9/16/07

Things I write when the boss is around


Over the last couple of years I’ve had to take on some jobs for money. That means having to do a bunch of boring stuff you’d rather not do but have to so as to earn a little money to live on and be able to afford alcohol, which is an expensive hobby. This doesn’t of course mean that I’m usually working on what I’m supposed to be working on at work. I mean you only really work on the stuff you should be working on about one panicky hour before a presentation or a report is due, the imminence of which seems to do wonders for your concentration and productivity, especially considering the looming threat of the possibility of humiliation and disgrace if your report/presentation should happen to suck.

But the rest of the time, when time is a bigger broader luxury, I am not working. In fact, like everyone else, I’m usually either writing my own stuff or checking emails or playing minesweeper or surfing porn or reading an article on Wikipedia or finding and memorizing obscure words to use in my writing to impress people with, or (more often than not) just doing nothing. (There was no Facebook last I was working in an office, so we had to actually be creative with our procrastination)

You will all agree however that it’s important that while you’re doing nothing, to actually at least SEEM like you’re doing something, especially every time the boss happens to be in your vicinity. And we all know what seeming like you’re working entails: it entails typing. Now, since you just have to type away to seem productive, you really only have to type the first words that come into your head as your boss walks by. That means, basically, typing gibberish. Of course, this doesn’t satisfy the boss that you’re working, in fact he probably knows you’re a lazy ass who’s just typing an email to their best friend. But you have one thing working in your advantage: that there’s a chance that you might be working. Even if there’s only a one percent doubt in the boss’ mind that you might be working, that works in your favor, because even a one-percent doubt is doubt all the same, and we’ll take all the doubt we can get if it means people can’t prove that we’re not working. (I decided to lop us all in together so I don’t stand out as the only lazy ass bum to barely hold down a half-ass job, so just humor my self-trickery)

To complete the act, I throw in some sighs and concerned pauses and furrowed brows and sometimes sit up really straight and rigid, acting all stressed out, and using all the sort of body language and facial expressions that go along with the whole charade of a diligent employee dealing with his work. But, like I said, what I’m really writing is gibberish, nonsense, nothing.

Now, usually I would naturally just erase all the gibberish I’d written as soon as mr. boss person had passed by, but one day I read over what I wrote and it was like a revelation! It was the first time I felt any sense of excitement at work (except when surfing porn, but that’s more of a predictable reflex mechanical excitement). But looking at my gibberish, I enjoyed what I saw.What I saw and read was fun, weird, stream-of-consciousness stuff – and so I decided to save what I wrote.

So I present to you now all the gibberish I wrote to make it look like I was working all those months of my life that I had a job. And as I present this, I’m proud to realize that all those hours at work weren’t spent in vain, because if it wasn’t for those jobs, I would never have written these. Just goes to show, work isn’t necessarily a complete waste of time.

[Cautionary warning: Please do not look any of the following words up in a dictionary, it really is gibberish and any sense or meaning that you think you might have picked up on is purely accidental. Also, for optimum enjoyment, the following are best read aloud, preferably to friends.]

1. If it’s not there then he’s probably not on the way, the only way would be to try and ziplock the other things on how they act so aloof with inconspicuous gaxes lingering around the other attributes of zealous belyosandinase beings out of any mere sprickly continental shelf tasks in the majority of deceased writer literary douche rinds.
(I like the “writer literary douche rinds” bit)

2. throughout the gaff the marvels representationmade the being of all the most important plenipotates of the potates throughtout potatia in the back of ramionaphilatelic asperpraphinates in which there were I think already Attila Pelit the only thing missing is the drawer How to make hashbrowns through me, why end with toast and cheesophiliac redontotrophs??
(“Asperpraphinates” definitely deserves to become a legitimized word, while “cheesophiliac redontotroph” is worthy of being up there as one of the funner adjective-noun couplings of late)

3. libid to be depressed to the ordinary for why don’t we already be if ever we already were one?
(The boss passed by pretty quick on that one – and I sort of cheated because I read over what I wrote and added the last six words, so the boss passed even quicker than you first thought)

4. lower the gourds after the prepedantic gyrationman through the y chrome beings of the plant yeast fields of the ordinary dizzymazes that I already knew from when we were the only ones who rolled through the finest troughs of centauri irradinetophination of lesser souls affects only one out of two out of three out of four and so on so could the boss please fuck off already he’s been standing there for ever, kill myself kill myself, ingratiodiotinatacon fleas ok he’s going now, fuck why would emin want to stop and talk to him there, if he actually looked at my screen he could ok any transcribed toll of all the worlds heights he’s gone fucking hell im bored
(The boss took forever to get away on that one, and that douchy workmate of mine didn’t help)

5. a million monkeys typing a million years could probably come up with this, but could Shakespeare? I feel like my heart was left out on a fountain of dryers that are all blowing through each artery like a searing dry wind of blazes and fires that fan the only oceans where pterotynactillian [prepenadinated gylosancrinadial asterpods] roam behind every screen like blank faces left to draw blood from sacred rivers left out in rock strewn streams of halimenx – could islands wander and let the souls die, without offense, without even a sinful burial, I’m hungry give me lunch, send me lunch fuck face RING spastorialish!
(Actually the boss passed by quick there but I was on a gibberish roll, and then I got hungry which would explain the subtle allegory at the end)

6. elzabethan scribes enhance the juices of lyre playing sophisticates of the lesser Papuan tribes with mellifluous try back centiquistalian anthropomegranates that taste like sweet blood and baby juice, but who ever said instigatomatrix actuarians never evicted traitors as if they were the bosses of angrotastinoitated victuals? I despise the cows of mordor and the murderous bards of Alcatraz if only they would sleep, peaceful like me.
(Obviously written around the time of Lord of the Rings, which would explain the word “mordor”. The other words obviously speak for themselves and need no elucidation)

7. elven hooves cluster like whimsy on fury in the office where the pencil sharpener and the terrorist printer make friends and stab allies in backs all wet with the bloodied sweat of bossy bolingration binging bastards on rollerblade steeds without a harness that ties around your neck and saves your life by hanging you high from Mississippi trees in plain solstice inscribed on the mind frames of acumenical needle priests of the papal seal.
(Elysion accounts triabalorial pasing of indiraminatial instarminates… sorry the boss was passing by as I was commenting on that one)

8. althea paisley rickworth brown gave her sentence two words that could tear only the first and the last from y=their literary slumber despite the going rate of vowelatted trichokolophoniate zyclotopes in harritenation and lache… how many does that count and how few were the ones left unaccounted in traiobolafrate zest that is to moons what tomatos are to ketchup oes os oes os.
(Ok now I’m writing this stuff when the boss isn’t even around, so time to quit here)