The Last Day: A Sort-Of, Not-Really Live Blog
-Well, kids, here we are... my last day at Sucky Job Inc. So many emotions, so many thoughts, so many boxes of bulk Post-It notes to sneak out the back door for later resale on the black market... yes, it's an exciting time to be your ol' buddy C-dog. The air is thick with possibilities! The atmosphere hums with anticipation! My bowels quiver at the thought that I'm not going to have a job after today and am thus giving myself over to the mercies of whatever Greek God lords over the dark waters of the NYC temping pool! Holy shit, what have I done!!! HA HA HEH HOOOO... no, it'll be fine, just fine, this is the right thing to do, life is too short to stay in a miserable job, etc, etc. (deep breath) Yes... feelin' good. Sunshine and smiles from an infant and kicked-out jams from my favorite band.
Anyway, since this promises to be somewhat of an interesting day, I'm going to do things a little differently here at ZFS!. Instead of one half-assed, mediocre post that goes up in the morning and then that's it, I'm going to have one half-assed, mediocre post that's updated CONTINUOUSLY throughout the day!!! Ooooh, aaaaah... I know, we're blazing new trails and breaking new ground, provided this is 2002. But whatever, I thought it would be fun to keep a running record of my experiences and thoughts on this fairly momentous day in the life of me (C-dog).
Now, for the sake of clarification, let me stress that this IS NOT an attempt at a live blog. Frankly, I have no idea what the cruel masters at Sucky Job Inc. are going to throw at me today and, despite it being my final few hours with the company, there's every chance that I might find myself incredibly busy. I don't think that's going to happen, but you never know. So, to that end, I'm just going to say that I'll be updating this post as much as I can between the hours of 9am and 5pm, but no promises... if I get roped into some sort of crazy shenanigans involving a ritualistic jumping-out by the others in my department, or if I just get too caught up in trying to steal computers... well then, I'm sure you'll understand.
So let's light this candle. Last Day? Bring it on, bitch.
-I went down to get a celebratory muffin from our cafeteria and OF COURSE they didn't have the kind of muffin I wanted (cranberry-orange, as I'm a middle-aged housewife in a robe looking for "something refreshing" in the morning). So already this place is trying to make my last day difficult. Messin' with my muffin selection... you heartless BASTARDS!!!
-This doesn't have anything to do with my last day, but I did want to send out a hearty ZFS!-style congratulations to David Duchovny for completing his rehab treatment for sex addiction! Way to go, you ol' poon-hound!!! Now keep it in your pants.
-It smells like someone farted coffee all up in here. Like, packed their anus with coffee grounds, then let loose with a Force-10 Pants Destroyer. I mean, I know that's not what REALLY happened (I don't think, anyway), but that means that someone right now in this office is drinking coffee that smells like farts. Goddamn this place sucks.
-Here's a phrase you don't want to hear from your temp agency: "Yeah, we're SOOOO dead right now." Well that's just fucking great. I told myself I was done with stripping, but... dammit... gotta find that box of thongs... lousy economy...
-They've taken away my access to all the programs we use, so basically I'll be "cleaning out my desk" for the next seven and a half hours. Or, you know, surfing the internet for nasty fetish porn. What they gonna do, FIRE ME??? HA HA HA HA oooh, stump-fuckers...!!!
-Worst thing found in my desk so far: Ketchup packets covered in a thick, sticky, amber-colored glaze that's either maple syrup or something from an alien civilization that's going to bond with my DNA and turn me into a superhero. I know I've never eaten pancakes at my desk, so I can only assume it's the latter.
-Further adventures in desk cleaning: Three Hershey's Kisses, ossified, possibly older than the Moon and the stars; an open packet of wasabi that I'm pretty sure blinked at me; a large stain that I hope isn't pee; Hoffa; my dignity.
-My cubicle-mate is giving me the silent treatment. I'm countering with silent farts. The situation is fostering an unpleasant work environment for a variety of reasons.
