A Heavy-Handed Analogy Concerning The Author’s Present Circumstance


Franklin: “Happy to have you aboard! I think you’re really going to love it here.”

Isaac: “Me too! I’m excited to join the team!”

The two shook hands in a symbolic consummation of their professional relationship – the gesture to make spiritually official what was already ‘official’ in a more literal sense. Franklin held the signed employment agreement in his left hand, smiling as he cordially showed Isaac to the exit with his right.

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Imagining the journal entry of the Facebook poster who wants you to believe they love their job.

Open Blank Notebook with Ballpoint Pen on Top

This post is a sequel to the previous one. I can’t force you to do anything, but I can tell you that I will plant a tree and muss a child’s hair if you read that first. And yeah, I just provided two links to the same thing. Such is the extent of my helpfulness. You’re welcome.


Jesus, what a day.

This morning, had to break into a half-jog because Greg from Accounts held the door for an awkwardly considerate distance. (Seriously, Greg?? Do I really look like I’m not capable of opening a door for myself?) Then my god-forsaken computer needed ANOTHER software update, which of course meant that that lunatic Joanne felt like she had carte blanche to talk my ear off. And always about the most insane stuff! Really, Joanne?! Do I REALLY need to hear about your husband’s gassiness? Who raised you??

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Imagining a banal Facebook post by someone who wants you to believe they love their job.


Amazing day at the office today!

This morning, had to break into a half-jog because Greg from Accounts held the door for an awkwardly considerate distance (Thanks Greg! So thoughtful!). Then my computer took a while to start up because of a software update, which gave me a chance to enjoy Joanne’s usual pop-in (most days I’m a tiny bit distracted when she drops by). She is such a quirky lady – I hope her husband finds out what’s causing him to be so gassy these days. Love you Joanne!

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All the Best, Susan


An envelope arrived at my desk today.

No, this envelope was not ambulatory. More precisely – it arrived by way of a shadowy figure in my peripheral vision, not unlike the way in which I imagine the fuzz will one day show up to hold me accountable for my movements on White-Collar Purgatory. (They’ll arrive three-abreast, resplendent in their dark suits and black sunglasses, holding big lasery-looking weapons. No, wait – now I’m just thinking about Men In Black. Never mind.)

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An Open Letter to Coffee


Dear Coffee,

Um, hey. It’s me. Gosh – if you’re actually reading this, I don’t really know where to begin. Forgive me for being a little starstruck.

I don’t know if you know this, but you’re… kind of a big deal. I mean, to millions of office dwellers, you’re the only thing separating white-collar purgatory from white-collar hell. And beyond these cubicle walls, your cultural impact can’t really be overstated. Your presence is felt from the farthest reaches of gustatory enthusiasm (arguably one step shy of wine, in terms of popular mechanisms by which the snooty demonstrate their refinement) to the most accessible of pop-culture references.

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Selling Out


If the title of this post conjures up images of Tickle-Me Elmo, Furby or any other consumer craze for which people have had “the crotch yanked out of [their] brand-new jeans“, I think that’s a good start. Granted, I have no interest in causing personal injury, nor is this blog of much comfort as a cuddle buddy (trust me – I’ve tried). But while we don’t actually need to leave a wasteland of trampled mullets in our wake, that’s the kind of energy we’re after here. Ideally, I’d like to know that if the survival of this website depended on at least one of its followers administering a People’s Elbow in a crowded Walmart in December, you would all wake up the next morning to a steaming heap of new WCP content. Not asking you to do that now, but think about it – just in case…

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Introducing…the Coworker


The Coworker.

*pause for visceral response*

The list of potential Jeopardy! questions to which “What is a Coworker?” would make you hundreds of dollars richer* is endless:

Someone who might sneak a bite of the cured meat stick you left in the communal fridge.

Nobody is more likely to make you seethe silently than THIS skyscraper cohabitant.

You don’t give a shit about her daughter’s dance class, but you DO like chocolate-covered almonds.

(I’ll take ‘Characters Who Make You Contemplate Seppuku‘ for $600, Alex!)

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