicate my productivity levels.

Now THAT’S bound to be a shitty workday! That's all I need to see a regenerated cyborg killing machine rise out from the trashcan, take aim at my forehead, and mutter: “Hastas La Vista, Employee 4884”.

I know, I know. I’m bored. But it still pisses me off.

* In fact, the total amount of accumulated computer knowledge that I have managed to acquire in my 33 years of existence on planet Earth would probably only still equate to those primates poking at the upright obelisk in ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’.

** The verdict is still out on that one. The current claim by the author is that he has joined a born-again celebacy cult and is using his stored up sexual energy to meditate on solving the mathematical formula for turning broccoli into gold.