Damn The Man!

Greetings my dark angels.

My apologies for being a little MIA in the blogging realm as of late. Truth be told, I have a lot of shit on my partially-decomposing plate right now.

Namely, I have a shit-tastic day job.

And it's awful. But I can pay my rent and buy as many avocados as I want, which is nice because I really enjoy avocados and paying my rent.

But today, today was a day that will go down in history.

TODAY IS THE DAY THAT LUCY BEELZ WAS FORCED TO DO CHARITY WORK.

Soak it in, dregs.

About a week ago, I'm checking my work e-mail and I see an e-mail detailing a trip to a local shelter to cook dinner for less-fortunate families.

This alone turns me off.

But then I see this lovely little side clause in the e-mail that says that employees who volunteer get to leave work early.

But these employees who leave work early because they want to go help out less-fortunate families will not get paid time-off.

So essentially, these people are volunteering to not get paid for two hours.

I sit in my miserable, white-collar, sunless cubicle and laugh. Never in one million years would I be caught dead making dinner for less-fortunate families and NOT GETTING PAID FOR IT. Fuck that shit. I don't believe in charity work. I believe in going home and watching trash TV and buying things that I don't need to fill the bottomless chasm in my heart.

So, needless to say, I ignore this e-mail. I ignore this e-mail so hard. I don't even send a reply where I make up some bullshit reason as to why I can't come, which usually includes something about picking up someone at the airport.

Which brings me to a valuable lesson:

IF YOU EVER NEED TO GET OUT OF SOMETHING, TELL THE PERSON WHO IS ASKING YOU TO DO SOMETHING UNPLEASANT THAT YOU ARE PICKING UP SOMEONE FROM THE AIRPORT. It's seriously the best excuse ever, because you can't get caught in a lie. Airports are big, and flights get delayed, and planes generally suck. Basically, the airport is pretty much the Embassy of excuses. Meaning it FUCKING ROCKS AND CAN GET YOU OUT OF ANYTHING.

Fast forward to today. I'm in my miserable, white-collar, sunless cubicle doing my horrible job. And my boss approaches me.

I'm not sure if you've seen the movie Office Space, but you should because my boss is exactly like the boss in Office Space, only he's one of those "positive productivity" bosses.

To sidetrack, let me give you a feel of who my boss is. I went through six interviews for the job that I have right now, and they were about two hours long EACH. He gave me three personality tests to "attempt to figure out what job will best suit me", and then he put me in a miserable, white-collar, sunless cubicle to ROT AND DIE and he comes in to visit me every hour on the hour to "talk" about how I'm feeling.

I'm not even joking about this part. Whenever I do something good at my job, which is usually installing a piece of software on a customer's computer, I have to hit a drum. I have to hit it with a little mallet so everyone around me is made aware of the fact that I AM A SELLOUT, and then they all cheer and congratulate me for being able to pay my rent and buy avocados.

Back to the story, my boss approaches me today and asks what I'm doing. So naturally, I say I'm doing nothing. I say this because I'm honestly not doing anything. Well, that's a lie. I've recently become addicted to Twitter. I love Twitter. I can bitch about anything I want to as much as I want to, and no one really cares because Twitter is passe and everyone is bored with it. Except for me. I FUCKING LOVE YOU TWITTER.

I say I'm doing nothing, so he asks me in his creepy "positive productivity" way, "Would you be available to volunteer with us today?"

I freeze. Then I stutter, "Well, uh... I have an appointment with a customer today later, so... no. Probably not."

To which he replies, "Then can you come after your appointment?"

To which I say...




...





...



Uhhh....


...




....



Oh God....


..





.




....



Yes."




GOD FUCKING DAMNIT FUCKING SON OF A MOTHER HEN FUCK EVERYTHING ABOUT EARTH GOD DAMNIT I HAVE NO SOUL WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER MY AIRPORT EXCUSE.

Shit.

And my boss, knowing that he's just caught me in the ultimate position of weakness, flits out of my miserable white-collar sunless cubicle with a grin on his warped "positive productivity" face.

SICK FUCK.

Now I am left alone with my thoughts following this traumatic incident.I sit in my miserable white-collar sunless cubicle and think about what I have done.


I just volunteered myself to care about other people.



Fuck.

In situations like this, normal people with good hearts will bite the bullet and go help out less-fortunate families. They might even like it, and they could feel slightly spiritually fulfilled at the end of the day, as if fate had reminded them to focus on something other than themselves.

Then I remember:

THE AIRPORT EXCUSE.

PERFECT.

I beeline for my boss' office, and tell him that I'm picking up my "boyfriend" from the airport tonight.

To clarify once more, this is UTTER BULLSHIT. I'm unloveable and I haven't had a boyfriend for so long that I can pass it off as radical feminism. But I would much rather dredge up my buried feelings of loneliness and abandonment than help out less-fortunate families.

This excuse is the ultimate excuse. I haven't thought much about a Plan C. This will work.

Then my boss says, "When do you have to pick him up?"

To which I reply, "Around seven".

To which he replies, "Well, the shelter is right by the airport. How perfect is that? Can't wait to see you there!"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

This situation is bulletproof. Even the infallible airportexcuse melts like butter on its inpenetrable surface.

So guess what I did tonight?

I HELPED FUCKING less-fortunate families.

And this is where I truly realize how thorough of an asshole I am. It really sucked. I came home and drank 3/4 of a bottle of Cardinal Zin because helping people sucks so hard.

I've missed you, throatless doves. More posts to come, more frequently. Also, big news to come shortly.

Lucy