Rescued from Nazis concentration camp where a group of people locked in and asphyxiated by carbon monoxide, I was sent to corporate glass chamber with a ‘dumb’ and ‘the dumber’. Last time, it was a bimbo and now a ‘harebrained’. I’d have stayed in the camp *happily ever after* and uncomplaining. Aarrgh!
Life sucks!
No, it ain’t a slow death. In fact, you’re not dead. Never! The neurons crawl inside million tiny chambers of your brain and realization get frustrated sitting with a lousy phone that spe—a—ks and poker faces around. In fact, what you earnestly crave is a ‘houseful of porn’.
What you pervert? Whoa! Sit with a loony for the next 15-minutes inside a glass chamber and you know how refreshing it is. Talk of blonde some MEN are blonde too. Open the phone diary and ‘tip-tap-tuc’t’ 10-digits pressed forth. The recorded instructions guide us to another chamber with fresh smell of FALL and nobody. The phone didn’t speak but ringed uninterrupted. Nobody to speak! Ah…what a relief. Oops! Did I say ‘relief’?
Somebody has all the ears. A half-buttoned Project Manager with swinging posterior and then the ‘jerk’ with gay-ish gait. Fifteen minutes, oh Gawd! Well…some people have that “I know it all (snigger)” look. Nev’r minds it’s only nothing but ‘look’. Hold on! He plopped, jump, hop, and talk. For a change, I earnestly wished the jaded telephone to do the work (I mean talking) but wishes die faster than they hit mind. But this moron!
Scribbling suggestions under ‘feedback’ notes (didn’t I say some has the *look*…brains, what’s that?). The swinging bloke has dropped a cue. F***! Next time he did it I’m gonna kill the man. He stopped writing and began to preach, Heaven! Administration. Systems. Network. Client Relations. Project Management. “Pencil dropped so does my jaw (oooh…it aches now) does Instructional Design ring a bell, you idiot?”
The phone didn’t speak. Inside the glass cubicle with stuffy conditioned cool ‘a nerd’, ‘a cheesy beefcake’ and an ‘idiot’…! Will Mr. Godot please appear?
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