Scenario in your squeaky clean carpeted corporate shit-hell: you wear collared blouses and slacks. Put on extra accessories and sunglasses if the weather warrants you to wear one. You can go looking really fancy. Look grown up. And jeans and sneakers look better with the cobwebs now. You look fabulous and grand, and yes, knives up your back is in-style these days while you strut around your office carrying papers, a bloody walking carcass.
And everyone beams the perfunctory 100-megawatt smiles at everyone else at work, the subtext of which are concocted stories about you (may or may not be true. Most likely not.)
Ill boredom must be gnawing at them. If they had better and more interesting things to do with their lives, they'd have no motivation of concocting rat poison for everyone to drink in their coffee.
They must be pathetic and frustrated story writers.
Why don't they go out and have fun for a change? Try bungee jumping, karate, yoga, whatever shit they want. Life is too short to spend talking about garbage. I'd rather hear them talk about Hinduism, if it be the new fad. We're no longer in kindergarten, but we're all just pretending to be grown ups. We're scared little kids.
Readers of this blog could be asking, then why the fuck are you still there, Chai? Answer: Cheers to the jobs that pay the rent. And everywhere you go, it's the same picture anyway. But I can't help regurgitating all of it after trying to just work, swallow and shut up. Thus the post.
Watch your back and watch out for these people. Like my office mate says, they're toxic.
So much for Best Culture and Best Practices. This is as far as "best" gets.
It's all "grand". And JD Salinger says of this word: Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke everytime I hear it.
