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I’m not well. I feel confused, confused in my head.
Who am I, where am I, what do I want always the same *** questions.
And then there are the multiple personalities trying to take over.
I see them as four paintings by that guy with all the faces made of food and stuff - Arcimboldo.
Winter, the Emperor Rudolph, The Librarian and the Reversible Head in a fruit basket.
Each one represents one of my four tormentors. Do you have any idea what the life of a schizoid
is like? Take today for instance, my boss told me that if I don’t start working faster
He’s going to fire me. Nice, eh? Naturally, my four personalities each reacted
as only they know how. Here ‘s how it went
Fair weather or foul, feeling well or ill, everything going fine everything going wrong
ñ you have to keep thinking positive and above all, Think Big!
What do I mean? This morning, for example, my boss chewed me out because I don’t work
hard enough. Who me?
So I looked around and zoomed in on my colleagues, one by one. Who is the *** *** that
ratted on me? Four files a day is not enough, he said, especially
when Farley is doing thirty-two right next to me.
Crap! Now I know why Farley’s eyes are always so red - ***. But I was stung by the accusation.
I went back to my desk and started grinding out files like a *** jackhammer. Daka-daka-daka!
About one everybody went to lunch, but not me. Daka-daka-daka!
They all went home at five Daka-daka-daka, at eleven the night watchman went by
Daka-daka-daka and again at three Daka-daka-daka. At nine the others came in again and I was
still Daka-daka-daka. About quarter to five I dragged my *** into the boss’s office and
slammed 99 finished files down on his desk. He stared at me and asked me why I didi it.
Now you can fire Farley because you don’t need him anymore. *** ***!
Think positive, think big!
It’s so hot! I’m sticky all over with sweat That’s why I’m so irritable. The boss
told me if I don’t work harder, he’ll fire me. But who feels like working in this heat?
And that fool keeps forgetting that I am an emperor. It’s true. True as well that we
have air conditioning in the office. But what about when I go outside? I have to cross a
desert of asphalt in the sun to reach my car, which is a furnace because there is not an
inch of shade in the whole damn parking lot! The mere thought of it tires me to death.
You see, it is really the company’s fault, not mine. And so I ignore him and continue
working at mine own pace. An emperor’s pace, mind you, majestic, like someone who’s never
needed to work. One file every two hours: ten minutes to read it, twenty to let it sink
in, ten more to re-read it and another twenty to reflect upon it. Then it’s time for a
coffee break, fifteen minutes plus five for a cigarette. Back at my desk, I read the file
once more and take a few notes, which takes care of another half hour. Three minutes to
put a few x’s on the form and close the file, and seven minutes to re-gather my strength.
Then it all starts over again. Eight hours, four files. Now, that ***-kissing scab next
to me, Farley, he wraps up thirty-two files a day that’s why they keep threatening
to fire me. But I put an end to it at lunchtime. I logged into the system with Farley’s password
and added a number of x’s at random ñ well, not exactly at random - to his files. As a
back-of-the-envelope calculation, it should cost the company between thirty and fifty
thousand. Then I sent the controller an anonymous tip. Two hours later the boss stormed over
to Farley’s desk and loudly informed him that he’d better start working carefully
instead of filling out the forms with his *** eyes closed just to be the fastest
and make his colleagues look like ***. At least they take the time to think about how
They’re doing their paperwork while he’s torpedoing the company with his sloppy habits.
During this tirade I nodded solemnly at every turn, but inside I was dancing a jig.
Sly as a fox, happy as a clam, that’s my philosophy. And it’s all because of the heat.
Even in winter or fall, anytime. Slow and steady always wins the race.
It’s useless. Whatever you do, whatever you think, your decline is inevitable. So, carpe
diem, sieze every moment and get pleasure from everything that comes your way. Never
leave till tomorrow anything you can grab today.
