There’s a disturbance in the force. Can you feel it?
Today, I went out to lunch with my ‘team’ – an awkward, alcoholic affair with sharks aplenty. For one denial day, we aspired not to be co-workers, just co-people.
What the fuck was I thinking? Through a sea of red flags I waded, over the hill of hierarchy and down, down, deep into the valley of the dolts. I knew better, sure I did. But they dressed that slaughter up real purdy, they did.
Contributing factors to my dubitable downfall? The workplace – particularly Oliver Stone of late. The players – an assortment of assholes. The Japanese earthquake – which knocked the earth off its axis by 6.5 inches in March 2011. And – one wired Wuc.
Wired like Steve Buscemi on emotional yam-yam. White Lotus. Shanghai Sally, see.
If only that was the story’s end. A pint of awkward, with a wedgie chaser. If only, my friends.
Instead, after dodging a milieu of missiles aimed squarely at my Wuccan head, came the corker. An unsubstantiated second where I gleaned that maybe. Just maybe. One of them knows about my blog. This, here, fucken blog. If he knows, the gunslingers know. If he knows, it’s just a matter of time before my team knows. And so on, and fuck forth.
I could be wrong, but what if I’m not? What if. I’m. not.
One moment, I was standing in the empty basement of my surreptitious safe house. The next, I turn to discover forty-five pounds of C4 strapped to my load-bearing walls, wired to blow. If one went, so would the lot. A domino effect of co-people that’d level me in seconds.
To say I crapped my shorts would be an understatement. (Have you seen Trainspotting?)
And so, it pains me to temporarily say, I’ve changed my blog to private. Oh so temporarily! Until I can find proverbial patient zero and stay the spread of scourge, I feel I must. Hearty apologies, my compadres. Hearty apols. I hope you won’t abandon ship in my absence, for I promise to return to public before I next post. As soon as I goddamn can.
Watch this retroactive space.