"The White Jacket" - by Philly Moon

So I'm falling asleep as I type, my fingers getting heavier with every letter. Can't really talk, I'm busy, well no, more like, I should be busy. I have to order furniture for my office and get quotes on signs & banners and crap for this company coming in next week. HA, they want ME to decorate the office? I can't even pick out matching furniture for my own apartment! hehehe

Maybe the public won't mind if I sleep talk to them for a while. Maybe my boss won't mind if I sleep walk.

Hell, maybe I can just curl up in a little ball in the storage closet and when someone comes in, I'll just pretend I'm looking for paperclips on the floor! Of course they'll think I'm a crackhead, quietly walk away, run down the hall to HR and explain my carpet combing behavior. THEN, HR will call and say "Hi Carol, how are you feeling today? Can you stop down and see us?"

I'll say, "Sure!" (pretending I don't know that they're about to send me to rehab). So I get down there and they have 2 large men waiting by the door with a cute little white jacket (I bet they're reps from the Gap).

"Oh, for me? How sweet!" Is it my anniversary with the company?"

"Ma'am, you'll have to come with us!"

Oh, how convenient, all I wanted to do in the first place was sleep. Now I get to do it in a cushy padded room! I never clocked out so I'm getting paid now for sleeping.

I wonder when I get to leave? "Hey, can I go back to the office now?" (I say this now in a slurred, drug induced murmur) It's kind of hard to speak when they have you injected with about 5 cc's of Thorizine).

Now I'm in a tough situation, and I'm pissed. I finally get turned loose and return to work next month. They failed to tell me that I've been replaced! I ask if I could at least get my belongings from the closet...they agree.

I open the door and what do I find? The new girl sleeping on the floor...... Hmmmmmm.......... revenge is sweet!

I never looked good in white anyway.

[Blogger's note: A cute girl sent this to me, not knowing that today was the turning point in which I have officially begun to hate my job. I 'spose it was only a matter of time, which is why I've begun reading Sabotage in the American Workplace. I'm not of that inclination, but I find it soothing that others have been thusly motivated to extract workplace revenge. Unwittingly then, Philly Moon's little "bedtime story," as she called it, assuaged the bitter wolf in me. Kindred!]