She was a power mad, scandalous, conniving, spiteful, bitch. She’d climbed her way to a top position using the handles on the knives she’d stuck in the backs of strategically placed co-workers. No one liked or trusted her, yet they had to do her bidding because she had the title and corner office. She lay there on the plush carpet of success, just to the right of the upper-level management, standard issue, wood-look office desk – came complete with matching credenza and book cases, a small meeting table with four chairs, and end table sitting between her almost always closed-door and not so comfortable but damned expensive looking sofa. Of course it was a heart attack that took her out. Dropped on her like a pink slip delivered to someone’s desk just before the holidays (she was fond of doing any firings the week of Christmas). She didn’t die right away. In fact, she might have actually survived had anyone come into her office, but thanks to her reputation (rightfully earned), she was able to spend most of her work days in that corner office unmolested, uninvited to coffee or lunch by her staff. She’d made such a fuss about how, as an executive, she needed a real door and sound proof windows separating her from the general cube rats who shared the fifth floor with her. With those proper executive barriers in place, no one heard her gasp, then cry out as the sharp pains radiated from wrist to shoulder, to chest. She never made it beyond that big ass desk. Shortness of breath, debilitating, sudden weakness. Seems all that hobnobbing around the country clubs, exclusive restaurants and such finally caught up with her. Most of the male executives she spent so much time cow-towing to enjoyed steak more than salad; lounging around more than working out. Sadly, about the only thing folks will say around the office when they find out what happened is what a shame it was she died in the office, no one’s going to want to move in there now, thus rendering the best office on the floor inhabitable. Won’t last long though, there’s always another Type-A asshole kissing ass to get to where she was. Really a bit of a pity, but hey, that’s life as a corporate drone.
I find it funny the things that “inspire” me and in what ways they bring the words to mind. The above snippet? I’ve got a pain in my left arm. Probably a pinched nerve or something similar relating to the almost seven hours I spend daily in a seated position at my desk. I don’t write for my nine to five, but I’m not all that active either. My job requires less moving and a lot of data entry or time spent searching for data. Either way, I’m at my desk most of the hours of the day. I come home and assume the seated position, only this time, I’m writing, surfing the web, watching movies, and eating. Sometimes there’s some housework to be done but not a lot. I’m not nearly as messy as I could be during the week. Might have at least a sink full of dishes if I cooked at home more often – I’m working on making that happen. Meanwhile, chalk up at least two to three hours with arms at a ninety degree angle, fingers on keys or hand on mouse. OW. Hold that thought – time to pop another aspirin (can’t be too careful).
I want to start The Anti-Social Social Club for Introverts and Couch Potatoes. It would be a small group of people, predominately women I suppose, who are all at a point where they want to get out more but aren’t all that interested in forming some tightly knit group of Ya-Ya Sisters, know what I mean? We’d meet once to three times a week and DO SOMETHING – walk, go to the gym, go dancing or roller skating – SOMETHING that got my ass off this couch and out of this house. I’d go by myself, but let’s face it, there’s motivation in numbers. Being accountable – having others looking to me to show up provides me some measure of get up and go that just relying on myself doesn’t have. Something’s got to give before the waistband on my undies does.
*Ahem* So, here we are. Aspirin digesting, heated throw wrapped around my painfully bent left arm, settled on the couch watching a movie and wondering how in the hell am I going to make this year THE YEAR? Eh. Like I said, somethings got to give.