-There are papers in my desk from the guy who had my job BEFORE me. Organization!!! Also, I think the guy who had this job before me is in here too. Because I killed him!!!
-PAPER CUT!!! Swear to god, it's like trying to leave the house in Poltergeist. I'll make it, I'm sure, but every fucking thing in the joint is going to come alive and try to kill me first. I'm waiting for the psychotic clown puppet to mount it's attack. Why I keep that thing in my cubicle, I'll never know...
-I have finished cleaning out my desk and I actually feel kind of exhausted and filthy, like I've been putting up drywall in a hot garage or helping a friend move all their stuff up five flights of stairs. I don't know if that means I'm just THAT out of shape or if my desk was just THAT disgusting. Seeing as how my hands are now black with soot and my trashcan looks like a city dump fell over and died, I'm going to assume it's the latter. Also, wow, a lot of animal bones. *Am* I a serial killer? Where *do* I go at night? Cleaning out my desk has now officially freaked me out a little bit...
-I just realized that I referred to this post as a "live blog" in it's title, then said it WASN'T a live blog in the actual text. Confusing! Well, I guess that's what you get when you start drinking Wite-Out at 8:30 in the morning. Gettin' corrected, ifyaknowwhatImean!!!
-Lunch: The halfway point of this day of days. For celebration's sake, I thought about taking myself out to a hearty meal at Burger King, say, or to one of the businessman-centric food-aterias in Midtown where you can get a pizza, a burrito, a salad, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup... all of it disgusting... as quickly as humanly possible so you can get back to doing important businessman things like looking at spreadsheets or smothering your hopes and dreams with a pillow. But, instead, I decided to end things the way they began: With Ramen!!! Delicious, awful Top Ramen, cooked in the hot water from the coffee machine, spiked liberally with my tears. Really, there's no other way this final office lunch could go. It was Ramen that came with me into this world, and it's Ramen that will accompany me out. God bless it!!! God, I hate Ramen.
-One thing I'm REALLY not going to miss about this place: The bathrooms. They are disgusting with a capital, "BARF." Like, if you took a guy fresh from a stint in a Guatemalan prison and showed him our bathrooms, he'd be all like, "sir, I was just released from a Guatemalan prison... I want to see my family... why have you brought me to New York to look at a bathroom." And I'd explain to him that I was hoping he'd compare the disgustingness of the bathroom with his hopefully similar experiences with bathrooms inside said Guatemalan prison. And HE'LL tell me that, obviously, the Guatemalan prison is much worse because they have no federal regulations down there or human rights violation watchdogs to keep an eye on conditions inside the prison walls and that to even think of comparing a midtown office building's restrooms to the plight suffered by a Guatemalan prisoner is deeply, deeply insulting. And then I'd try to explain to him that I was attempting to use exaggeration to comedic effect and... look, I'm getting pretty far afield of my point here...All I wanted to say is that the bathrooms here are totally stanky. People need to learn to pee straighter and with more accuracy.
-I've been picking my nose for the last five minutes. Knowing that I'm never going to see these people again is TOTALLY liberating!!! Fuck it, I'm taking my pants off...
-Going down to the security office to relinquish my ID card and electronic pass key, as well as my gun, badge, power of attorney, rights to privacy, some racy photos of me at the office Christmas party, a goat, and a large quantity of waffle batter that somehow has fallen under the blanket heading of "company property." I brought that waffle batter from home, but WHATEVER.
-Wowzers... just got back from the Exit Interview. Awkward times a million to the power of pi. THAT'S RIGHT. I don't even know if that's mathematically possible or not but if it is, then said theorem was proved like a motherfucker a few minutes ago between me and a very severe HR representative who reminded me of a cross between a police interrogator and that guy who beat the bottoms of Brad Davis's feet in Midnight Express. I've mostly suppressed the memories of what went on in there... I remember a whip, a lot of blood, and a crowd of Thai businessmen watching with their cold, dead eyes... but suffice to say it was an ordeal. Not to mention the fact that they made me get a bunch of signatures from various department heads on several different floors AFTER taking away my pass key, which meant that I couldn't use the elevators. I'm pretty sure they were like, "let's make the quitting fatty use the stairs.... mwuah-ah-ah-ah!!!" Yeah, that's totally how it went down. Anyway, I'm here at my desk all exhausted flop sweats and nervous tension now. But, only an hour and a half to go, so... hey... that's something I guess. I wonder if these Hershey Kisses are still edibile...