Don’t do what my colleague Farley does. He destroys his days working like mad while I
watch *** online. It’s probably just that I’m a lot more intelligent than he is. I
mean, I can finish a file in a couple of minutes, which leaves me time to do whatever the hell
I want. If I’m not checking out some ***, I can play poker online or chat with my friends
on Facebook. I’m certainly not about to waste any more time working. Unfortunately, today
the boss gave me an ultimatum. Shape up or ship out! What’s worse, the *** thought
he’d try to get to me by taking Farley as an example!
I nodded grimly, went back to my desk and started plotting my revenge. You should know
that my boss is a big jazz fan ñ a collector of rare recordings, LPs and even old 45’s
and 78’s - that he buys on E-Bay and has sent to the office. This morning in fact I
noticed down in the mail room there was a package about the right size, so I went back
down and sure enough it was addressed to the boss. As soon as the clerk turned his back
I pinched it, poured a whole cup of coffee mixed with crackers over it and discreetly
placed the mess behind Farley’s monitor. The moron was so intent on his work, he didn’t
even notice. Then I called the boss’s land line from my
cell phone, identified myself as Farley, and asked him to come to my desk. When he reached
Farley’s desk and saw the soggy package, he went nuts. Inside was one of three surviving
orginal recordings of a live concert by Django Reinhardt in 1934, valued at 1,350 dollars.
Of these three, this was the only one to have the original cover in mint condition ñ at
least until a few minutes ago. Farley was immediately promoted to a cushy
job at the firm’s new branch in Biskek, Kirghizistan, and I was asked to replace him.
It couldn’t be clearer: it’s useless. You will never be saved from the decadence you
are steeped in, no matter how hard you work. So? So enjoy yourselves, and *** everybody
else.
Those who have reached my venerable age are long free from passionate desires. They understand
what is important and what isn’t. So when my boss threatened to fire me for low productivity,
I took the news calmly, with dignity and class, and replied that in his place I’d have done
it ages ago. He turned red as a hot pepper, grabbed an empty cardboard box he keeps in
menacingly plain sight on his desk, shoved it into my arms and told me to get lost.
Smiling, I took the box back to my desk and started emptying out the drawers. The office
had become dead silent. Then one the women started sniffling. I, on the other hand, was
perfectly calm, because like any good longtime employee should, I had prepared myself a stout
parachute. One might think I’m referring to a different
occupation ñ opening a restaurant or getting a taxi license, or some other work far more
difficult than this one. No, no. I’m talking about Eissmann Brothers, the biggest and most
ball-breaking client this company has. Eissmann Brothers is on my side, you see. Over years
and years of patient, and now exclusive, suffering, I have been absorbing their whims and whippings.
My colleagues and especially the boss happily accepted this arrangement, as it allowed them
to concentrate on the only thing they liked about Eissmann ñ the profits. As a result
I became the only account they would talk to.
So I gathered my things at an exasperatingly slow pace, waiting for the phone to ring.
And I it did, a call from Medworth Eissman himself, the oldest brother. I informed him
briskly that as I had just been fired, he would have to speak directly with the boss.
I fear I cannot repeat the comments of Mr Eissmann, a person accostomed to dealing with
dockhands, but I assure you they were not the words of a happy man. Five minutes later,
my boss hurried over to my desk and helped me put my things back with his own hands.
As he slunk off, cardboard box under one arm, I felt a moment of sincere pity for him. But
only a moment ñ I had soon returned to detesting him with noble detachment. Because I understand
what is important and what isn’t.
SCHIZOID MAN So what did I actually do after my boss chewed
me out? I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t have it. Did I have to resort to
a strategy from one of my other personalities? No, I’m not that far gone yet! I’m still
fairly practical, and I don’t like it when things get too complicated.
So I ran him down as he was crossing the parking lot. No, he’s not dead, but he’s got other
things on his mind now. And if someone recognized the car? Oh, I’m sure they did - a pink BMW
roadster is hard to miss. Never have understood why Farley chose such a garish color....