April 14, 2004
Sharing the Love
The Company is yanking the coffee service at the end of the month, when the contract expires, along with the water cooler. Oh, poor we is. X million over plan in the first quarter, the corporate jet making umpteen round trips to Augusta last week for the Masters, paying our ex-boss $68 million to... well... I don't talk shop here. Suffice it say he longer signs my paychecks, he signs my Washingtons.
This isn't cost savings. This is wickedness. Control freak stuff designed to wear people down, and purge a few more heads without benefit of a sweet severance. Enough to make one a Bolshie czarina-killer.
It's not like it was good coffee. It was Vietnamese robusta mixed with twigs and squirrel droppings. It tasted like cat urine strained through a possum meat burrito defecation. But I had acquired a taste for the potion, and will be forced to bring in a personal brewer.
And whose fault is this? Mine, of course, for being there. Like the Scots lads realized in Trainspotting, being colonized by wankers makes you something even less than a wanker.