Morning coffee

Some mornings, you just want to write I am here for revenge on the bathroom mirror. You can write in soap, toothpaste, or simply shape the letters with your finger on the steamy mirror. You can visualize yourself putting on your Norwegian Black Metal makeup look. Some people do their blogging wearing a housecoat; me, I prefer Black Metal. But those are things you can do at home. What about at work? You can write I am here for revenge on the washroom mirror at work, but going in wearing your Norwegian Black Metal look might be a bit much, except on Casual Fridays. And, at work, the office consensus never allows decent music on the office radio. Always some swimming dolphins, chirpy pop, or geriatric rock'n'roll. Never what you want. That is consensus. Never Prussian March music; never Norwegian Black Metal. Diversity means never what you want; and taxes. Still, there are mornings; and those are the mornings you keep your thoughts to yourself. You watch people when they are not watching. You think about holding an honest ax, not a dishonest coffee cup. You listen to your inner voices, and hold them down to a whisper. Times change. You get older; you get promotions ... It was not until I became Human Resources Manager that I realized how upset people get at stuff like I am here for revenge written on the washroom mirror in a work environment.

You soon get to know who the office rats are when you work in Human Resources. They slink in to pass notes, to whisper, to denounce. Someone has written I am here for revenge on the washroom mirror, I was told. My hands were still damp from washing the soap off my fingers. I had not even started my morning coffee before the first rat scuttled by to blubber about how scared they were, how concerned they were, how inappropriate it was for a work environment. Really? If you listen to the voices they would whisper that growing a spine is the best solution. Like, what is Human Resources going to do? Do the Math. The frightened one is afraid that Jack the Ripper is loose in the office. OK, let us run with that: Jack the Ripper is wandering the cubicles, lurking in the photo copy room, and watching from behind the dusty rubber tree. Now that Human Resources is aware, they can pass on to the police after the horrible, grisly murder, the important fact that some yob saw something like I am here for revenge on the washroom mirror. I am sure the guy getting disemboweled at his cubicle will feel better, knowing the police (who arrive hours after his gutted corpse has gotten stiff) will have this important fact. Kinda takes the sting away of being strangled with your own intestines, eh?

When seconds count, the police are only minutes away. The rats should adopt a defensive posture. Maybe accepting a cup of almond tea from that broad that wants their job is not a good idea. Maybe sharing the washroom with the heavy breather in the last cubicle is not wise. Maybe your journey down into the depths of the parking garage is best done in a group. The excuse 'I bought a new hammer ... for some automotive work' does not cut it anymore. Letting some mechanically incompetent office worker be behind you with a hammer is not acceptable. Especially on those days when someone has written I am here for revenge on the washroom mirror. Your work place is a gun free zone: so the homicide will be accomplished with fingers around the windpipe, a ball point pen through the ear into the brain, or a plastic bag over the head. Take precautions, is that so hard?

I was trying to motivate myself for a management meeting. The second rat came in. This one made happy morning yak while passing me a note. A note written on a half torn sheet of computer paper. In a shaking hand was written 'someone has put I am here for revenge on the washroom mirror'. There were three exclamation marks. I looked up from my research. Why the play acting that nobody else but me (as Human Resources manager) was to know this salient fact? Was the killer lurking in one of the other offices? Outside in the corridor, listening? If things were so bad, maybe passing a note to Human Resources was not the most efficient response. If a crazed killer was loose, what would you do? Send out an e-mail?

Who will survive the Zombie apocalypse? I can see it now. Five drooling zombies after some wretch, and he points a finger at them and threatens them with a Human Rights complaint. Will he have time to leave a message at the Bullying Distress Center before his arms are pulled off? Truly, if you want to survive, get into survival mode now. Better to be a waiter than an entree. Best to be the chef.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.