Can a person really die of boredom? I may find out...
With no internet access, I seriously started thinking I might not survive the day. It hit me the worst when I was suddenly overcome with the urge to go play in the forklift 'intersection'. Or perhaps that was just my brain in desperate need of escaping the torturous notes of Debbie Gibson's 'Only in My Dreeeeeeaaaams.' I heard it trying to decide whether to kill Debbie, or throw itself at the mercy of the cherry-pickers...and, well, we don't know where Debbie lives.
In my desperation, the only program I could find was Microsoft Word. So with nothing better to do, I started typing:
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It's 8:45 am. I've been sitting here for 2 hours that feel like an eternity, staring at a message that tells me over and over, no matter how many times I click that little refresh button, that the server is still down. This is the nightmare of a weekend IT worker, locked in the arctic tundra of the computer room, where the thermostat is set at a constant 72, but happens to be attached to a dyslexic air conditioner. I am hidden in the dungeon of solitude that is the IT office, wiping snotsicles from my frostbitten nose. And I just realized I forgot to put on deodorant this morning, which you'd think wouldn't be necessary. How is it possible for a person to sweat to much when they can see their own breath?? It makes no sense to me....none. Did I mention snotsicles? Seriously, how can you sweat while your body is making frozen boogers??
Meanwhile, I'm freezing my giblets off and I hear it supposed to be 81 degrees and sunny today,is it? I'd love to know, but I am banished. No windows to look out and view the frisky spring butterflies and the flirty little birds, all a twitter with the onset of a new season. The only view I have is the screen of my PC, mocking me as I resort to typing my lonely existence away on MSword, in hopes of not losing my mind. I could turn around, again, to look at the monitor behind me, which displays the server map, but it's too depressing to see the PC icon of the server in question, in all of its disabled glory. It has a large red explosion bubble around it, much like the one in the old Superman comics, but without the "Whammy-Kablammy!" sound blurb (OK...those were probably more like "POW!" or "BOOM!", but I like "Whammy-Kablammy" way better). To me, it appears the PC is exploding, has evolved into a strange electronic entity sporting a threatening peacock-like tail of red 'whammy-kablammy' feathers, or is mimicking our Lady of Liberty by donning a spikey red crown. Regardless, I shall not look at it, as I have a hundred times already, because I swear I hear it snicker and giggle each time I sigh with disappointment.
I do keep looking at the clock in the lower right corner of my screen, and I?m sure it hasn't changed in the last hour. I have begun to search the office's other stations for ways to entertain myself. So far I've read two high-society women's magazines, which I hate. Aside from a promising interview with Ellen Degeneres and an add for some kind of bedroom athletic equipment called 'The Liberator', those were a waste of ten whopping minutes each. All I am left with is the itchy scent of 'parfum' adds in my nostrils and the vision of some scantily clad woman sprawled across the Wedge (combined with Ramp) style Liberators. If I sprawled across the Liberator, you'd not be able to see said 'equipment' because my girth would be squishing the life out of it underneath, and that's just a scary thought.
In an attempt to alleviate my boredom, I have explored the desk drawers of the other office staff (not private drawers -those are locked and I'm no thief) and found a hoarding of sporks and salt packets, one mayo packet, about 60 bendy straws, a strange paperback war novel that looks like it's been around since the 50s and is desperate to be put to rest, and out of its musty, page-yellowing, misery. I also found a drawer that smells mysteriously like play-doh. What on earth would make an office desk drawer smell like play-doh?. That is some nasty-smelling stuff. I closed it quickly and gagged, but then held my breath to open it in search of what might be causing the smell. Hmmm...no play-doh, nothing there that I can find that would cause such a smell, but then pretty much all of the contents of that drawer now smell like play-doh, so I guess it's pointless to even look for the culprit anymore. Yuck! Closed the drawer and crossed the room, wearily, slumping back into my chair, reached for my snack bag and pulled out some applesauce, which I ate with the cheapest of sporks ever manufactured, and an 'Oatmeal to Go' square, which made me wish I was 'going' somewhere...anywhere. *sigh*
So, now I'm sitting here, looking around, studying the carefully chosen décor of the other IT office inhabitants, and in doing so, I've learned some very important lessons and have attached my thoughts on them in (parentheses) to share with my fellow bloggers...sometime soon...hopefully?
