Rather then work on his next (or first, for that matter) article, Marty Walsh complains about work and stubbles across a clever way to get rid of his boss's son...


"I Hate My Job"

Jonathan Polkay - February 1st, 2006 Bookmark and Share

Well, I know I promised to start off this year with an actual column, but it's going to have to wait for just a little longer- I have problems at work again. The latest hassle deals with my boss' son ("Baby Huey") who was just promoted to creative director. (Apparently more cash needs to be funneled his way from his father, a firm supporter in the fields of nepotism.)

I was finishing a phone call with a client when the tell-tale lumbering footsteps of Baby Huey began to reverberate down the hall.

Marty: (over phone) Yes, sir. We don't offer guarantees. They inspire a lack of confidence in our product. Hello? Hello?

Baby Huey: Uuuuuhhhhhh....

Marty: (cutting him off) What's percolating in your miniscule collection of synaptic impulses, you incoherent stumbling mound of valueless parasitic mistakes? (You can get away with anything provided you do not express it monosyllabically!)

Baby Huey: Er... what?

Marty: OWNED!

Baby Huey: Uhhh... I have an idea...

Marty: Rubbing two sticks to make fire? Already been invented.

Baby Huey: ...we need to send out our company brochure...

Marty: Crayons are in the top drawer if you need them.

Baby Huey: ...and we need to make a good impression to clients who don't know us.

Marty: Let's start by removing any trace of our name off the brochure, okay?
It was at this point that the moron tossed a folder on my desk. Disinterestedly I picked it up and opened it, gazing at its contents: a short list of items you'd normally acquire from a pet store.

Marty: A 50 gallon fishtank? 100 pounds of gravel? Exotic fish? What on earth...?

I trailed off here, hoping some reasonable explanation would fill the void. I was bound to be disappointed, of course.

Baby Huey: Uuhh... wouldn't it be cool to have our brochure in a bottle, and send it out to new clients? They'd get the tank delivered with all the fish inside, grab the bottle out of the tank, and find the brochure inside!

Marty: Your client list has over 50 names, covering a dozen states.

Baby Huey: It'd be so cool...

Marty: Are you listening? Did you even think about the logistics?

Baby Huey: Uuhh.. the what?

Marty: Let's break it down, shall we? You want to send live animals in a regulated environment across hundreds of miles in containers that weigh nearly 450 pounds, and that's not counting the weight of the gravel. It'll take slightly more than one messenger to deliver your package, unless you're hiring a powerlifter...

Baby Huey: Uhhh...

Marty: ...and that's just ONE package!

Baby Huey: Uuhh...

Marty: Did I lose you after the word "Let's"?

I watched him stand there for about a minute, gathering every scrap of energy his brain could muster for what would pass (in his mind) as a reasonable excuse for his stupidity. Eventually he found something.

Baby Huey: Uuhh... my dad thinks this is a great idea.

Marty: I guess it's true; great minds think alike!

Baby Huey: Oh, yeah. Totally.

Marty: Tell you what, why don't you go back to your cubicle and smoke some more weed?

Baby Huey: Uuhh, I would, except I broke my bong

Marty: Is THAT all? Aw, that's no problem! I can tell you where to get a good one.

Baby Huey: Really? Where?

Marty: Get this...(leaning in conspiratorially) ...at the police station!

Baby Huey: Huh?

Marty: Look, the cops are always nabbing the stuff, right? Sooner or later all that paraphernalia piles up in the evidence rooms, and they gotta get rid of it to make room for the newer stuff. So they sell it off.

Baby Huey: Really?

Marty: Would I kid you? This is what you do- just walk in, and tell the cop at the front desk you're interested in buying some of their used bongs in the evidence rooms.

Baby Huey: That's it?

Marty: Of course not! The cop's gonna look at you funny, so you need to let him know it's cool. You need the password phrase, which is, "You have permission to search me AND my vehicle, pig."

Baby Huey: Cool. Thanks!

Marty: Wait, there's more. They're going to bring a few cops in and lead you off to the back room, so you'll want to pretend to struggle, so it looks convincing for witnesses. Yell out "I'm armed" a couple of times for good measure, that sort of thing. Afterwards they'll just let you out the side door, business as usual!

Baby Huey: Awesome!

Marty: Why not go now? It's not as if you're doing any actual work here anyway!

Baby Huey: Awesome!

As he staggered off to his well-deserved fate, I thought back to what I had said earlier. I take it back; I LOVE my job!

P.S. - My column starts next time, and no foolin'!!!  Bookmark and Share

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