-I think I'm going to spend the last hour of the day running around the office slapping people I don't like. Not like hard or anything... like an effeminate French dandy. I mean, I bought these silk gloves (for a million fictional dollars) and NEVER use them. Might as well bust 'em out all fop-style. I'm Sharpie-ing on a beauty mark as we speak.... and... and... PERFECT! M'lords, prepare thine upper-cheeks for a thrashing!!!
-The slappings were poorly received. They ripped my gloves. My beauty mark is all smudged. FINE. I'm just going to sit here and pretend I'm opening emails for the next hour (really, though, it's back to the fetish porn). Bunch of effeminate French dandy-hating jerks... they were slaps of love!!!
-Phone's shut off, can't access any programs, no one's sending me emails... I'm feeling like an astronaut cut loose from the ship during a spacewalk. Adrift and alone, cold and lost, nothing for sustenance but that crappy freeze-dried Neapolitan ice cream and my own pee from my space suit pee bag... it's a frightening feeling, being so unattached and unmoored. It makes you contemplate things you don't want to contemplate... like, you know, how you're going to feed yourself in the coming months if no money comes in, and that leads to thoughts of homelessness and becoming a master shoplifter just to stay alive and appearing in Bumfights videos because you heard they give you delicious grain alcohol instead of payment. I'm going to have to sell my blood!!! My sperm!!! My marrow and probably my sweet, sweet Texas ass!!! HOLY SHIT THIS WAS A MISTAKE!!! (hyperventilating into my empty Ramen package) Why don't I have the ability to "go with the flow?" Why can't I just "keep my head down and muddle through?" Why do have to be so goddamn awesome that no job can contain me??? Curse my irrepressible spirit!!!! (vomiting from rage and shame and, of course, awesome-ness) It's going to be a dark time, my friends. Bleak and unrelenting, cruel and ugly-faced, prickly and grape-flavored, damp and circus-like. My beautiful, beautiful readers... I'm not too manly to admit that I'm scared. Will not anyone hold me while I weep (more like sob so hard the government threatens to take my cat away)???
-The last five minutes... the hugs have started, as well as the professions of love from those who never had the courage to approach me in the past, but can't bear the thought of letting me get away without having told me of their true feelings. I hate to break hearts, but Ricky the Janitor and the ladies from the cafeteria just aren't my type. Too, for lack of a better word, mustache-y. ALL of them.
-AND THAT'S THE END OF THAT CHAPTER. Yikes.
Anyway, since this promises to be somewhat of an interesting day, I'm going to do things a little differently here at ZFS!. Instead of one half-assed, mediocre post that goes up in the morning and then that's it, I'm going to have one half-assed, mediocre post that's updated CONTINUOUSLY throughout the day!!! Ooooh, aaaaah... I know, we're blazing new trails and breaking new ground, provided this is 2002. But whatever, I thought it would be fun to keep a running record of my experiences and thoughts on this fairly momentous day in the life of me (C-dog).
Now, for the sake of clarification, let me stress that this IS NOT an attempt at a live blog. Frankly, I have no idea what the cruel masters at Sucky Job Inc. are going to throw at me today and, despite it being my final few hours with the company, there's every chance that I might find myself incredibly busy. I don't think that's going to happen, but you never know. So, to that end, I'm just going to say that I'll be updating this post as much as I can between the hours of 9am and 5pm, but no promises... if I get roped into some sort of crazy shenanigans involving a ritualistic jumping-out by the others in my department, or if I just get too caught up in trying to steal computers... well then, I'm sure you'll understand.
