mydaysasawageslave.com

mydaysasawageslave.com


I am now convinced that my boss (Number 1) is a lizard.

I'm not talking reptile house 4 legged things here. I'm talking David Icke Illuminati alien shape shifter in human form type lizard. 

Apart from the fact that he is an all round 360 degree evil bastard, there is always the uneasy feeling that his personality is that of someone impersonating someone else. Like that guy out of The Talented Mr Ripley. Or to be precise, an Alien shape shifting lizard impersonating a human. He is good at it but never quite right. He doesn't make a convincing human.

The proof has been staring me in the face for a while now. Cold gimlet eyes. No humour, (laughing at other people's pain doesn't really count as humour in my book) and a hatred of both daylight and heat. 

My work space temperature is strictly controlled to be at freezing at all times. Even in the height of summer, it is still cold here in work. You can go outside and feel the heat rising with the hem lines and libidos but step into our building and it's fucking freezing. Fans, air conditioners, lighting, the lot. All designed to cause maximum discomfort to humans.

We had taken to winging about it quite a lot lately, putting pressure on our supervisor, Number 13 (an unlucky number as there has been 3 number 13's in the last 9 months). He agreed that something should be done about it, just not necessarily by him. As a result we had taken to turning up the heating whenever Number 1 was out of the office.

Throughout the day Number 1 storms around the place, moving from room to room avoiding any contact with direct sunlight, followed closely by his acolytes, Smithers and Igor.

As he enters a room he stops, pausing momentarily to sense the temperature. It's hard at these moments to tell if he is sniffing the level of heat in the room or the scent of fear in his humans (employees). At this point, everyone is avoiding eye contact. Some hardy fool has dared to turn off the fan blowing ice cold air into the room. The temperature is now bare-able if you wear a jacket.

But as we know, cold blooded creatures spurn the heat. Number 1 darts a look at us all cowering behind our monitors. Smithers, draped in Burberry scarf with matching designer blue pinstripe shirt and marketing jeans, looks on smugly like he knows someone is 'going to get it now'.

Igor, Number 1's faithful accounts flunky, merely looks on dispassionately. We are not people to him. We are costs. Overheads. Waste even. Given the permission to do so, Igor would kill any one of us without a thought. It is the way of his kind.

'Who's been messing with the temperature?' barked Number 1.

Silence.

'Oohhh!' mocked Smithers in his campest voice '... someone's been naughty.'

'It's set at a constant level. If you people mess with it, everything goes to hell. You know I don't like it when it gets hot. Leave it alone. I've got it on the right setting now.' continued Number 1.

We all looked to Number 13, our supervisor, who went puice. Obviously now wasn't the time to say anything remotely critical of Number 1, as he nodded in sober agreement.

One of the girls, Number 23, sneezed. Number 1 glared at her. She was dead meat now.

'Is that OK!' he barked at Number 13.

'Er, yeah. Grand. Fine.' he mumbled.

And then he was gone. Followed like a faithful hajib wearing Muslim bride by Igor.

Smithers stopped to address us all archly 'Now. That's telling youse.' Before scurrying off after Number 1 into another colder, darker room.

There are no walls in our building. Number 1 likes to see us all at all times. It's a classic prison layout.

Thing is, that through the glass, I'm sure I saw him lash out his tongue a good 3 feet away from the window to kill a fly that was hovering there.

Like a lizard.