Friday, September 16, 2005
a toilet break costs your boss money.
I went 2 days last week without going to the toilet once.
I didn't think about it until I was getting ready to leave my plot. one of the other guys I like to call Wageslave 5, was whining about how "this toilet issue was becoming a real bastard!"
"What toilet issue." i said.
"there IS no toilet!" he retorted, "why, where have you been going then?"
"I haven't been going anywhere. Why how long have they been out of action?"
"Since yesterday. All day."
"Oh, I didn't know. No one told me."
"Didn't you get the email from Philis?" he quizzed.
"Oh I don't usually read them. they're never really for me. You know all that company announcements type of stuff."
He looked knowingly over at wageslave 13, Kelvin our supervisor, for approval, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well they are out of action. Since yesterday... and it's a real bastard!"
"Right. That is bad." I nodded.
He seemed happy with this and headed for the door. "Anyway, I'm dying for a slash and I've a match to play tonight so I'll see you girls tomorrow. " Wageslave 13 following close behind.
I love to get a good bitch and moan in, especially at the companies expense but wageslaves 5 and 13 are not the kind of people you bitch to. They might do a lot of moaning themselves but it's usually about some co-worker or other not pulling their weight. Doing their bit for the company and the like. That the company might ever be at fault is never considered. To question the motives or validity of any company decree was tantamount to blasphemy. So I had learnt to keep quiet around these guys.
Although, if truth be known, I was actually in shock that I had gone 2 days with having a piss. This was really freaking me out.
I sat there as everyone around me was leaving (aside from the usual desk magnets who seem to live here almost unnoticed, avoiding bad marriages or lonely house shares with strangers). My mind was racing over the past 2 days, trying to recall a visit to the toilet. There had to have been one. I think I went yesterday morning before I left the house.
I know I had drank a good bit of black tea and coffee lately. Maybe I had prostrate cancer or something! Now I was sweating.
I went on to the internet to look it up.
I shouldn't have bothered.
Now I'm really freaked out.
I scrolled through my emails. Any with an office address usually get ignored. If it's important they'll call me on the phone. I checked one of those from Philis (Wageslave 12) dated yesterday. Yes, she had indeed flagged us to the fact that the toilets were not working. In among all those notices about how it was the boss' birthday / anniversary / wife's birthday or latest dictate on clothing, cleanliness, noise, company loyalty or timekeeping, was one headed 'Company Toilets...' it went on to say that they 'will be out of action until further notice.' it was signed 'Office Manager' although Philis was essentially The Master's voice made flesh.
Number 1 wouldn't deign to lower himself to addressing us on such trivialities and so he used his 'Office Manager' to act as intermediary. In between making him cups of tea and reminding him what presents she had bought on his behalf for various members of his family.
I was suddenly overcome with the sudden urge to take a piss. It was like the floodgates had burst on a dam and I knew I wouldn't make it through the 20 minute journey home. I needed to go and I needed it now.
I packed up my stuff and made for the hall. The room was quiet but for the cleaners buzzing around.
I passed Wageslave 66 sitting staring into his monitor. He turned to look up at me with a blank smile. I noticed that he had his finger pressing on the 'a' button on his keyboard, the screen filling up with line after line of a flashing digital scream. In my 6 months there I had never said more than 3 words to the guy. I hoped he was just unaware of his mistake. It was either that or he was seriously crashing. I'd have to watch out there in case he goes postal someday. Make sure I'm not in that day.
The hallway and stairs were empty and my mind was racing. Why where the toilets out of use anyway? What was wrong with them? Broken cistern? Blockage? Leak? I would do a piss regardless. No one would know it was me. Who cares if there's no flush? Although an overflowing or leaking toilet would be worse again. But fuck it. Who's to know it was me?
Shit! The door's locked. What's the story? then suddenly I hear the toilet flush. Not wanting to bump into anyone in this state I jump up a couple of stairs around the corner toward the storage cupboard.
Next thing I see Number 1 hulking away from me down the hallway laughing out loud to himself.
It's a freaky moment. I didn't know he was in the building. Once he was out of site, I nipped into the vacant toilet. He must have done a dump because the stench was almost overpowering but I couldn't wait any longer. I was letting loose as soon as I got my fly open. Splashing like a mad bastard dog marking his territory. Sweet relief!
When I had finally finished up I found everything flushed perfectly fine. I waited for the leak or whatever and it never came. So what exactly was the problem? Seemed fine to me.
Next day we got a circular around midday telling us we could use the toilets again. It occurred to me that there had been no one in to fix the toilets. Number 1 had rung Collette just moments before she had alerted us to the good news about them.
What a fucking freak!
Still, I was just glad to be back pissing regularly again. Now if only I could get over this constipation thing I've been having since I stared here I'd be happy.
I didn't think about it until I was getting ready to leave my plot. one of the other guys I like to call Wageslave 5, was whining about how "this toilet issue was becoming a real bastard!"
"What toilet issue." i said.
"there IS no toilet!" he retorted, "why, where have you been going then?"
"I haven't been going anywhere. Why how long have they been out of action?"
"Since yesterday. All day."
"Oh, I didn't know. No one told me."
"Didn't you get the email from Philis?" he quizzed.
"Oh I don't usually read them. they're never really for me. You know all that company announcements type of stuff."
