The clouds outside my window are perfect, suspended puff-balls. They look like the clouds in Pixar films, or like the cloud Monkey Magic used to ride on (still jealous).
This leads me to tell you that I am bored on a scale unimaginable to the average postal worker; where the concept of stabbing my eyeball with a small model of the Titanic seems slightly amusing and yes, a possible use of my time.
I’m a contractor in an office, with nothing to do. It no longer amazes me that companies spend a fortune keeping me tied to a desk with sticky tape and apathy, when they have nothing for me. I’m the human security blanket of the executive set – we need you in case something comes up! God forbid, we actually do these tasks ourselves. Look busy, minion.
I believe I have some understanding of how a Storm Trooper feels – interchangeable, expendable and (somewhat unwisely) armed. I too am shiny and pastey white.
My boss is an immaculately-tailored German with the attention span of a three-year-old on crack. He speaks like Arnold Schwarzenegger which, strangely, is one of the few upsides. He’s alright, in that he isn’t a misogynist sociopath who goes through my bin at night.
Way to set the bar low, Storm Trooper.
Meanwhile, I truly believe the guy next to me is ripe for joining a cult. He pretty much adopts anything people tell him to (which ironically means he will be CEO one day). He went to a ‘lean six sigma’ course last week and returned like the prodigal son of Tom Cruise (à la Scientology video). He even has a system for how to show people love.
“My mum likes ‘gifts of service’, but my wife prefers ‘quality time’ and ‘words of affirmation’”.
Way to take the romance out of it there, tiger.
In other news, I’ve become very adept at Spider Solitaire and I have to say, my self-applied French manicure looks the shizzle. However, it has also highlighted the fact that my hands may look alike, but have vastly different capabilities. Namely, trying to paint my nails with my left hand was like trying to control a water hose at full blast. It’s clear that I’ve neglected my left hand all these years, and now it’s as rebellious as my favourite undies on wash day.