Anyway, here you go: Life's Valuable Lessons as observed by Mo:
Butt Jiggle is just another way of waving 'goodbye'. (and my back-up alarm is my way of saying 'LOOKOUT! Becoming pinned under this object can cause serious injury, death, or at least embarrassment. dooot-dooot-dooot')
Old people are good at multi-tasking. They can laugh, cough sneeze and pee all at the same time. (I must be getting old?I can already do most of that)
Life is All about Ass. You are either : covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, busting it, trying to get a piece of it, behaving like one, or living with one. (They left out 'cursing it' and 'trying to avoid eye contact with it' and oh yes, 'keeping it a minimum of 50 yards from full length mirrors and swimsuit racks')
Friendship is like pissing in your pants. Everyone can see it but only you can feel its true warmth. (And some friendships are like peeing in the shower. All warm for a second and then gone so quickly you could forget it was there, if only they hadn't left that funky smell in your bathroom)
Maxine doesn't carry a cell phone because she's too busy using her fingers to give the bird. (I **heart** Maxine.)
And apparently there is such a thing as the Happiness Fairy, who sprinkles you with happy dust then threatens bodily harm if you don't smile 'cause that shit is expensive'? (OK, where do people find this stuff? Seriously.)
And in another work station I found my personal favorite sign, which happens to be the only sign in that particular work station, not to be associated with the above work station, which was cluttered with about a hundred more of those little 'lessons' (only the rest were just stupid and annoying) anyway, here it is:
BULLETIN
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) has determined that the maximum safe load capacity on my butt is two persons at one time, unless I install hand rails and safety straps. As you have arrived sixth in line to ride my ass today, please take a number and wait your turn.
Thank you.
(I am fairly certain this was stolen from a porn set, where the woman sprawled on the Superliberumpalator or whatever it's called, has indeed installed a safety rail and is now accepting two additional ass riders)
Now...back to life in the tundra (Ha! as if any life besides a shivering, overclothed human could survive in this place) I did it again. I just looked over at the evil monitor, which assures me that the misery shall continue indefinitely. The server pc icon is still in full Lady Liberty/Whammy-kablammy garb, so my day continues to slither along at a drunken snail's pace. If I ever get back online...well, you'll know, because you'll be reading this conglomeration of absurdities. I know a few of you will actually read it through to the end. Thanks.
In my desperation, the only program I could find was Microsoft Word. So with nothing better to do, I started typing:
----------------------------------------------
It's 8:45 am. I've been sitting here for 2 hours that feel like an eternity, staring at a message that tells me over and over, no matter how many times I click that little refresh button, that the server is still down. This is the nightmare of a weekend IT worker, locked in the arctic tundra of the computer room, where the thermostat is set at a constant 72, but happens to be attached to a dyslexic air conditioner. I am hidden in the dungeon of solitude that is the IT office, wiping snotsicles from my frostbitten nose. And I just realized I forgot to put on deodorant this morning, which you'd think wouldn't be necessary. How is it possible for a person to sweat to much when they can see their own breath?? It makes no sense to me....none. Did I mention snotsicles? Seriously, how can you sweat while your body is making frozen boogers??
Meanwhile, I'm freezing my giblets off and I hear it supposed to be 81 degrees and sunny today,is it? I'd love to know, but I am banished. No windows to look out and view the frisky spring butterflies and the flirty little birds, all a twitter with the onset of a new season. The only view I have is the screen of my PC, mocking me as I resort to typing my lonely existence away on MSword, in hopes of not losing my mind. I could turn around, again, to look at the monitor behind me, which displays the server map, but it's too depressing to see the PC icon of the server in question, in all of its disabled glory. It has a large red explosion bubble around it, much like the one in the old Superman comics, but without the "Whammy-Kablammy!" sound blurb (OK...those were probably more like "POW!" or "BOOM!", but I like "Whammy-Kablammy" way better). To me, it appears the PC is exploding, has evolved into a strange electronic entity sporting a threatening peacock-like tail of red 'whammy-kablammy' feathers, or is mimicking our Lady of Liberty by donning a spikey red crown. Regardless, I shall not look at it, as I have a hundred times already, because I swear I hear it snicker and giggle each time I sigh with disappointment.
