Wednesday, March 30, 2005
I was told late Monday afternoon that the office must be gleaming and perfect by today, Wednesday. A tall order. I surveyed the task before me. No problem.
I spied a heap of junked computer shells encrusted with dust and grime. Some giddy ass had sprayed the mound with silicone early last year. Since then, unsuspecting ants and flies have accidentally glued themselves to it. This unnatural electronic flypaper had to be killed. Rubber gloves were not sufficient for this filth, so I wore a full body condom. Well, garbage bags and rubber bands. Dumpsterized. I could do nothing about the tan stain on the carpet, which is shaped like Sri Lanka. But larger.
My next task was to pull a workbench away from a wall. A crafty employee had fashioned it from knotty plywood and bent nails two years ago. When I dragged it away from the corner, out tumbled a nest of knotted cabling and flickering power strips. I began to untangle the unwieldy mess when a I heard a rustling. Startled, I threw the mass to the floor. A dozen chittering earwigs scuttled from the core. Flourescent light struck their ebony carpapaces and they ran for darkness with frantic desperation. I let them go. They only crawl in children's ears and I'm a grownup, so they pose no threat to my hearing.
I untangled the knotted cabling and secured it with clamps and ties. It looked official. My final task was easy. Box things. Anything that sat loose, forlorn, dejected, upside down, useless, broken, obsolete, or just plain offensive went into a box. Even if we're filthy packrats with pounds of useless fuck, we'll pretend to be organized packrats. After that all I had to do was use the internet to translate some strident verbiage into Polish for the cleaning guy. He vacuumed with fervent enthusiasm. I can tell.
Looks good. 10:22 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
Yellow Light Warning
Dead End Street
I'll Hire Snipers
M-O-O-N, That Spells Moon.
Friday Morning Blues