February 7, 2002
The Lamer I Get,
the More I Write

HAVING recently realized that this column o mine has crossed over from merely not-funny-on-purpose to depressingly pedestrian, I am happy to announce that I will continue to blindly crank out installments on a variety of subjects I am not qualified to comment on in the spastic hope that something turns out to be amusing. This will lead to two things, my Team of Scientists tell me: one, I will eventually reach the absolute-zero of unfunniness, a point at which so little humor exists that I cross over into a Jerry-Lewis state of existence, where apparently humorous and increasingly desperate flailing fails to generate any laughs whatsoever; and two, I will resort to my old standby of cowardly attacking people from behind a rugged shield of nicknames and abstraction. In short, I'm going to have to start bitching about my Insane Co-Workers.

Work stubbornly remains the only place in Your Humble Editor's otherwise utopian existence where I have no influence over who I spend my time with. Let's face it, 95% of the world is insane, or abysmally stupid, or, in the case of people like Pauly Shore, both, and I have erected complex procedures in my life to keep them all at bay. This doesn't work at my place of employment, natch, because the bastards are paying me to be there and expect me to do what they say, not the other way around. In order to keep my sanity I have begun tracking the activities of some of the more entertaining people I work with, who are crowned with the highest honor I can convey: Insane Co-Workers. To avoid lawsuits and possible lunch-tainting, they have all been numbered.

In one sense, everyone at my job could be designated an Insane Co-Worker, ja? But to be fair most of them are probably like me: pissed off at not being born rich and determined to steal as much stuff from the office as they can before they get fired, or the place goes Enron. The point where you cross from mildly annoying impediment to my existence into ICW-level weirdness is a fuzzy one, but here are three definite examples.

INSANE CO-WORKER #445: This one is the Big Chief Freak of them all, Sauron of the freaks. His list of quirks and annoying traits is so long, I am beginning to believe that he is actually some sort of hallucination born out of my Fight-Club inner demons. ICW#445 is one of those treasures who is very loud and very vocal, expressing his every thought, emotion, and physical symptom to a weary world. He curses at the copier when it jams, loudly and horribly. He shouts out song lyrics from time to time, just to let us all know what he's thinking. He also expresses every opinion he has about whatever it is you're doing or saying without reserve. He probably thinks of himself as a straight-shooter. The rest of us, almost unanimously, think of him as an asshole. ICW#445 has obviously been born without any of the normal societal restraints. This is not a good thing.

INSANE CO-WORKER #762: This is more accurately a small group of ICWs, actually, all exhibiting the same behavior, which is that of high-school backbiting and gossip-mongering. All of these people are middle-aged executives in charge of, collectively, millions of dollars in budgets. They spend their time insulting each other behind their backs, forming temporary alliances, being openly rude to each other, and scheming like children. And ostensibly they are my superiors. No wonder human society is doomed. We're infants, from birth to death.

INSANE CO-WORKER #233: Known generally as The Cyclops amongst us Normals in the office, this jaunty employee favors scarves tied around his neck, what can only be described as a Little Lord Fauntleroy hat, and the penetrating thousand-yard stare of a person who will someday be the last thing you see as they celebrate Bring Your Rifle to Work Day. This ICW is one of those who papers their cube with photos of famous people as a constant reminder that they are SMART and CULTURED. At random moments, they will fix you with their crazy stare for a few silent moments, and then suddenly ask you if you enjoy opera. Their reaction to my muted "Uh, no." is generally sad disappointment, but at least it gets rid of them.


The reason all of this is relevant to this column is that I still do a great deal of my zine work at work. I do a lot of writing, typesetting, and manufacturing at my job, where I have resources at my fingertips, not to mention a lot of time that would otherwise be wasted doing my job. Trying to get all this stuff done without notice from my bosses, however, often means dodging the various ICWs, most of whom have the social skills of gorillas. They like to read whatever's on your computer screen, they like to inspect what you're copying, they like to stop you in the hallway while you're carrying 200 copies of your zine and ask you if you like opera.

You see, with the Normals I can rely on the training most humans absorb as children. Generally, if I am photocopying the zine and my boss walks up to ask me a question, I know that if I maintain eye contact and betray no guilt, they will not look at what I'm copying - it's natural human training to not look away when you're talking with someone. The ICWs, however, generally never absorbed these rules, and will practically take the originals out of the copier to see what you're doing. This is because they are not human. They are Pod People.

Oh well. I will continue to dodge the ICW obstacles in order to bring you my puny little contribution to the world. Pity me! Or, better yet, send me a donation to my LET JEFF RETIRE IN STYLE BEFORE HE IS OLD AND DECREPIT fund. Please.

Until next time, you can reach me here, and I remain
Jeff