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Gods dammit. STICKS!
19 years ago
General
So, a few days ago, at work, I found a note on my locker!
The finding of this note was NOT COMPLETELY UNLIKE stepping out your front door to discover that some giggling dipshit has deposited a flaming bag of something nasty on your porch.
This note was here to tell me that IT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH that I do EXACTLY AS I AM TOLD ALREADY when I work at night--in FACT, they want me to do MORE! This "moar", as one would put it, entails going to each subdivision DOOR-TO-DOOR, to STOP and Count the lights they have left on and divide these lights among several variations of lights somewhere in a 14-page-long CHECKLIST. THEN, go BACK to the office, and put it all into the computer. I did it. Yep. And guess what.
IT TOOK ME THREE-AND-A-HALF FUCKING HOURS
And then the following morning I had to explain to my supervisor why I couldn't perform my REQUIRED duties, because his little project for me ate up the time it usually took. Those three hours, from 0100 to 0430, completely fragged two corridor patrols and both mechanized patrols. Gods Dammit. AT LEAST I got my paperwork done. Christ, almost half the day. I only have eight hours to work with! It's like saying, "Play this feature-length film, and don't skip ANYTHING. You have twenty minutes. GO!"
But much how the proverbial shitbag burns away, so did this dillemma. My supervisor agreed: That task was crazy stupid preposterous and had absolutely no positive points left after all the negatives are tallied in, so he said the shit is going to flow uphill back to The Brass, which it turned out ordered this whole fiasco in the first place, where it shall be gargled and swished in their think tanks until they can come up with a feasible lighting check alternative. In the mean time, I've whimmed my own alternative, and it's actually... well... productive >_> usually my whims are very NOT productive. Usually my whims are composed of minesweeper (uck!)--which I am Totally NOT proud of... So at least that's taken care of...
HOWEVER, Also like the proverbial shitbag having burned away, this too has left an ugly, stinky burn mark on the figurative porch of my job outlook. The note didn't only tell me to perform this innane task and lead me to believe it would be a FOREVER thing (which thank gods it was NOT), but it also told me...
My Weekends Are Kaput.
Yep. LAST NIGHT was supposed to be MY NIGHT OFF. And so was TONIGHT. BUT GUESS WHAT!
...
...
...
RIGHT! THEY'RE NOT! WHEEEEEEEEeeeeeei'mso...fucking... ...tired...
AND YET, my friends, there is good news (but this is from two nights AFTER the aforementioned debacle). The news is: I've been drawing more. Last night was very successful, as you see "Molly" got drawn, and I discovered, on a flight of ponderance, how to beat my scanner into submission.
Furthermore, I discovered a Stick. It is... just a stick. Perhaps a 1d2 bashing weapon, which on critical does 2x damage and snaps to possibly become Two Jagged Sticks, short range 1d3 dual-wielding stabbing weapons that hit twice per round and cause bleeding status on critical... maybe.
It was in one of the dumpster areas at the facility, but rather far from the dumpster; clean, apparantly made of pine, about a centimeter in diameter, approximately three to four feet long, mostly straight although slightly bent, sanded and machined to an essential cyllindar, and it embodies, in as an extremely bored state I was experiencing, a philosophical question:
Have you ever realized... just how much ... FUN... you can have with a STICK?
Shit!
Sticks! YES, STICKS! They are THE PRIMORDIAL TOOL. The first development of man, straight from nature. You can hit things with it, reach things with it, or find your way in the dark. I was sitting down in the office at work and I could still touch the cieling! two steps and I can flick that lightswitch across the room. That clock on the wall that is constantly ten minutes fast? I could take it down and fix it with that stick (But I chose not to, because I was having too much fun just waving it around like a madman)!
In an awakened imagination, it could be ANYTHING! Could it be a sword? Maybe a rifle! Or how about a metal detector? A cooling rod in an ancient reactor; an artifact of a lost civilization, or even just a handy backscratcher, in a pinch...
Sticks are incredibly useful, which is probably why a very large portion of all of our inventions bear a rather STICK-LIKE configuration--and if you THINK about it... YOU, TOO, MAY REALIZE that they're the most versatile basic component you will EVER know, second of course only to The Wheel and Duct Tape.
My stick was a floor-tapper and sword during my patrols last night. I liked the sound that it made as it skittered across the walls and floors while I dragged it like a lost toddler with his blanket. Suddenly the corridors were ALIVE again. There were monsters around every corner to be vanquished in glorious battle. I was an explorer in an ancient and long abandoned dungeon of flaurescent bulbs, rotting asbestos-packed cieling tiles, and tacky 1970's-era lead paint walls.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun just walking around... And let me tell you, even though my twenty-year-old walky-talky brick handset might've been a FAR more dangerous blunt weapon when applied correctly and savagely to an assailant's cranium, the 'bumps of the night' were not so creepy once I had something rigid enough to swing threateningly with. WOOSH-SWISH! it always made such a satisfying CRACK when it made impact on the doors of the elevators. Sure, Lifting Motor, you may have your ominious hum, but I HAVE A STICK, HA-HA, AND I CAN CLANG YOU GOOD WITH IT!
My fellow officers will probably have thrown my precious stick away by the time I get back to work tonight; alas, it would not fit in my dinky locker. However, I'm still going to hope it'll be there waiting for me, and I will be sad if it is gone.