He looked knowingly over at wageslave 13, Kelvin our supervisor, for approval, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well they are out of action. Since yesterday... and it's a real bastard!"
"Right. That is bad." I nodded.
He seemed happy with this and headed for the door. "Anyway, I'm dying for a slash and I've a match to play tonight so I'll see you girls tomorrow. " Wageslave 13 following close behind.
I love to get a good bitch and moan in, especially at the companies expense but wageslaves 5 and 13 are not the kind of people you bitch to. They might do a lot of moaning themselves but it's usually about some co-worker or other not pulling their weight. Doing their bit for the company and the like. That the company might ever be at fault is never considered. To question the motives or validity of any company decree was tantamount to blasphemy. So I had learnt to keep quiet around these guys.
Although, if truth be known, I was actually in shock that I had gone 2 days with having a piss. This was really freaking me out.
I sat there as everyone around me was leaving (aside from the usual desk magnets who seem to live here almost unnoticed, avoiding bad marriages or lonely house shares with strangers). My mind was racing over the past 2 days, trying to recall a visit to the toilet. There had to have been one. I think I went yesterday morning before I left the house.
I know I had drank a good bit of black tea and coffee lately. Maybe I had prostrate cancer or something! Now I was sweating.
I went on to the internet to look it up.
I shouldn't have bothered.
Now I'm really freaked out.
I scrolled through my emails. Any with an office address usually get ignored. If it's important they'll call me on the phone. I checked one of those from Philis (Wageslave 12) dated yesterday. Yes, she had indeed flagged us to the fact that the toilets were not working. In among all those notices about how it was the boss' birthday / anniversary / wife's birthday or latest dictate on clothing, cleanliness, noise, company loyalty or timekeeping, was one headed 'Company Toilets...' it went on to say that they 'will be out of action until further notice.' it was signed 'Office Manager' although Philis was essentially The Master's voice made flesh.
Number 1 wouldn't deign to lower himself to addressing us on such trivialities and so he used his 'Office Manager' to act as intermediary. In between making him cups of tea and reminding him what presents she had bought on his behalf for various members of his family.
I was suddenly overcome with the sudden urge to take a piss. It was like the floodgates had burst on a dam and I knew I wouldn't make it through the 20 minute journey home. I needed to go and I needed it now.
I packed up my stuff and made for the hall. The room was quiet but for the cleaners buzzing around.
I passed Wageslave 66 sitting staring into his monitor. He turned to look up at me with a blank smile. I noticed that he had his finger pressing on the 'a' button on his keyboard, the screen filling up with line after line of a flashing digital scream. In my 6 months there I had never said more than 3 words to the guy. I hoped he was just unaware of his mistake. It was either that or he was seriously crashing. I'd have to watch out there in case he goes postal someday. Make sure I'm not in that day.
The hallway and stairs were empty and my mind was racing. Why where the toilets out of use anyway? What was wrong with them? Broken cistern? Blockage? Leak? I would do a piss regardless. No one would know it was me. Who cares if there's no flush? Although an overflowing or leaking toilet would be worse again. But fuck it. Who's to know it was me?
Shit! The door's locked. What's the story? then suddenly I hear the toilet flush. Not wanting to bump into anyone in this state I jump up a couple of stairs around the corner toward the storage cupboard.
Next thing I see Number 1 hulking away from me down the hallway laughing out loud to himself.
It's a freaky moment. I didn't know he was in the building. Once he was out of site, I nipped into the vacant toilet. He must have done a dump because the stench was almost overpowering but I couldn't wait any longer. I was letting loose as soon as I got my fly open. Splashing like a mad bastard dog marking his territory. Sweet relief!
When I had finally finished up I found everything flushed perfectly fine. I waited for the leak or whatever and it never came. So what exactly was the problem? Seemed fine to me.
Next day we got a circular around midday telling us we could use the toilets again. It occurred to me that there had been no one in to fix the toilets. Number 1 had rung Collette just moments before she had alerted us to the good news about them.
What a fucking freak!
Still, I was just glad to be back pissing regularly again. Now if only I could get over this constipation thing I've been having since I stared here I'd be happy.
Friday, September 02, 2005
my boss is a lizard
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.
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.
Mullets, Moustaches & Satan. It's all good.
Today I actually had to do a full days work.
As a matter of principle I like to spend at last 2 hours a day doing nothing that will make my boss (Number 1) any money.
It's in my 'rules for a wageslave' that this journal will only be written during working hours.
I see it as a way of clawing back a bit of my life and therefore I fool myself that I get a better hourly rate of pay than I actually do, seeing as I only work 20 odd hours a week as opposed to 40. My hero is the guy from Fight Club (not Brad Pitt's Tyler Durden but the Ed Norton guy), who manages to get his boss fired and a years salary for doing nothing. Hmmm. One day.
Having to do a full 8 hours work really kills me but today in the middle of my working hell I managed to steal this photo from Number 1's office. I enlisted the help of a fellow wageslave. I call him Number 29. He's going to go postal any day now I know it and I must say I am encouraging him to do it.
Anyway, here he is in all his Satanic splendour. He is on the left, shaking hands with the moustachioued mullet, who I can only presume is another blue blooded lizardy PD type.
He is the enemy.
And remember, photos never lie.
freedom for all wageslaves
