Despite my best efforts I've managed to stay employed through this latest recession. I spend my time sitting behind a desk under fluorescent lighting surrounded by gray walls for 9 hours, five days a week.
Every so often this becomes a little disheartening.
Every so often I hate that I have yet to figure out what I want to DO.
Every so often I go a little batty.
For some reason March has been especially maddening.
However, more then every so often I'm glad I have a job to go to every day that I don't hate. 90% of the reason I don't hate it is because of my coworkers. I have yet to go to work a single day that I haven't laughed. Yes, I've spent my fair share of days sitting at my desk with the tears streaming down my face cursing the day I accepted this position. Then a coworker will suggest a quick game of shipping room baseball (played with stress balls and rolled up propaganda posters) or a walk off for America's Next Top Model. I'll nearly pee myself from laughing so hard and all will be right with the world again.
Below is an e-mail sampling of how my coworker, Jack (I've decided Jack is forever after to be the generic name of all males ever mentioned in my blog) uses his utter asininity to keep me entertained day in and day out.
Me: Forget playing in a tournament. That's for rookies. THIS is what we need to do. Minus the getting caught part. http://www.foxnews.com/world/
Jack: I will be the getaway driver, since you are a woman. Plus you can use your womanly wiles to seduce the dumb men into giving you the money.
Me: Wait, what? What does being the getaway driver have to do with gender you misogynist? You're lucky I WANTED to be the one to go in with the big guns screaming.
Jack: That is the first rule when pulling a heist, never have a woman be your getaway driver, it is just bad form. Who said anything about guns? Have you even seen a gun in real life? Do you realize that guns recoil when fired? A dainty little woman like you had best leave that part up to me as well. So now I gotta be the driver and the muscle, which puts my take right around 80/20.
Me: You're an idiot. I OWN a gun. And yes, I've shot guns with recoil. Shotguns, handguns, semi-automatics, flame throwers. And anyway, what are you gonna do when you drop the bag of money? Your back is jacked. You can't bend over. I guess you could ask the security guard for some assistance to the getaway car so he can get a good look at the make/model and license plate number. Your cut just dropped to 40/60 for your idiocy.
Jack: Flame throwers? Really!?!? You expect me to believe that? Lighting a candle and throwing it does not mean that you have used flamethrowers. I won't drop a bag of money because of my exceptionally large monkey hands. So there will be no need to bend over. I will make my final offer at 70/30, you can take it or leave it.
Me: This whole thing was MY idea and after this complete waste of a conversation with you I've come to realize I don't need a big oaf as a partner screwing things up. So I leave it. I don't need you. I'll send you a post card from Belize.
Jack: I am sure this won't end in a disaster. I hear that they do have a really great prison in Belize. I will be awaiting your card from there. In the meantime I will go to Wendover and use my poker abilities to legally win the same amount that you would have gotten if you had not blundered the whole thing up. I was the brains of this operation from the get-go. You are nothing without me, NOTHING!