Catharsis II

Breaking News: Tenth Circle of Hell discovered in an undisclosed downtown office building.  Details to follow.

It’s Monday.  I don’t want to be here.  I actually never want to be here but foreclosure is the greater of two evils.  Luckily I have mastered the art of doing as little as possible with what looks like the greatest amount of effort in a 7 1/2 hour window.  It’s a very complicated equation.

I’m at my desk preparing an instruction manual for my colleagues so that they may also perfect the work to effort ratio, when my eye starts twitching.  Not the quick annoying twitching that can accompany stress or fatigue, but almost a full blink, like that which is synonymous with Tourette’s.  And it’s accelerating.  My lip is keeping time with my eye in the form of an evil half-smile, and I’m fighting the urge to paw behind my ear, canine style; luckily my leg won’t reach.  I quickly Google eye-twitching and scratchitus canis.  According to WebMD I have a mild case of fleas, but this can’t be right because I just changed my collar.

So what the hell is going on?

And then I hear it.  A loud, crunching sound emanating from the desk beside me.  And my face is twitching to the beat.  Calgon, take me awa…(this joke never fails to amuse me).

With my one good eye I peek over the fabric wall, and there I see the source of my torment…Sunflower seeds!!  A ginormous bag of them.

Did I miss something?  When did sunflower seeds become the new go-to desk snack?  Don’t get me wrong, I love them.  At a park.  Or a baseball game.  Or anywhere else that I can let the little buggers fly once I’ve licked off all the sodium and extracted their delicious goodness.  It really is most ladylike.  But never at work.  Aside from the fact that he’s pulling the saliva-soaked seeds from his mouth with his fingers, which he will then use to touch the printer and door handles and papers, he’s an open-mouthed chewer.  Also known as the bane of my existence.

I loathe this sound.  Do these people not realize that their mouths become amplified echo chambers of mastication.

Which leads me to realize I’m now surrounded by them.  I have Crunchy Crunchster and his sunflower seeds to my left, and two Slurpy McSlurpysons and their never-ending cups of perpetually hot coffee to my right.  (I’d love to know which Starbuck’s these two go to.)  I’m in a hell from which there is no escape.  And apparently one can only remain in the fetal position under one’s desk for so long before people start looking for you.

But before I am so cruelly pulled back into my own ‘Nam, I relish those precious 43 minutes.  It is then that I dream of revenge.  It is there that I think of all of the people who need to be reminded how stupid, inconsiderate, or just plain annoying they are.

Oh yes folks.  After the longest intro in the history of the world, we have reached the meat and potatoes of it.  It’s time to resurrect a time-honoured tradition (or soon to be).  Let us revisit – pause for dramatic effect –  the Slap of the Day.  For historical reference, please read here.

Before we proceed, I must reiterate the rules.  Only one slap is permitted per 24 hour period.  Unused slaps cannot be carried over into the next period.  Slaps are non-transferable.

Here are this edition’s candidates…

People who don’t give you the “courtesy wave”.  If I let you pull in front of me, the least you could do is raise your hand.  You don’t have to wave your arms about a la I’m being attacked by bees, but give me something, anything, to acknowledge my sacrifice.  Hell, flip me the bird.  If not, I’m going to hit you with your own hand.  SLAP!

This infraction is only made worse by those who don’t wave when you let them in, and then drive 80 km under the speed limit.  The pedestrians are passing you.  SLAP!

People who cut in line.  This is a line.  I am standing in it.  You just got here.  And you are not special.  SLAP!

People who can’t spell.  I remember when I was little, there was this wonderful, magical place called school, and it was there that I learned all about letters.  Even if you failed kindergarten, there’s something called spell check.  The little underline in your text means it’s wrong.  For the love of all things holy, change it.  SLAP!

People who spit.  Is this your way of giving back to the world, or do you just enjoy watching the rest of us duck and weave around globules of your saliva?  There are only two places where spitting is acceptable – the hockey rink and the dentist, (and only when asked at the latter).  Keep your DNA to yourself!  SLAP!

And of course, people with no sense of humour.  SLAP!

Disclaimer:  No people were slapped in the writing of this blog. The opinions expressed in this blog are for amusement purposes only.  I am not advocating violence, as previously stated in the opening sentence of the previous blog.  The author is absolved of any and all responsibility should someone be slapped as a result of this or the previous blog.


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