I gave my computer some instructions and walked away. Bad move. Does not compute. Syntax error. Non sequitur.
“How dare you show your back to me!” the computer raged indignantly but passive-aggressively. That must be why it remained silent. It knew damn well what it was doing.
Working. Commit. Execute. Hey, little girl. Wanna see my update?
I don’t know why my computer calls me “little girl” but whatever. I kind of like it.
Keep the change, ya filthy animal.
Change of Address
I live on the surface of a rotating planetoid. The speed of rotation is approx. 1,000 miles per hour.
Meanwhile, the planet itself is moving about 67,000 miles per hour around the sun.
The sun is the center of our solar system, which is also moving around the center of our galaxy at approx. 490,000 miles per hour.
The galaxy is moving towards something called the Great Attractor, appox. 150 million light years away, at a rate of 1,000 kilometers per second.
In other words, I just want it to be known my physical location on this planetoid is changing by about 2.5 degrees of latitude. That’s a lot!
A pending move means boxes. Packing lots and lots of boxes.
The more you pack the more exhausted you get.
The more exhausted you get the more you require peaceful, restful sleep.
The more you require sleep the more the more you lie in bed with your eyes open.
Can’t sleep. Might as well get up and pack some more boxes and make myself more tired.
Fight Back Club
My fellow employees (aka compatriots or victims or cohorts or The Cabal) and I have, quite by accident, I assure you, formed an informal association of which we are all now members. Management is, of course, by definition, excluded and not even allowed to know that our little group exists.
We’re calling our little ragtag band of rebels Fight Back Club.
Like any effective club, we have a few simple rules.
- The first rule of Fight Back Club is never share personal information with management.
- The second rule of Fight Back Club is never share personal information with management. Seriously. If you do they will save it up and use it against you. Someday. It will happen. That’s the way management is.
- Club members will alert each other when management is near, usually within hearing distance. Our code for this is “tippy toe.” (A tip of the hat to our honorary member, George Costanza.)
- Our dead brothers and sisters shall be made into bars of soap.
- When a manager does something dumbass the incident must be shared with all other club members.
- Fight Back Club will exist as long as it has to.
- If this is your first time being employed at the Shit Hole, you have to fight back.
- Club motto: “This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.”
- Secondary motto: “Only after disaster can we be resurrected.”
- Club mission statement: “Fuck off with your sofa units and string green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let… lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.”
- Club pledge of allegiance: “Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”
- Club Charter (in entirety): “You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.”
- Club Aliases: We also informally use the club names “Island of Misfit Toys” and “The Wretched Refuse.”
Membership has its privileges.