So let's light this candle. Last Day? Bring it on, bitch.
-I went down to get a celebratory muffin from our cafeteria and OF COURSE they didn't have the kind of muffin I wanted (cranberry-orange, as I'm a middle-aged housewife in a robe looking for "something refreshing" in the morning). So already this place is trying to make my last day difficult. Messin' with my muffin selection... you heartless BASTARDS!!!
-This doesn't have anything to do with my last day, but I did want to send out a hearty ZFS!-style congratulations to David Duchovny for completing his rehab treatment for sex addiction! Way to go, you ol' poon-hound!!! Now keep it in your pants.
-It smells like someone farted coffee all up in here. Like, packed their anus with coffee grounds, then let loose with a Force-10 Pants Destroyer. I mean, I know that's not what REALLY happened (I don't think, anyway), but that means that someone right now in this office is drinking coffee that smells like farts. Goddamn this place sucks.
-Here's a phrase you don't want to hear from your temp agency: "Yeah, we're SOOOO dead right now." Well that's just fucking great. I told myself I was done with stripping, but... dammit... gotta find that box of thongs... lousy economy...
-They've taken away my access to all the programs we use, so basically I'll be "cleaning out my desk" for the next seven and a half hours. Or, you know, surfing the internet for nasty fetish porn. What they gonna do, FIRE ME??? HA HA HA HA oooh, stump-fuckers...!!!
-Worst thing found in my desk so far: Ketchup packets covered in a thick, sticky, amber-colored glaze that's either maple syrup or something from an alien civilization that's going to bond with my DNA and turn me into a superhero. I know I've never eaten pancakes at my desk, so I can only assume it's the latter.
-Further adventures in desk cleaning: Three Hershey's Kisses, ossified, possibly older than the Moon and the stars; an open packet of wasabi that I'm pretty sure blinked at me; a large stain that I hope isn't pee; Hoffa; my dignity.
-My cubicle-mate is giving me the silent treatment. I'm countering with silent farts. The situation is fostering an unpleasant work environment for a variety of reasons.
-There are papers in my desk from the guy who had my job BEFORE me. Organization!!! Also, I think the guy who had this job before me is in here too. Because I killed him!!!
-PAPER CUT!!! Swear to god, it's like trying to leave the house in Poltergeist. I'll make it, I'm sure, but every fucking thing in the joint is going to come alive and try to kill me first. I'm waiting for the psychotic clown puppet to mount it's attack. Why I keep that thing in my cubicle, I'll never know...
-I have finished cleaning out my desk and I actually feel kind of exhausted and filthy, like I've been putting up drywall in a hot garage or helping a friend move all their stuff up five flights of stairs. I don't know if that means I'm just THAT out of shape or if my desk was just THAT disgusting. Seeing as how my hands are now black with soot and my trashcan looks like a city dump fell over and died, I'm going to assume it's the latter. Also, wow, a lot of animal bones. *Am* I a serial killer? Where *do* I go at night? Cleaning out my desk has now officially freaked me out a little bit...
-I just realized that I referred to this post as a "live blog" in it's title, then said it WASN'T a live blog in the actual text. Confusing! Well, I guess that's what you get when you start drinking Wite-Out at 8:30 in the morning. Gettin' corrected, ifyaknowwhatImean!!!
-Lunch: The halfway point of this day of days. For celebration's sake, I thought about taking myself out to a hearty meal at Burger King, say, or to one of the businessman-centric food-aterias in Midtown where you can get a pizza, a burrito, a salad, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup... all of it disgusting... as quickly as humanly possible so you can get back to doing important businessman things like looking at spreadsheets or smothering your hopes and dreams with a pillow. But, instead, I decided to end things the way they began: With Ramen!!! Delicious, awful Top Ramen, cooked in the hot water from the coffee machine, spiked liberally with my tears. Really, there's no other way this final office lunch could go. It was Ramen that came with me into this world, and it's Ramen that will accompany me out. God bless it!!! God, I hate Ramen.
