A tribute to those trapped in a corporate cell.
1:37pm Left. Right. Lights out on the right. No threat to the left. Always a threat from behind—keep an eye for that.
How much time has passed? 13 seconds faster to examine the perimeter than last time. Look up. What needs to be done? How can it be more inefficient?
Ah—the most inefficient system known to [wo]man—the bladder. This, this inefficiency can be exploited. Better yet, it can be documented.
How much liquid comes in, and what is the relation to what comes out? How many different ways can this be charted on Excel?
What creates more inefficiency—hot? Cold? Flavored?
Colored?
Better yet. How much liquid can one consume before it becomes dangerous? Seems like a necessary internet search. Bing would make this simple search a journey to rival Odysseus’.
Don’t forget the threat from behind. Be cognizant of the productivity you are portraying. Take a sip. Note the bladder movement.
What the hell is between my esophagus and urethra? Anatomy lessons would describe a Schlitterbahn rollercoaster, but mine seems more similar to a slip-n-slide. 1:45pm
1:48pm Only three minutes. Including small talk. Note: re-evaluate bladder conditions before releasing.
The other laborers are struggling too. There is an unspoken code. Although everyone, even the drywall of the building, is aware to the fact there is not enough additional work for 115 temps, the illusion must hold we are hard at work. So says “HR—“ the “Hindrance Regent.” Those who have accepted full-time control under the Regent demonstrate subtle signs of solidarity. Distractions from the small black box, whispered tangential conversations of stuffed tarantulas, full occupancy in the restroom.
Would I rather sit here, powerless, gaining undeserved resources from the payroll, rather than being free on my own time—and dime?
Sounds like a question to take at least five minutes of pondering. 1:54pm