Thanks! Glad you liked it and didn’t take it too seriously.
Journal, Diary, & Blogging / THE BOREDOM OFFICE
With every pore I just want to write, to make people laugh . . .
But now in UK land it’s Monday morning and the weekend is dead and buried – although it IS party time for the worms.
Another lonnnngggg week awaits.
Another five-day stretch of work.
Sure, work is not fun – otherwise it would be called ‘fun’, not ‘work’ – yet there is nothing in the world longer than a week of work. Except my private bits obviously, they’re longer than the Grand Canyon under a microscope (a huge joke for our friends in Arizona).
For those sex kittens at college or uni, let me explain. You have NO idea what working in an office full of idiots is like. How they put with me, I’ll never know. It is stressful. For me, it’s stressful because I work as a computer nerd in an office full of male computer nerds. Yup, that’s right, no men as in ZERO women.
In my last 8 hours at work, on Friday, guess how many women I talked to?
Go on, guess.
Go on! Yes, that includes you at the back with the big nose.
Zero.
Zero women.
As in less than one.
Nil. Zip. GW Bush braincell count.
Can you imagine what this is like? When men are together millions of years of tearful evolution drip away to reveal Neanderthal creatures who’s only instincts are fight, mate and (British) football. Can you imagine what it feels like to be surrounded by the kind of men who try to fart the national anthem because they think it’s sooo funny? Men who talk about football and nothing else? A load of guys who think throwing rubber toy footballs around the air-conditioned is funny?
It’s painful! Especially when one hits you.
My pain is worse than revision, death and tax collectors.
Worse than all the floods, earthquakes and Star Trek conventions you can imagine.
Worse than being stuck in an elevator JUST when you realise someone has left you a personalised eggy fart.
Worse than George Bush being president for another 100 years.
No, wait, it’s not quite that bad. Sorry. But it IS damn close I can tell you.
How fair is this?
Those gorgeously seductive and soft creatures we call women comprise 52% of the population yet I am forced to work with the uglier 48% of the population, the ones WITHOUT legs and cheekbones and perfume.
And it’s even more annoying for little old me because I am working as a secret Dilbert IT slave, writing complex technical documents about complex technical systems without laughing. To be fair, I DO try to subvert the system from within – mainly by making grammatical errors admittedly, but hey, it’s still subversion. So you see, dear Internet searching machine, nobody but YOU knows the truth. Nobody but you knows that I am an aspiring writer sucked into the greasy bowls of office life because I HAVE to cater for life’s prosaic events – the eating of food, the paying of electricity bills, the scraping of excrement from my shoes – just so I can survive to write these blogs. Sure, I don’t need to do the scraping to write these blogs, that’s just for fun.
Working in an office when the only thing I want to do is write is terrible . . . well, okay, I want to drink beer too. But do you know how much working in an office hurts? Well, okay, I want to drink beer AND talk to pretty women, so yes, the only thing I want to do is write, drink beer AND talk to pretty women, preferably simultaneously while not wearing too much.
But do you realise how much this hurts? I admit it’s mainly when I bang my head on the wall after six beers, but whoever came up with the idea of working in an office should be shot in the head. Twice. Then stabbed for good measure. And maybe drowned too. And run over? Shot again? Any takers? You Yanks have 3.78 handguns each, right? (Does that also mean you have 3.78 hands?)
Having to do what the pointy haired boss tells you to do all the time, without laughing behind his back because he has an IQ of 5 (on a good day) is a torment! A torment like listening to a speech without being able to play Hangman with the person next to you. Who cares about his budget forecasts? His Powerpoint presentations? His departmental meetings when everyone plays games on their phones? Who cares about him hiring a leggy blonde as a secretary? Wait, that last one sounds quite reasonable.
But if I leave I will have no money.
Equation #1 of Life: No Money = No Fun = No Life.
So I’ll STILL have to find another job and each job is just a different shade of tediousness. They’re ALL grey, not colour.
Yet I should not be forced to commute along dreary motorways (highways) to work. I should not have to enter the Boredom Office and indulge in fake conversations with colleagues I couldn’t care less about. Who’s bothered if they go out Friday for a cheeky beer with Hannibal Lecter then don’t show up on the Monday? You are reading this, a random monologue of drivel from a person you know nothing about, so is this me or Hannibal ‘fava beans chianti’ Lecter? You take the risk, right?
In the Office of Tediousness what IS the point of pretend conversations with pretend friends?
(Ooooh, sounds like a Sex In The City title. If you discuss this with your friends over a beer please award yourself 5 marks for effort.)
I’d much prefer to stroll in like Arnie Schwarzeneggerneggernegger (only without the dodgy Austrian accent), armed with a big fat Uzi 9mm and blow all their heads off, one by one. It would be easy. Easy and satisfying.
But no! I am not allowed. What crazy office rule is that?
1. You must be bored at all time.
2. No women allowed. No, not even the ugly ones with nasal hair and endless stories about hysterectomies.
3. Writing, thinking about writing, preparing in advance to think about writing or thinking about preparing in advance to think about writing is strictly prohibited, even on the toilet.
4. There is NO Rule 4. (I’d like to thank the Monty Python team for that gag.)
5. Anything else which might be pleasurable is also banned. This specifically excludes pretend conversations with pretend friends.
6. No office Uzi 9mm massacres allowed.
Damn you Rule 6!
