Just how much, you have to ask yourself, can a man take? I have been working in this company, a newspaper that routinely writes “curved” instead of “carved”, for almost 48 years now, and it just keeps getting more stifling, more soul-parching, more redolent of accumulating piles of zombie fecal matter with every day of my wretched life that slips into deadness beneath my feet. The light in my eyes slowly, slowly shrinks.
“When will you realize that you can’t do this anymore, Baz?” My better angels constantly ask.
Well, here is your answer. Today.
I decided that I cannot do this any more, and today, I quit.
I got up from the freezing chair with the weak back that has been the equivalent of my Matrix-pod for all these years. It is freezing because the Air Conditioner is always on max, not because of a structural malfunction in the design of the building, but because of a personnel malfunction: the room has people with amaalo in it.
I rose, ripped my necktie off in one single smooth move, slapped the guy who always puts the air-con on max and said, in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, “Cool it!”.
(I am going to pause now, to let you get that)
Then I flipped everyone but the cool people off and stormed the hell out of the office, pausing only for a moment in the doorway to bend over and yell, “Everybody, see this ass. You can all kiss it!”
Then I stormed out. I shall never return.
I had stomped for a few steps down the corridor when sirens went off. Wooowoowoooo and bleep-bleep-bleep like in CTU, they said. The walls slid open and four men the size and shape of Michael Clarke Duncan emerged from hidden rooms. They were wearing tuxedos and they marched up to me. “You will need to come with us, sir.” They said.
They even sounded like Michael Clarke Duncan.
“No, I don’t need to come with you. We don’t need to go anywhere, you all can kiss my ass right here.”
They upped the Clarke-Duncanness of their voices, made them deeper and more sinister. “You will NEED to COME with US, SIR.” They said. This time I couldn’t argue because my feet were off the ground. I was being carried to the boardroom.
The boardroom is not to be confused with my former office, or any of the conference rooms that litter this office complex. Those are the Bored Rooms, not the boardroom.
Yes, a bit of corporate humour there. You can get more of this type of joke at Comedy Nite and National Theatre every Thursday.
The boardroom is a bit squashed up, with a very large table filling a relatively small space, leaving not enough room for the chairs to be swiveled in properly. At one end, short, bald, fat and dressed in an expensive suit, was the Member of The Board who I know personally.
I won’t tell you his name, but I shall give you bits of his CV. He has served as Permanent Secretary in a ministry, has a PhD in something and is one of only 14 Ugandans on Condie Rice’s facebook friends list.
He said, “Baz, what’s up? What’s cutting, son, what’s cutting? I hear you want to burst, just. What’s up, dawggie? Holla.”
“Critical mass has been achieved, the day of reckoning has arrived. Breaking point has been reached. I can not do this any more, so I am leaving.”
“But boss, you can’t leave. Wharrabout.”
“I thought I was the only one who still says wharrabout.”
“That is not the only thing you thought wrong about. You need to reconsider this, son. Don’t be fake. You can’t just youknow. The company needs you.”
“The company needs to tell these Clarke Duncans to get the hell out of my way and let me out of here. The Seychelles are calling my soul, man. I must answer. It is my destiny to be slathered in massage oils by Sega dancers on a beach in Mahe. I saw it in a dream. And it’s going to take more Clarke Duncans than you’ve got to stop me.”
…
For real?
The bad thing about Baz is that he’s often not just joking when he writes this stuff.
For real?
what? you have worked over 40 years? now go home for real….anyway get to go for four week holiday and get back to work. you tired.
Had already typed out the text to announce to my world that Baz had quit…hah! There’d be shouts of ecstasy as another vacancy opened up…Maybe another day
Did the aircon guy quit? If you’re staying, I suggest he runs for it.
The baffling question. Is this a joke or not?
I hope it’s a joke.
Complete the reverie, man, down to the point when you woke up, rubbed your eyes and swiped the drool off your cheek and submitted your next Bad Idea
This is totally badass shit.
But i take offence at the pause to get the “cool it” bit. i am sharp as a tack, i got it before you even wrote it.
all the best in the big bad world Baz.
this is going to shake the world some… good luck, but i dont think you will need it.
I will find out.
Is this a bad idea? Is it true? For real. Gosh it must be a dream.
Let me know where the party’s at.
I hope this only means you stop editing the sunday vision, ‘bad idea’ becomes bigger and you quickly become richer. Best of luck
like for real-
so whats happens to the “Bad Idea”
Come here son. Sit beside me and let’s talk. Here, hold my hand like i never left
Are you that tough? I hope so….
so wanted to pull out a bad idea ka line but alas. they are all taken!
so wanted to pull out a ka bad idea line but alas.they are all taken!
I’m calling bullshit on this one
Lol Victoria, I had the same inkling he was dreaming!!! Mbu he bent over and tapped his ass…which Baz?
Am now so confused… been away from my blog and my friends’ blogs that am reading yo articles backwards, now this. So u really left NV Baz? U know one can never really tell wen yo serious. But, all the best dude, if it’s true. A man of yo skills deserves more and better…
Cheers! 🙂