>>> Thank Me Later April 14, 2008
By staff writer Casey Freeman
Weekly Drunk Text:
I was at work and I wondered if I put my whole junk in my coffee cup if it would make a suction sound. But I didnt really want to do it.
Sure working a real job has tons of perks, like unlimited free coffee and stealing toilet paper from the employee bathroom, but there are downsides too: like going there. Every day. Eight hours a day. Five days a week. 52 weeks a year. For 45 years. Or more if you don’t figure out the 401K. Your time in hard labor will last longer if you majored in English, philosophy or art (coffee shops, diners and bars generally don’t have retirement programs).
So you’ve finished your college degree, polished up your résumé (without lying too much) and your parents are begging you to move out of the computer room—that used to be your room. Maybe you’ve actually landed your starter job.
Here’s a little informal boot camp to get you prepared for the least fun stage of life.
Dust off your alarm clock and set it for 7:15 am. I find that it’s helpful to connect the buzzer to electric nodes connected to your nuts. You’ll wake up a lot faster and you won’t want to hit the snooze button.
“Now when I’m bored at work I can read about how bored my dad is at work.”
The first thing you need to get used to is sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day. Sure, you do that all the time, but remember, this is the corporate world, so you’re going to need to wear pants and a shirt. Unfortunately, sweatpants and that pit-stained free Budweiser t-shirt you got inherited from a friend won’t suffice; find the shirt your mom bought you for job interviews. I’d tell you to iron it, but I don’t know how to do that either. Just hang it up in the bathroom while you shower. Bonus points if you prepare all this stuff before you go to sleep.
Now that you’re wearing clothes, you’re going to have to get used to your work computer. Go to the computer lab and look for the worst desktop in the room. Find the keyboard that has the most soda spilled all over the keys. The letters should be so sticky they’re covered with ants. That’s going to be your work computer.
After four or more years at college, we all know you’re a pro at lounging in front of the computer, but it’s a lot harder in the real world. You actually have to look like you’re doing stuff, which can be tough. To add insult to difficulty, some offices block Instant Messenger, Facebook, MySpace, eBay and iTunes. For some reason they don’t block off porn—I assume it’s because executives and PICs (people in charge) make the rules. And I’ve yet to meet an exec or PIC who doesn’t enjoy a daily helping of interracial pregnant midget porn.
It’s sad, but true (just like Titanic): you can’t poke, write on walls, comment or instant message your friends throughout the day. Looking at naked people carousing will get you fired, and that means back to the hot dog stand or retail or whatever the hell you did.
While you’re at it, put your phone on silent and stuff it in your desk drawer. During work hours, you won’t be able to text, pic message, or talk on your cell about your crazy drunken antics either.
What the hell do you do all day at your computer? Good question. I guess you could work, but that sucks. You could write columns. All of my friends are too lazy or too busy to email, so I write the only people who reply: my parents. We email back and forth all day. If only I had this type of correspondence in high school. Now when I’m bored at work I can read about how bored my dad is at work. Or my mom and I can have this type of banter:
Mom: Did you get the picture I sent you of the spoon?
Kc: No, you need to attach it.
Mom: How do I do that?
Kc: Just attach it. There should be a button.
Mom: I don’t know. Explain that better.
Kc: Well, what email service are you using?
Mom: I’m using [insert completely awkward system, like Yahoo, here].
Kc: I’m sure they have an attach button somewhere along the top.
Mom: I’ll just mail you a picture. It’s darling.
This happens over the course of a few hours and many emails. Thanks, required corporate time management classes.
No matter how awesome, smelly, huge or multi-colored, nobody at the office gives a damn about the statistics of your shit. On February 15, 2008, I took a four-pound triple flusher, only to have nobody to tell. Alas, my creation joined the Ninja Turtles without ever being remembered.
Start coming up with excuses for showing up late or missing work now. You’ll need them. Unfortunately you can’t just say your roommate lost your keys. They don’t need to be honest excuses, just somewhat believable.
Excuse for missing class: I just fucking didn’t want to fucking go.
Excuse for missing work: Hi. Yeah. This is Casey. I think I must have had a bad tuna roll last night from Koi. I don’t think I can make it today. (Hint: don’t ask if you have any sick days left, and certainly don’t offer to use a vacation day.)
Excuse for arriving late to class: My sandals make me walk slow.
Excuse for arriving late to work: I’m telling you, there were no signs. They totally changed my bus route. I ended up 10 blocks away. It’s a good thing I left earlier than usual, otherwise I would have been a whole lot later.
Excuse for missing a deadline in college: I’ve just been stressed out.
Excuse for missing a deadline at work: It will never happen again, sir.
Now make sure to hide your tattoos, comb your hair and shower at least twice a week. Then you’ll be ready to sell out to the corporate world, just like me.