Um, yeh. Office Outer Space.

“I didn’t do nuffin’!”

I’ve been thinking about the different jobs I’ve held. Some were short and therefore not so sweet; some were like chocolate. But swirled within each of ’em was some ingredient I could slag off. Here are a few of the most slaggable offerings (in no particular order):

1. Being ‘called,’ via intercom, loudspeaker and ol’ school style through hallways, to trudge all the way up to El Jefe to retrieve a coke from the fridge in said Jefe’s office within arm’s reach of El diab… I mean, el jefe.

2. Riding around every day in a limousine (torture beginning at 6:30am) with a blind-in-one-eye boss-man. And having to sit. right. by. him. (pat, pat) and take notes.

3. Being yelled and screamed at in a PMS-24-hours-a-day fueled rage for being stupidly full of initiative.

4. A futile attempt at strong arming me, by the new fat and lazy female director, to chase a female porn star down “La Croisette” to ‘drum up interest’ and in turn, leave my pride at the Carlton. Futile. God loves a trier.

5. Very first job. Office affair. Not mine. “Easy Single” sandwiches in the toilet cubicle. First job. ‘nuff said.

6. Perfecting a blank expression witnessing boss burping, farting and sliding off leather chair while using dictation machine. Boss also perfected blank expression.

7. Having begun a job two weeks earlier, I get reamed a new one for something he told me to do a month previous. Now, I’m the first to admit my mathematical failings, but those numbers just don’t add up. Oh, have I mentioned he was schizo? No? Right.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.