Everyone should be allowed to indulge themselves. A weekly ritual slaughter of all the boring people in Dilbert World would be great for the economy and great for the human race. Shares in non-Dilbert World corporations would rocket! CO2 emissions would drop! The sub-prime market fuckup would not be so, er, up-fucked! Sure, so it’s not EXACTLY great for the now-dead boring people, but hey! You can’t win them all (well, they can’t).
I don’t want to work, I want to go out, to parties, especially parties where I can drink beer and talk to pretty women. Or even ones where they talk and I just drool over their naked bulbous breasts – I’m not fussy.
I want to live!
And drool!
But no.
It’s now Monday morning here in Ye Olde England and once more I am chained to my desk (grrrrrr), my half-asleep head buried in another report about some IT concept of which I know nothing about and care even less.
(If God existed I’d blame him the great big bearded sadist. Omnipotent power AND a white beard AND sandals? What a fashion icon. And this is the guy who invented Mexicans. God’s just so crazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.)
I’m a caged lion not allowed to roar.
With every pore I just want to write, to make people laugh . . .
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dcrelatives reviewed Version 1 -
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ITS FUNNY MEN WORKING IN THE OFFICE NO WOMEN THAT CAN BE BORE TALKING ABOUT FOOTBALL ALL THE TIME.
GOOD.
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Kini_Jaye reviewed Version 1 -
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Thanks. I don’t think I’m ever going to enter the work force! By the way, I especially love the joke about George W. Bush’s brain cell count!! And as a Yank, I can tell you: the extra 1.78 arms helps. Just kidding!!
I think you should exaggerate what your co-workers do at work. Maybe that will scare them out of talking to you about the weather and (British) football and whatever else they blab on and on about.
danisterror reviewed Version 1 -
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This was excellent. I loved how you took everything about the office life and laid it out for all to see. It was a great rant that made me actually feel the pain of desk life. I especially liked the pokings at George Bush, they made me chuckle a little. I think my favorite line of the piece was at the end “I’m a caged lion not allowed to roar.” Great thought that really gets you to know what the office is like. Keep blogging and writing, it’s entertaining.
fmwrites reviewed Version 1 -
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I like many of your descriptions of your day, your mindset, and what you think you’re missing out on. I feel I “get it”—this seems quite sincere. Which makes that part about taking people out kinda scary so I for one am thrilled with office rule number 6.
As far as tightening this up as a personal commentary, I’d start with keeping the rules as the centerpiece, and I’d hope you would keep the start and end referring to your wishes about what you’d really like to do.
The other parts seemed a bit repetitive in areas. Although, I think your humor benefits from some of the reptitions. for example, the bit asking “do you realize how much this hurts?”—That’s a keeper. But you could lose some of the rant that repeated and/or is more expected, and this piece would be stronger for it. Building on the boss character is good, but the IQ reference would be expected, for instance.
The strength here is in comparison--what would be worse, how bad is it, etc. Perhaps you could give us more in the area of what would be better if there were pretty girls in your office, or a different boss, etc. More comparison to reveal your imaginings -- substitute those for if you had a different job, that you’d have a longer commute, etc. Those observations are more commonplace.
And downright depressing, to some, right?
You made me gag with the eggy farts and so very good description there.
Nice draft.
caravans reviewed Version 1 -
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Gee, not allowed to correct all the grammar and proofreading errors! Since there are so many, I’m left wondering how serious you are about wanting to interest and impress your reader. So, it’s just for fun – it was not so much fun; it was more sad and powerless and pointless. No beginning, lots of middle and not much end. A caged lion? I didn’t feel that at all. I felt mainly that you are frustrated and horney (is that the same in England? – no, it’s randy), trapped with no means to find an outlet.
So, the good part – I like the way you talk to the audience like a stand-up comedian. It’s light and fits the story. And there are some good lines – it’s worse than revision etc… and: With every pore…
Why did you write this?
Toraeru reviewed Version 1 -
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Jolly good read!! I agree. Um…that’s why I work in a coffee shop. Offices are full of wankers.
One question. Is your prime minister any better than Bush? (Not a Bush supporter, just not a Bush hater. :P)
Actually, don’t answer. I think we both know he IS. haha
damian71 reviewed Version 1 -
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your a head case who needs some bromide.
you sound like a reluctant nerd, your wasted in that office, try being a porn star like me, just shag shag shag, and the odd uzi.
Ness reviewed Version 1 -
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This was really quite funny. I enjoyed it alot. Well done!
sione reviewed Version 1 -
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I think this piece works very well as a blog. And you hit the nail dead-on; I’m sure everyone partaking in some kind of full-time, 9 to 5 office [gaol] sentence was nodding there head all the way through that one. Kudos too for bringing the concept of the office-massacre to the fore in such a fluent and slightly sadistic way. =) It’s a love story really but not in the traditional sense. Instead of the seductive yet elusive female counterpart you’ve got the seductive yet elusive female counterpart PLUS the beer PLUS the writing. I know exactly what you mean man – we’re all fucked. But shit we’re gonna try and have some fun on the way.
mollyp reviewed Version 1 -
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I gave you full 10’s for holding my interest completely, and a sense of deep empathy for you and others, (myself encumbered)
I’ve come to a conclusion(based on your idea’ (some are quite harsh, but hell, life IS violent) that we need a revolution,the same as others,only bigger.
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