Wednesday, September 29, 2010

An Old Friday Release: "These God-Damned Awful Things"

A Friday Release Special Report from the Job

“These God-Damned Awful Things”

Part I

Can I ride out the stress, the madness, the all-in-all “antsy-ness” of eleven hour shifts at the consulting firm where I am employed? Well my friends, yes, I can. How, may you ask, is such a feat manageable under these circumstances…the itching, writhing, restless, even chaffing-YES, CHAFFING monotony of 10+ hrs in a 2 ½ ft. work desk shaped like a cheese wedge-actually forcing your legs uncomfortably close together. I have personally met a cow named #14369, who lived at slaughter farm that has a better, bigger spot to spend the day in. And he sure won’t be there for years, either.
The answer to my problem-and doubtless uncountable other co-workers’ new mal-ergonomic malady is a readily available and consistent supply of Xanax-actually a chemical compound called alprazolam hydrochloride, which is a middleweight anti-anxiety medication. Just ¼ of one of these strange looking stick shaped tablets will medically alleviate all symptoms of anxiety & tension. One-half tablet will do the same with the exception of the increased dosage providing a calming “buzz” of sorts quite similar to Valium (or to the clinically inclined, hydra-5-diazapam hydrochloride). Venture into the 1.5(3/4 tablet) mg. dosage and you will be noticeably intoxicated. Slurred speech is common and stumbling while walking is a guarantee. Severe drowsiness may accompany such a dose. Usually too much for a beginner.
For the seasoned pro, I recommend a full “bar”- a clinical two mg. dispension of the drug--lasting 20-24 hours. You will, be it to a positive or negative end, experience several hours of memory loss.
Time flies by, the brain turns to jelly, and by now (since many folks convince themselves too take even more in this state), you will be falling over or babbling like the village drunk.
In most cases, this dose can knock your average drug consumer out into a miniature, yet harmless, drug-induced “coma”. If you DO retain the tenacity to stay conscious you’ll just end up good old-fashioned wasted. Not to mention that use of more than 1mg. of Xanax can increase the effect of alcohol as much as up to 5x. That means now that drinking two beers equals drinking ten! My brain begins to trail off in a ridiculous direction that only a large dosage of Xanax could induce.
These were my final thoughts, literally. Don’t ask I was already half asleep...
“Nancy Rod Billywho, a ’68 ‘vett engine, a fully fueled 2002 USAF Stealth Bomber super-sonic jet, and a healthy cheetah and my brain…all on the starting line waiting for the big crack of the go-gun. Nancy Rod is a new addition to the race line-up. She is actually a Blood Diamond rebel thief. She tries to counteract the harm done by the diamond cartels by planning and executing robberies of inter-continental shipments and deliveries. She is used to running; having to be quick on her toes for the sake of her own life. A human spark plug--she will make for a great competitor. More on Ms. Billy-who to come. And though it moves like a shaking bowl of Jell-O- my brain still leads the heat into the second lap of the race..."
Xanax may also cause you to momentarily lose focus on the particular task at hand and start describing bizarre racing competitions between things that just don’t fit and don’t belong on a starting line together…right.
I’m just going to rest my eyes for a second…

These God-damned Awful Things
Part II

Ah-ha, and good morning…I think--or perhaps early afternoon. I could be more certain, but some son of a bitch stole my desk clock which was propped up against my flat-screen monitor only about 3 inches from my sleeping head. Amazing! Which one of my brass-balled co-workers could have pulled such a “streets of shanghai” maneuver without waking me? Nevertheless, before we attempt to get to the bottom of this, I would like to take a moment to thank my long-time coworker and soon to be ex-close friend,  Dave Ettenbury, for taking blame for this gibberish-- that is if it should ever be discovered by management or the police. And there will be no denying it-you lanky, clumsy, playboy! Because Dave my friend—I wrote the original on your stationary.
Apparently, while I was putting the finishing touches on “Part 1” on Friday at my work station after-hours, I went unconscious—and if it made sense to point a finger, I’d point it at one of these god-damned awful things-these “hell sticks”--the Xanax; the current bane and simultaneous point of my office existence.
What type of monster would find me passed out slumped over my desk-unresponsive- on a Friday night and just use that opportunity to steal a $3.99 wall clock and ruin the beginning of my weekend? What was the thought process there? “Hey, there’s Matt Byr…uh--no wait--Dave Ettenbury slumped over and not responding…should we try to wake him, call the paramedics, or steal the cheapest thing on his desk and just leave him?” Although the unknown amount of time--be it hours or days ( could it be Sunday?!) has left me so baffled that I can’t even stand, I do retain the energy to pull up the IP Phone (which, in my position here at the company is illegal- but I broke in to the hard-drives boot-up service menu and re-enabled the phones functionality for personal, covert use.) and order up a sizeable meal from Market Square. Good old Market Square Restaurant--the “anything you want for a price” style diner that makes about two dozen daily deliveries to my office during the work week. But would the demand for hasty delivery be granted on a weekend? Certainly, for a price, given their seemingly “sliding scale” delivery fee-it may just be cheaper to take a cab and pick it up myself. If I ever do gain back the strength to stand up on my own, given the 2 ½ bars of Xanax still in my blood--I’ll be needing grilled cheese with bacon-(well done) and tomato, with fries, chicken noodle soup, a beverage, and I suppose an order of cheese sticks-just to toss around…and at once.
Moreover, if the restaurant tries to fuck me on my “high-quantity” ketchup demand--we may just end up with a missing short order cook or delivery boy who “was previously very dependable but has now somehow gone missing”. And I want bread for this soup--and they know this, but may just leave me to suck down my chicken noodle in shame with no rolls, no butter, and a spoon with a funny shape (only in the north suburbs of Chicago would a restaurant waste money on sending a formal, plastic “soup spoon” with every bowl full). But the inner-workings of an overpriced diner’s purchasing decisions are of little interest to me.
What I was originally trying to strategize, before I passed out, was how these goddamned awful things can benefit my workplace as a whole… as an extended, over anxious family--as a community. My need to share my discovery/ secret weapon is almost more than I can bear! They must know-they must all know what they’ve been missing-and I’ll be the motherfucker doing the enlightening.
So here’s the nut of my original plan: To crush, divide, and if possible evenly distribute 120 bars (about 3 months worth of prescriptions) of Xanax into, say, 10-12 of the “unopened “ Hinckley & Schmit 5 gallon water cooler jugs…now “safely” stored in the warehouse.
This way, we can administer small dosages of the drug to any and all thirsty individuals just looking for some cold water. Floor wide sales and dials would go through the sheet metal roof! No one would ever leave their desk. And forget all the loud blow-ups and arguments amongst the managers….they will henceforth become quiet, 2-way discussions. The only problem, technically at least, with this plan is that we must also consider a conceivably NEGATIVE situation. For instance; Dean K. and Larry Ling come out of Dean’s office…thirsty after putting the fear of God into an employee for downloading & printing pornography here at headquarters. They make a bee-line for the water cooler. Unfortunately for them and everyone else, the 10 crushed up bars in that jug have settled to the bottom-now unevenly distributing about four full bars each into their little blue Dixie cups of “water”…I’ll stop there. Use your imagination to finish out the day for our two now heavily drugged corporate directors. I must work out the kinks.
By the way, how the shit do I get home from this place on the weekend? Fuck it-a good meal and ¾ of a bar should put me right into the “figuring things out” frame of mind. Or maybe not. I guess we’ll have to wait to see if I ever execute master plan #13. I’ll keep you posted. Until I find a way home or till the next Friday Release, take care.

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