At Christmas, the company provided a catered meal for the CSRs who had to monitor an in-game event and work through the holiday. I don’t know if our bosses just ordered what they usually did, but the surplus of food made it seem like our department’s slow decline had gone unnoticed. There was enough food for an army, but only a handful of us were left. For weeks afterward, the break room fridge overflowed with unopened trays of leftover corn. It felt like an offering left to appease the layoff god. Maybe this delicious corn would sate his mighty hunger.
When I was a young punk I dyed my hair, sneered at everyone, and thought “Kill your parents” was an arch joke. Now my generation dyes their hair (to hide the grey), sneers at the camera, and exhorts you to let your parents die for their stock options. We have
you are the perfect draw the perfect draw the perfect draw
As entertainment a while back, I used to tell the story of World War One. It was great fun at parties. I’d get rolling during work lunches at bougie little lunch places, and half of the establishment would be staring balefully at our table around the time I cut