I do keep looking at the clock in the lower right corner of my screen, and I?m sure it hasn't changed in the last hour. I have begun to search the office's other stations for ways to entertain myself. So far I've read two high-society women's magazines, which I hate. Aside from a promising interview with Ellen Degeneres and an add for some kind of bedroom athletic equipment called 'The Liberator', those were a waste of ten whopping minutes each. All I am left with is the itchy scent of 'parfum' adds in my nostrils and the vision of some scantily clad woman sprawled across the Wedge (combined with Ramp) style Liberators. If I sprawled across the Liberator, you'd not be able to see said 'equipment' because my girth would be squishing the life out of it underneath, and that's just a scary thought.
In an attempt to alleviate my boredom, I have explored the desk drawers of the other office staff (not private drawers -those are locked and I'm no thief) and found a hoarding of sporks and salt packets, one mayo packet, about 60 bendy straws, a strange paperback war novel that looks like it's been around since the 50s and is desperate to be put to rest, and out of its musty, page-yellowing, misery. I also found a drawer that smells mysteriously like play-doh. What on earth would make an office desk drawer smell like play-doh?. That is some nasty-smelling stuff. I closed it quickly and gagged, but then held my breath to open it in search of what might be causing the smell. Hmmm...no play-doh, nothing there that I can find that would cause such a smell, but then pretty much all of the contents of that drawer now smell like play-doh, so I guess it's pointless to even look for the culprit anymore. Yuck! Closed the drawer and crossed the room, wearily, slumping back into my chair, reached for my snack bag and pulled out some applesauce, which I ate with the cheapest of sporks ever manufactured, and an 'Oatmeal to Go' square, which made me wish I was 'going' somewhere...anywhere. *sigh*
So, now I'm sitting here, looking around, studying the carefully chosen décor of the other IT office inhabitants, and in doing so, I've learned some very important lessons and have attached my thoughts on them in (parentheses) to share with my fellow bloggers...sometime soon...hopefully?
Anyway, here you go: Life's Valuable Lessons as observed by Mo:
Butt Jiggle is just another way of waving 'goodbye'. (and my back-up alarm is my way of saying 'LOOKOUT! Becoming pinned under this object can cause serious injury, death, or at least embarrassment. dooot-dooot-dooot')
Old people are good at multi-tasking. They can laugh, cough sneeze and pee all at the same time. (I must be getting old?I can already do most of that)
Life is All about Ass. You are either : covering it, laughing it off, kicking it, kissing it, busting it, trying to get a piece of it, behaving like one, or living with one. (They left out 'cursing it' and 'trying to avoid eye contact with it' and oh yes, 'keeping it a minimum of 50 yards from full length mirrors and swimsuit racks')
Friendship is like pissing in your pants. Everyone can see it but only you can feel its true warmth. (And some friendships are like peeing in the shower. All warm for a second and then gone so quickly you could forget it was there, if only they hadn't left that funky smell in your bathroom)
Maxine doesn't carry a cell phone because she's too busy using her fingers to give the bird. (I **heart** Maxine.)
And apparently there is such a thing as the Happiness Fairy, who sprinkles you with happy dust then threatens bodily harm if you don't smile 'cause that shit is expensive'? (OK, where do people find this stuff? Seriously.)
And in another work station I found my personal favorite sign, which happens to be the only sign in that particular work station, not to be associated with the above work station, which was cluttered with about a hundred more of those little 'lessons' (only the rest were just stupid and annoying) anyway, here it is:
BULLETIN
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) has determined that the maximum safe load capacity on my butt is two persons at one time, unless I install hand rails and safety straps. As you have arrived sixth in line to ride my ass today, please take a number and wait your turn.
Thank you.
(I am fairly certain this was stolen from a porn set, where the woman sprawled on the Superliberumpalator or whatever it's called, has indeed installed a safety rail and is now accepting two additional ass riders)
Now...back to life in the tundra (Ha! as if any life besides a shivering, overclothed human could survive in this place) I did it again. I just looked over at the evil monitor, which assures me that the misery shall continue indefinitely. The server pc icon is still in full Lady Liberty/Whammy-kablammy garb, so my day continues to slither along at a drunken snail's pace. If I ever get back online...well, you'll know, because you'll be reading this conglomeration of absurdities. I know a few of you will actually read it through to the end. Thanks.
posted by Mo at 2:38 PM
3 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Poor Mo.... I wondered what had happened to you!
And, ACK! You can't edit these stupid comments. Who made up that stupid rule?!?!?!
....ahhh the inner hell of IT person with nothing to....I know the feeling well, brought here as I was by a combination of the words "die of boredom" and a little sprinkling of magic dust from the web-fairy that is google.
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