mydaysasawageslave.com

I'd taken to missing my monday morning team meeting lately but it was beginning to attract a few comments.

In a tragic effort to avoid being outed as a chronic slacker, I figured I'd better attend this weeks little get-together.

If you can remember morning assembly from your school days, you'll have an idea as to how these meetings went. Headmaster (Number 1) waffles on about stuff, while we (his pupils) sit and variously accept his praise or criticism depending on his mood. In all my time as a wageslave here I hadn't said more than 2 words, (when asked was there anything strange or new in my department that I wanted to share with the rest of the company, I would invariably answer 'No').

This weeks meeting was as mind numbingly boring as all the others.

Half an hour of day dreaming, drooling and drawing murderous cartoons in my notepad, whilst a variety of wageslaves vied with each other for Number 1's affections this week. Laughing louder or longer at his jokes. Looking increasingly pensive at his misgivings or nodding approvingly as he espoused his views on world domination in the field of marketing and sales promotion.

In doing my caricatures I realised that the people who weren't women were beginning to look the same to me. It was as if I had drawn 4 cartoons of the same guy on my note pad, even though I had actually drawn 4 different people. The only differentiation being the large dagger going through the head of one of them. (funny but I always finish my drawings of Number 1 with a large dagger going through his skull! What does that say?!)

In the way they say owners begin to look like their dogs, I'm pretty sure now that Numbers 1's begin to look like their wageslaves. (or vice versa).

It's a given that the people who aren't women in the company begin to assimilate in terms of their dress code, that classic office casual look of straight jeans, tucked in light blue stripey shirt and slip on shoes but it would appear to have moved up to the next level of evolution. Four guys, one haircut.

To cap it all, it would appear that they are all developing the same bald patch. It's like some kind of weird cult around here. I hear that women's periods start to align if they spend a lot of time together but I had never heard of the male equivalent. Although, technically I refer to these guys as the people who aren't women in the company, seeing as how the field of sales promotion isn't exactly renowned for producing the most manly of men if you know what I mean.

I was getting freaked out and I knew I had to get out before I too, was assimilated, Borg style, into the fold. Get out of the company but more importantly right now, get out of the meeting.

I waited for a lull in the conversation before getting up to make my excuses, at which point I noticed a few other desperate souls spark to life at the prospect of getting out of the room.

I muttered something about "...leaving now if that's OK. Work to do..." Number 1 looked at me aghast. In my panic to get out I had forgotten the company's golden rule -You can't do anything without Number 1's permission first. And in a sad desperate act of compulsive disorderal behavior, he had to give me permission to leave the room before I got to the door. My hand was on the handle when I heard him say.
"er... hold on." I stopped to look back at him and the roomful of matching hairlines. "OK you can go then." he blurted out. Panicked at the thought that he had momentarily been caught of guard.

The door hadn't time to swing closed before a deluge of wageslaves were pouring through the door after me. Jumping at the chance to escape.

I made straight to the bathroom and a mirror. I had to reassure myself in regards to my hairline.
Yup it was sufficiently different. I was still human. Unassimilated.

But I had something new to worry about.

I had to escape soon.