So my friend Marc is leaving Corporate America to embark on his career in film at Columbia Film School. I am a huge fan of his writing and hate the corporate world and Metro North about as much as he does. Below is his own blog about his last week of work. I look forward to one day seeing one of his films and accepting an Academy Award, but for now I will continue to chuckle at his writing.
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Last Week of Work
Yes, the time has come. My final days in Corporate America (CA) have dwindled to merely a few, and with them, I am overwhelmed with memories. Or is it the Pakistani kid's body odor? Regardless, here are some of my favorite memories over the past four years in CA.
1. The Guy Who Won't Shut the Fuck Up: We all know these assholes. They feel like they need to talk, incessantly about nonsensical subjects such as the color schemes of the various ties they wear, the operating system upgrade they just had done on their computer, their latest rentals on Netflix, or how their kids are "awesome athletes."
Let's be real, OK? Your tie is ugly. Your computer needed a system upgrade because you downloaded too much porn. Your taste in movies sucks. And your 15 year-old son might be able to throw a 70 mph fastball, but he reads at a thrid grade level.
Why don't we talk about that?
2. The Boss Who Wields WAY Too Much Power: He can't work an Excel spreadsheet if his family's life depended on it, but he's making $500,000 per year, and laughing at you while he asks you to change the water in the water cooler. You do more work than he does, and usually, your contribution anihilates his output by a factor of ten.
3. The Bitter Single Women: Corporate America loves to take these women in. Give me your tired, your poor, your over-the-top MAN HATERS! Misery loves company, and Corporate America does in fact breed much misery among its participants. But really, check the man-hating at the door. Please. No guy wants to hear what an "asshole" the guy you met "at the bar" turned out to be because he "won't return your calls." Maybe, after meeting you, he lost faith in the entire female population and killed himself! That's right, he's probably dead. It's not that he didn't want to call you back. It's that he would rather have walked into the on-coming cross-town bus.
4. The Cleaning Crew: When you're at work so late that the cleaning crew comes around, and there's that one Latino girl who is border-line cute, and you say to yourself, "wow, you know what? Staring at this computer screen has made me so blind, I'd probably bang that."
The man-haters hate that guys think about this, but it's a simple fact. Work enough hours for enough days, and there is a reasonable, 99.9% chance you will think about having sex with a member of the cleaning crew.
5. The Fucking Fax Machine: Why do you need a PHd in Engineering from MIT to work this piece of shit? "Oh, you need this faxed? No problem. Let me just figure out what number this garbage document is supposed to be faxed to. Is it international? OK, which country? England? Great. What's the country code? Can I go on the Internet and look it up? No problem. Looks like the country code is 44. Great. What's the dial out number? Is it 9, or 8? What do I have to put before dialing the international number? Oh, 011? Awesome. So it's 9011? Oh, so I should try with 9, and if that doesn't work, use the 8? Got it. Which way does the paper go? Up? Down? Fowards? Backwards? OK, I'm dialing. I'm hitting 9044, FUCK. 44011, GOD DAMN IT! OK, 901144............BUSY SIGNAL. Jesus Christ. (15 minutes later) OK, it just went through. But now I have to stand here and wait for the confirmation, you say? Oh, sweet, here it comes! Wait, why is the page blank??? It's out of ink??? Now I can't tell if the fax went through! Who changes the ink? I change the ink? Where do I get the ink cartridge from? Oh, from Staples. Now we're talking. How do I order it? WHAT!?! I HAVE TO ORDER VIA FAX!?!"
6. The Elevators: There are two potential situations in the Corporate Elevator, both of which are right up there with the firey pits of Hell.
6a. The crowded elevator where no one talks, except for two people who don't care that everyone can hear their conversation. Worst of all, they'll say things like "Ugh, I can't believe Dan made me work overtime again last night!" or "I am SO SWAMPED." Hey, maybe "Dan" is creating more work for you so that you'll bang him, late night. Or maybe, Dan is just the kind of guy who likes seeing other people bask in their own misery. Either way, I like Dan. Dan's a good buddy of mine. We met one night while staring at the cleaning crew. So I'm going to tell him you said that, and get you fired.
6b. The crowded elevator where one guy decides that he cannot spare an extra 15 seconds and wait for another elevator. And it's always a guy. The doors are closing. Everyone's ready for the ascent back up to their cubicles, but here comes fat bastard Larry, closing in on the elevator faster than Seabiscut on War Admiral at motherfucking Pimlico. That look on his face is priceless. His eyes squint. Beads of sweat drip from his wrinkled brow. His flapping gut wiggles as his chubby legs tries to get him there in time. His ugly tie flies in the wind. The doors are closing. Everyone's thinking, "Oh my god, this douchebag is gonna take on the iron doors of the elevator!" And then, WHAM! The door closes right on him, and he barges through, into the already packed elevator. And everyone just kinda looks at poor Larry, not knowing whether to laugh, or to berate him with obscenities for instantly exceeding the maximum weight limit and putting everyone's life in danger.
That was totally worth getting dismembered, Larry. Good show. You do realize the extra 15 seconds of productivity translate into literally one extra penny on your bonus. Dick.
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