I used to lose my mind I was so busy at my job. I had a part-time paralegal that helped me. He was an odd dude. He was a fifty-something year old choral director at a church and he was married to the pastor. He had the hots for a young, beautiful, pregnant attorney in the office. When she was around eight months pregnant he sent her an email of a version of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven. He recreates a poem about a talking raven’s visit to a distraught lover and the man’s slow decline into madness into a poem about the attorney’s impending birth. It’s called The Baby.
Once upon a Thursday, deary,
While I pondered (!), tired and weary,
Over a file I’d never seen before.
While I pondered, nearly napping,
I thought I heard a gentle tapping,
As if a tiny fist were rapping,
Rapping on a chamber door.
So I listened a little more.
I’ll spare you the rest.
He sent the attorney hundreds of emails that often opened with, “How’s my favorite beautiful attorney?”
This was an interesting one:
“I’ve checked with the social worker in this case and she confirmed that the primary allegation in the affidavit is correct:
Peter Piper picked slightly less than a peck of pickled peppers but picked exactly a peck of putrid pineapples, porous papayas and prickly pears. How would you like me to prep the case?”
He eventually got fired for drinking whiskey on the job and running into walls.
For some unknown reason my job is currently the opposite of busy. I’m pretty certain it’s not due to a sudden decline in child abuse. Anyway, I have a lot of free time on my hands in my cubicle.
I click on CNN and I go, “AAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!” and I quickly close it. I walk down the stairs and then back up. That’s ten minutes out of the way. I read clinical trials on the website Oxidative Medicine and Cellular Longevity. FYI: This article was not a page turner. The Function of Thioredoxin-Binding Protein-2 (TBP-2) in Different Diseases
I consider decorating my cubicle like this guy but the uptight office manager won’t let me. Seriously, I’m pretty crunchy but this is out of control.
I go talk to my coworkers and pretend I’m very interested in their life.
I walk down the stairs and back up.
I go to the bathroom. I take the long way back to my cubicle.
I search, “Best soup recipe on the entire planet.”
I search, “How to liven up your boring day in a cubicle.” One of the suggestions is to have fun with magnetic poetry. Problem is I would get the F-word version and these uptight people would not appreciate it one bit.