No One Ever Wrote a Poem About Sickly Orange Barf Glow.

I've been mulling it over in my head on how to write up this entry. I can already feel that this could be the spark that could trigger something bad. It could be like Pearl Harbor all over again, (the actual event, not the movie, where I discovered that Ben Affleck has the abilities to return from the dead. Who'd of guessed he was an immortal?) I can see all the people suddenly accelerating an action to apocalyptic proportions. A sane man would just back off and let sleeping dogs lie, but that was never my flavor. And with that, on to the festivities.

I'm going to write my standard disclaimer at this point that any somewhat regular reader will have read before. I like my job...blah, blah, blah, people I work with are cool...yada, yada, yada, Satan has a cubicle near mine, etc, etc, whoops. Ignore the last one. With that being said, it's interesting to watch the ripple effect my entry about our glorious nutbuckets had on some of the office staff. I never really had the intent of the blog actually being read by anyone at the office, let alone the executive team, but what’s done is done. The word nutbucket now has the ability to cause giggling in many of the office staff. I'd like to think that I've made a difference. That's all anyone in the world wants to do.

The only good thing about carrying around a Blackberry is it doubles as an alarm clock. It is usually what wakes me up in the morning, and this morning was no different. My usual morning procedure is to hit my snooze button around a gazillion times on my alarm clock and try to figure out why it's still making strange buzzing sounds even as I hammer the off button. It commonly takes two to three emails before I realize it's my Blackberry and not my alarm clock. The morning practice, after I manage to drag my ass out of my bed, is to grab the BB off of my dresser and see what has blown up while I was trying to sleep. Most often there is a plethora of jokes that my co-workers send to me and a couple of support issues. This morning there was a very enigmatic email sitting there grinning at me. It was from a couple of close co-workers of mine requesting me to "drop by our office" the second I get in. Hmmm...an email like that can only mean one of two things. Something catastrophic has happened that they don't want to tell me about over email, or I'm about to become the butt of some joke. Luckily, I am one of those people that can appreciate a good joke, even if I am the recipient. Funny is funny, no matter who's getting dumped on. I briefly thought about replying and asking what was up, but the little voice in the back of my head said "leave it alone...If it's really bad, you don't want to know yet, and if you are gonna get thrown in the barrel, it will happen anyways. Status Quo baby, Status Quo".

It's in my nature to not let problems lie, and I can tell you, I had a couple of brief battles with the conscience while driving into work. Every red light and every traffic slowdown I was pulling out the BB and starting to reply to the email in question. Thankfully some nice person would always honk at me to wake up and get the hell moving before I made them late for work as well. Thank you kind anonymous stranger, wherever you are. I appreciate you starting out my day in a happy way. I resisted the inhuman urge to reply all the way to work, even when I got stuck in the Tim Horton’s line behind one of the bagel eaters.

As I'm pulling into the parking lot, I felt like I was in some Spielberg film right before all the bad things happen. The skies darkened as the clouds started rolling it. I could almost hear bells tolling beyond the gates of dawn. Something wicked was coming, and it was headed right for me. I knew, right then and there that there wasn't any support issue...I was about to be sodomized (figuratively). There's something to be said about knowing when you are about to get hosed. Even if you don't know what's coming, at least you know it's waiting there for you. You always hope for the kitten in the closet instead of the monster, but we all know which one is waiting.

As I'm sneaking in the building, creeping by the office of doom, I hear a beckoning call filled with saccharine. Shit. I haven't even taken off my jacket yet and I'm already getting accosted. I could have run, I probably should have, but I might as well get it over with. I walk into the office to be greeted by three smiling people. When and entire room is smiling at you, you either showed up for work not wearing pants, or there is a plot afoot. Never trust people smiling in a group. That is my proverb of the day people. Remember it.

I approach the desk where the voice came from, and I'm told that the executive team has a gift for me. I'm instantly looking down the cliff face at the water below, thinking, it doesn't look that far. And from behind her back comes the gift. I see hints of wood, cellophane and labels that I recognize. It's another nutbucket. Another one. I just gave away all my nuts from the first one, and now I have another one to deal with. I later learned that someone else has returned one from their house. That would be the highlight of this whole thing I suppose. People are actually bringing their nutbuckets back. Rebellion is almost here. Throw off our chains, rise up and tell those in power we don't want the nutbucket any more. One person cannot make a difference, many people can. Stand together brothers and sisters, and we will throw off the nougat bonds and salty shackles of our oppressors. Rise up people, rise up.

Damnit. The rant wasn't supposed to be in there, and remember, never trust a group of smiling people, after you check if you are wearing pants.

Wait...Let me check my meter.










Nope, still don't give a fuck.