"Excuses are the nails that build the house failure."

Paul Bunyan's Beard

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

Work.  Jobs.  Most of us have one and most of us hold some slight resentment toward the machine that chews us up and spits us out between 9-5 (give or take) each and every day.

There is one important variable that can either positively enhance our work environment or bestow upon us the feeling that we've meandered directly into the bowels of Hell where Satan's waiting to administer a bone dry hand job.

I'm talking about coworkers.

I'm usually teetering on miserable or insane when I come into work in the morning.  But YOU push me dangerously close to 'trench coat' status.  I view my fellow coworkers as fellow soldiers.  We're in the trenches day in and day out taking one grenade after another.  We're on the same team and yet more times than not I feel that YOU, instead of tossing one of those grenades back at the enemy, leave it right in our foxhole to completely incinerate any hope of us getting out alive.

Mundane work conversation.  The phrases which linger in every dark corner of the workplace.  They're waiting.  And they'll find you.  Where there's one uninteresting unimaginative son of a bitch in your office so lies the 'soul stealer'.

Allow me to lay out a few scenarios:

Monday.  We all hate the day.  If you don't hate the day then I'm guessing you didn't cry when Simba watches Scar toss Mufasa off of a cliff.  You fucking animal.  But what vice-grips my sack more than it being a Monday is your lack of communication.  I don't need to stroll into the break room to fill my coffee cup and have you remind me that it's Monday.  If I ask how you're doing, don't tell me it's fucking Monday.  I already know this.  My exhausting studies of the modern calender have taught me how to keep my dates and times current.  

'Hey, how ya doing?'  

'Ohhhh, ya know.  It's Monday.'  Yes.  Yes it is.  Now do me a favor and just take that coffee pot and pour all of the remains of scalding liquid onto my face you miserable sack of shit.  Yet I'll press on....

'So how was your weekend?' 

'It was good, thanks.'  WOW.  Must have been a God damn adventure!  You don't want to elaborate on that a smidgen?  Give me something!  Hell, use your imagination.  Tell me you rode atop a wild steed, stormed a castle and rescued your fair maiden from the clutches of a fire-breathing dragon!  Then I walk away impressed with your story or at the very least worried about your mental state.  Either way, you gave me a gift.  I can now survive the day.

How about the fools who run around telling people they're 'living the dream!'.  NO.  YOU.  ARE.  NOT.  Now I'm fairly certain YOU know you're not living the dream and it's just a phrase to help you talk yourself off the ledge but knock it off already.  It's not funny and it helps no one.  I'm sure if you were 'living the dream' you'd be on the set of a mediocre porn production dressed as a plumber waiting for Katie Morgan to help you 'clean the pipes'.  You're not in the porn business and Katie Morgan isn't knocking on your door anytime soon.  End scene.

Then we have the always exciting prospect of the weekend.  As soon as Friday rolls around these yahoos want to remind us of THIS day of the week as well.

Same blueprint: 

'How ya doing?'  

'It's Friiiiday!'  Thank you for the reminder you singing telegram.  Now I'm going to go spend my weekend drinking to forget that you, as a human being, actually exist.

I declare change folks!  Our jobs may have successfully stolen 40 hours of our lives a week but don't you dare let them hold your will to live for ransom!
Keep the trench coat on the hanger.  Bring one hell of a story to the office instead.

The Worldwide Leader of Nonsense

The Worldwide Leader of Nonsense

LIFE RULE #447

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