-One thing I'm REALLY not going to miss about this place: The bathrooms. They are disgusting with a capital, "BARF." Like, if you took a guy fresh from a stint in a Guatemalan prison and showed him our bathrooms, he'd be all like, "sir, I was just released from a Guatemalan prison... I want to see my family... why have you brought me to New York to look at a bathroom." And I'd explain to him that I was hoping he'd compare the disgustingness of the bathroom with his hopefully similar experiences with bathrooms inside said Guatemalan prison. And HE'LL tell me that, obviously, the Guatemalan prison is much worse because they have no federal regulations down there or human rights violation watchdogs to keep an eye on conditions inside the prison walls and that to even think of comparing a midtown office building's restrooms to the plight suffered by a Guatemalan prisoner is deeply, deeply insulting. And then I'd try to explain to him that I was attempting to use exaggeration to comedic effect and... look, I'm getting pretty far afield of my point here...All I wanted to say is that the bathrooms here are totally stanky. People need to learn to pee straighter and with more accuracy.
-I've been picking my nose for the last five minutes. Knowing that I'm never going to see these people again is TOTALLY liberating!!! Fuck it, I'm taking my pants off...
-Going down to the security office to relinquish my ID card and electronic pass key, as well as my gun, badge, power of attorney, rights to privacy, some racy photos of me at the office Christmas party, a goat, and a large quantity of waffle batter that somehow has fallen under the blanket heading of "company property." I brought that waffle batter from home, but WHATEVER.
-Wowzers... just got back from the Exit Interview. Awkward times a million to the power of pi. THAT'S RIGHT. I don't even know if that's mathematically possible or not but if it is, then said theorem was proved like a motherfucker a few minutes ago between me and a very severe HR representative who reminded me of a cross between a police interrogator and that guy who beat the bottoms of Brad Davis's feet in Midnight Express. I've mostly suppressed the memories of what went on in there... I remember a whip, a lot of blood, and a crowd of Thai businessmen watching with their cold, dead eyes... but suffice to say it was an ordeal. Not to mention the fact that they made me get a bunch of signatures from various department heads on several different floors AFTER taking away my pass key, which meant that I couldn't use the elevators. I'm pretty sure they were like, "let's make the quitting fatty use the stairs.... mwuah-ah-ah-ah!!!" Yeah, that's totally how it went down. Anyway, I'm here at my desk all exhausted flop sweats and nervous tension now. But, only an hour and a half to go, so... hey... that's something I guess. I wonder if these Hershey Kisses are still edibile...
-I think I'm going to spend the last hour of the day running around the office slapping people I don't like. Not like hard or anything... like an effeminate French dandy. I mean, I bought these silk gloves (for a million fictional dollars) and NEVER use them. Might as well bust 'em out all fop-style. I'm Sharpie-ing on a beauty mark as we speak.... and... and... PERFECT! M'lords, prepare thine upper-cheeks for a thrashing!!!
-The slappings were poorly received. They ripped my gloves. My beauty mark is all smudged. FINE. I'm just going to sit here and pretend I'm opening emails for the next hour (really, though, it's back to the fetish porn). Bunch of effeminate French dandy-hating jerks... they were slaps of love!!!
