The artist stuck in the office

It's hell being an artist stuck in a office drone's body. I’ve found there are absolutely no limits to the dumbassery that one experiences in the corporate world.

For instance, the other day we had an important department meeting to discuss critical issues. Chief among these was office chair safety. That's right. Screw the metrics. Some lady leaned over to pick up a post-it note off the floor, bumped her head on the desk and fell the fuck out of her chair. They discussed, at length, safer ways to pick up a post-it note, including getting one's fat ass out of the chair, squatting down to grab the note, and then lifting with one's legs. I wish I was kidding.

Next on the agenda was proper hand-washing technique, seeing as Ebola is lurking around every corner waiting to kill the shit out of you. They wanted each member of the department to demonstrate what they believed to be proper hand-washing procedure. They pretended not to notice the fuck off look on my face, and when it came my turn and I stared blankly at them, they went ahead on to the next person.

Thinking all the riveting subjects had finally been covered, we moved on to talk about if the department wanted to reinstate the secret pal gift program. This is where some secret pal leaves little gifts on your desk for birthdays, Valentine's Day, and your own slow death. The bosses wanted to make it clear that this would be a secret vote, as there tends to be backlash for the people who openly don't want to participate. They wanted to give them a safe way to say no, because apparently you can get your ass whacked for not wanting to leave cheap WalMart shit on your coworkers desk.

After a heated debate on how not everybody can afford five dollars every six months, I woke up from my coma only to discover they had moved on to warn us of the impending threat of birds shitting on people from the tree branch outside the south exit. It was decided that the branch should be cut, but certainly not before my wrists. When the letter opener didn't seem to be doing the trick, I tried to stick my arm in the paper shredder. It just jammed and then I slipped and fell in my own pool of blood. Maybe we should be discussing how to properly kill oneself when standard office supplies fail.

I find it’s these kind of meetings and over-inflated petty topics that really make the weekdays unbearable for me. It’s rough. Being a creative person is pretty challenging when you don't have a soul anymore. When I get home at 5:30 after looking at a screen of numbers all day, switching gears can be an effort. Normally, I partake in a little wine infusion to get the creativity flowing, and to dull the memory of the last nine hours, only to do it all over again the next day. There are times when I literally don’t think I have one day left to give. And then the electric bill is due.

I really feel for the creative people of the world who are stuck at desks, losing hope. I’m in it with you and I feel your pain. For now, let’s dry our eyes and agree to just make the best of it. What’s your stupid office story? Tell me all about it in the comments.

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