It’s become disturbingly clear that many of you seem incapable of grasping office politics, or the subtleties of the aggressive rhetoric that goes along with it.
For instance, last week I said that Gary seemed to be helping himself to other people’s soda in the break room, and that we must “take back our refrigerator.” Yet I certainly didn’t want someone to booby trap the handle, so that when Gary went to get his bag lunch, he received a mild electric shock. I was simply implying that he be banned from the break room for a period of no less than two months, and that one of you ladies might want to think about filing a sexual harassment complaint.
When I declared there was no doubt that upper management had led us into an unwinnable rivalry with the accounting firm across town by showing us misleading pie charts and bar graphs, I didn’t mean they should be fired — only that we shouldn’t feel guilty about helping ourselves to office supplies, or kidnapping the CEO’s poodle and demanding a hefty ransom.
During Wednesday morning’s carpool, I was blatantly cut off and immediately remarked that the “tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of jackasses who drive gray Honda Civics,” I was by no means suggesting that one of my passengers should wait until I pulled up beside the aforementioned jackass at the next red light, then leap out of the car and slash his tire. A simple flip of the bird would have been enough, and maybe one of you could have hocked a loogie onto his window for emphasis.
When I sneered at Paul and mentioned “second floor remedies,” it wasn’t a call to drag him down to the second-floor restroom and dunk his head in the toilet. I merely meant he was acting like a jerk who might benefit from visiting that therapist on Two. Besides, there are perfectly functional toilets right here on Five, aren’t there?
Last Thursday, I noted that the office seemed to be getting increasingly warm throughout the day, and that anyone who disagreed was a willfully ignorant caveman who preferred superstition over the science of thermostats. Don’t misinterpret that as me calling you a Neanderthal. Technically, it would be more accurate to say Cro-Magnon.
And finally, when I got up on my desk earlier today and gave a rousing speech about how we should rise up against our oppressors in management, overthrow them, take over the rest of the fifth floor, and then the entire building itself, I wasn’t calling for some kind of revolution. Not at all. Anyone who thinks that is evidently reading way too much into this, and should just forget everything I said. The rest of you please meet me in the stairwell in five minutes. Bring scissors, paper weights, fountain pens, and anything else that could conceivably be used as a weapon. I want to talk to you about sports or something.