-Phone's shut off, can't access any programs, no one's sending me emails... I'm feeling like an astronaut cut loose from the ship during a spacewalk. Adrift and alone, cold and lost, nothing for sustenance but that crappy freeze-dried Neapolitan ice cream and my own pee from my space suit pee bag... it's a frightening feeling, being so unattached and unmoored. It makes you contemplate things you don't want to contemplate... like, you know, how you're going to feed yourself in the coming months if no money comes in, and that leads to thoughts of homelessness and becoming a master shoplifter just to stay alive and appearing in Bumfights videos because you heard they give you delicious grain alcohol instead of payment. I'm going to have to sell my blood!!! My sperm!!! My marrow and probably my sweet, sweet Texas ass!!! HOLY SHIT THIS WAS A MISTAKE!!! (hyperventilating into my empty Ramen package) Why don't I have the ability to "go with the flow?" Why can't I just "keep my head down and muddle through?" Why do have to be so goddamn awesome that no job can contain me??? Curse my irrepressible spirit!!!! (vomiting from rage and shame and, of course, awesome-ness) It's going to be a dark time, my friends. Bleak and unrelenting, cruel and ugly-faced, prickly and grape-flavored, damp and circus-like. My beautiful, beautiful readers... I'm not too manly to admit that I'm scared. Will not anyone hold me while I weep (more like sob so hard the government threatens to take my cat away)???
-The last five minutes... the hugs have started, as well as the professions of love from those who never had the courage to approach me in the past, but can't bear the thought of letting me get away without having told me of their true feelings. I hate to break hearts, but Ricky the Janitor and the ladies from the cafeteria just aren't my type. Too, for lack of a better word, mustache-y. ALL of them.
-AND THAT'S THE END OF THAT CHAPTER. Yikes.
posted by Clinton at 8:27 AM
12 Comments:
run for president whydoncha!
there's a cake job. if a guy like W can coast for 8 years then it should be a virtual cranberry orange muffin walk for you!
your beer and farts for every american platform should make it a landslide victory!
OMG!!!
Are you gonna knock over the water cooler and break stuff when you're on your way ot and leave forever?
I want a muffin now too.
Force-10 Pants Destroyer...that's an image. Yikes.
Since I have been out of the loop, if I had known it was your last day I would have sent you a basket of alcohol to help make your day go by faster. You could have then pranced out at the end of the day in your thong stuffed full of post it pads.
Did the guy BEFORE you have a blog?!?!!
Jason... I'm preparing many buttons with that slogan. Also, mmm... muffin.
Lioux... Nah, I'm just going to walk out the door all quietly triumphant, then sneak back in later and steal all the phones.
Sonny... Your welcome.
David... It's never to late to send a basket of booze. It's a gift that knows no time restrictions.
Lioux 2... I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't kill him so I could take over his blog!!! That's ridiculous!!!!
"or to one of the businessman-centric food-aterias in Midtown where you can get a pizza, a burrito, a salad, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup... all of it disgusting... as quickly as humanly possible so you can get back to doing important businessman things like looking at spreadsheets or smothering your hopes and dreams with a pillow."
It's so goddamn true. Those places are like a bermuda triangle of flavor. Even if you just order say a turkey sandwich it tastes like ass and you pay $7, and you wring your hands and say how??? And curse yourself for forking over precious precious cash. I don't know how those bizness men eat there every day.
Wow.
I'm surprised they made you work the whole day.
If you give notice here where I work, they say, 'that's ok, please clean out your desk and you can leave today'.
Congrats on your last day! My old job never took back my ID badge (I finally threw it away about month ago) and as far as I know, my email address is still collecting messages. They run a tight ship.
Don't be scared. This could be the best thing that ever happened to you. I went off my antidepressants after quitting my job and I've never been happier. You might not have any money coming in for a while, but dammit, you'll be LIVING!
Heavy... They do it because there's one on every block, thus they're always at hand and negate the need for a decision to be made. Businessmen love being told what to do and, in effect, that's what these places are doing.
Big Daddy... I kept waiting for the axe to fall, myself. They seemed like the kind of people that'd kick me out on my ass. But no. Made it the full two weeks. And now I'm done. Whatever.
TOWR... I'm just worried, I guess, that I'm trading one stress for another. But you're right; it's good that I'm not working there anymore, regardless of what happens. It wasn't a happy place.
Hey Uncle C-Dog,
Congratulations on finding your balls and leaving. I know you're gonna be oooo-kay.
Now put some clothes on, it's unseemly.
C- Dog ---You go GIRL --- You will be fine, you have to BELIEVE!!!
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