Oh gimme a break, I work third shift, I'm SUPPOSED to be loopy in the head.
The finding of this note was NOT COMPLETELY UNLIKE stepping out your front door to discover that some giggling dipshit has deposited a flaming bag of something nasty on your porch.
This note was here to tell me that IT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH that I do EXACTLY AS I AM TOLD ALREADY when I work at night--in FACT, they want me to do MORE! This "moar", as one would put it, entails going to each subdivision DOOR-TO-DOOR, to STOP and Count the lights they have left on and divide these lights among several variations of lights somewhere in a 14-page-long CHECKLIST. THEN, go BACK to the office, and put it all into the computer. I did it. Yep. And guess what.
IT TOOK ME THREE-AND-A-HALF FUCKING HOURS
And then the following morning I had to explain to my supervisor why I couldn't perform my REQUIRED duties, because his little project for me ate up the time it usually took. Those three hours, from 0100 to 0430, completely fragged two corridor patrols and both mechanized patrols. Gods Dammit. AT LEAST I got my paperwork done. Christ, almost half the day. I only have eight hours to work with! It's like saying, "Play this feature-length film, and don't skip ANYTHING. You have twenty minutes. GO!"
But much how the proverbial shitbag burns away, so did this dillemma. My supervisor agreed: That task was crazy stupid preposterous and had absolutely no positive points left after all the negatives are tallied in, so he said the shit is going to flow uphill back to The Brass, which it turned out ordered this whole fiasco in the first place, where it shall be gargled and swished in their think tanks until they can come up with a feasible lighting check alternative. In the mean time, I've whimmed my own alternative, and it's actually... well... productive >_> usually my whims are very NOT productive. Usually my whims are composed of minesweeper (uck!)--which I am Totally NOT proud of... So at least that's taken care of...
HOWEVER, Also like the proverbial shitbag having burned away, this too has left an ugly, stinky burn mark on the figurative porch of my job outlook. The note didn't only tell me to perform this innane task and lead me to believe it would be a FOREVER thing (which thank gods it was NOT), but it also told me...
My Weekends Are Kaput.
Yep. LAST NIGHT was supposed to be MY NIGHT OFF. And so was TONIGHT. BUT GUESS WHAT!
...
...
...
RIGHT! THEY'RE NOT! WHEEEEEEEEeeeeeei'mso...fucking... ...tired...
AND YET, my friends, there is good news (but this is from two nights AFTER the aforementioned debacle). The news is: I've been drawing more. Last night was very successful, as you see "Molly" got drawn, and I discovered, on a flight of ponderance, how to beat my scanner into submission.
Furthermore, I discovered a Stick. It is... just a stick. Perhaps a 1d2 bashing weapon, which on critical does 2x damage and snaps to possibly become Two Jagged Sticks, short range 1d3 dual-wielding stabbing weapons that hit twice per round and cause bleeding status on critical... maybe.
It was in one of the dumpster areas at the facility, but rather far from the dumpster; clean, apparantly made of pine, about a centimeter in diameter, approximately three to four feet long, mostly straight although slightly bent, sanded and machined to an essential cyllindar, and it embodies, in as an extremely bored state I was experiencing, a philosophical question:
Have you ever realized... just how much ... FUN... you can have with a STICK?
Shit!
Sticks! YES, STICKS! They are THE PRIMORDIAL TOOL. The first development of man, straight from nature. You can hit things with it, reach things with it, or find your way in the dark. I was sitting down in the office at work and I could still touch the cieling! two steps and I can flick that lightswitch across the room. That clock on the wall that is constantly ten minutes fast? I could take it down and fix it with that stick (But I chose not to, because I was having too much fun just waving it around like a madman)!
In an awakened imagination, it could be ANYTHING! Could it be a sword? Maybe a rifle! Or how about a metal detector? A cooling rod in an ancient reactor; an artifact of a lost civilization, or even just a handy backscratcher, in a pinch...
Sticks are incredibly useful, which is probably why a very large portion of all of our inventions bear a rather STICK-LIKE configuration--and if you THINK about it... YOU, TOO, MAY REALIZE that they're the most versatile basic component you will EVER know, second of course only to The Wheel and Duct Tape.
My stick was a floor-tapper and sword during my patrols last night. I liked the sound that it made as it skittered across the walls and floors while I dragged it like a lost toddler with his blanket. Suddenly the corridors were ALIVE again. There were monsters around every corner to be vanquished in glorious battle. I was an explorer in an ancient and long abandoned dungeon of flaurescent bulbs, rotting asbestos-packed cieling tiles, and tacky 1970's-era lead paint walls.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun just walking around... And let me tell you, even though my twenty-year-old walky-talky brick handset might've been a FAR more dangerous blunt weapon when applied correctly and savagely to an assailant's cranium, the 'bumps of the night' were not so creepy once I had something rigid enough to swing threateningly with. WOOSH-SWISH! it always made such a satisfying CRACK when it made impact on the doors of the elevators. Sure, Lifting Motor, you may have your ominious hum, but I HAVE A STICK, HA-HA, AND I CAN CLANG YOU GOOD WITH IT!
My fellow officers will probably have thrown my precious stick away by the time I get back to work tonight; alas, it would not fit in my dinky locker. However, I'm still going to hope it'll be there waiting for me, and I will be sad if it is gone.
Oh gimme a break, I work third shift, I'm SUPPOSED to be loopy in the head.
