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MIDDLEMAN VS. MINUTIAE
The ultimate struggle for Truth in a world of Deceit and Poor Management
Currently, I hold a position of employment in a vast bureaucracy with all the trimmings. The red tape is thick enough that I even bring my own pens to work, as getting the supplies one needs is next to impossible. There is one woman in our office with scissors. Even though I let her use my stapler, when I asked her for the aforementioned scissors, she asked me for references or collateral. I am not kidding. Neither was she. Another co-worker obtained a pair of scissors this past week, and the minor coup was tantamount to Pakistan developing nuclear capability -- the implications are staggering as political alliances within our office shift to the new power paradigm.
My job is being a middle man. In fact, I am a middle man between other middle men, who in turn are acting between other middle men. There is no good reason that my job exists. Bad reasons it exists are that people are into power struggles, petty grudges, and laziness. If there were any efficiency, my job (as well as many others) would be eliminated in favor of getting a couple of cases of those nice black pens with the little rubber grip on them. At this point in my company's cancerous structure, though, I have become necessary. The communication breakdown is so rampant that it is only in a social setting, after several beers, that people from other departments are able to tell me what needs to be accomplished on our end. It is disgusting.
My life has been, up until now, quite complicated. The web of lies I have spun is so intricate, so byzantine, it amazes me how infrequently I repeat myself. I have fabricated whole lives, melodramatic identities which have granted me everything from access to colleges to respectable jobs to alimony, and I have paid no price for it. You have all believed it. Still, as I grow older -- or do I? -- I weary of the duplicity, the constant scheming and paranoia, that now as I enter my golden age I feel the need to reduce. I hereby pronounce that my aim shall be to live simply, free of the middle man, emancipated from artifice. There shall be nothing insincere in my life, nothing that dilutes the Truth and Essence of Reality.
In the morning, I will roll out of bed, leaving the sheets as they are, for I will be climbing back in come night. Breakfast will be several gulps of high fructose corn syrup straight from the carton, and two spoonfuls of sugar. A handful of multi-vitamins will round out the morning meal. Deodorant will replace more than showering; laundering my clothes will be obsolete, as well. No need to dress anew, as the outfit I wore to bed is the same I shall wear to work.
No cabs, subways, or buses. My own two feet shall suffice.
At work, someone might bring up a News Story. Not trusting anything I have not experienced firsthand, I will avoid any conversation. In fact, I will not bother interacting with people I do not know or do not want to know. I will direct deposit the first paycheck of the month into my landlord's account. I will not bother returning any phone calls. Every three days, I shall delete whatever messages may be lingering. Anyone who truly needs to reach me will call me at 9:30 in the morning, as that is the most honest time to expect to reach someone. Any other time is an attempt simply to leave voice mail (these hours apply to professional calls only. Personal calls made in these hours should be made to the person's work, otherwise do not call the home until six-ish).
I will no longer speak at work. I will serve merely as a conduit of pertinent information. Papers placed on my desk will be sorted, distributed, or recycled. I will continue to email.
Pure cotton, wool, or animal skins will be my wardrobe; to my cotton/poly blends or cravats made of All New Material I bid a cold, "Adieu."
You might think I will not indulge in the consumption of alcohol, but you would be incorrect as usual, Gentle Reader. There is no better liberator of deceitful inhibitions than a large dose of booze, and I freely admit that it is difficult to let oneself go without a touch of grandma's medicine. The truth is I shall have to begin to distill my own spirits, as the gouged prices of today's public houses are nothing if not dishonest.
I henceforth will be direct, blunt perhaps with people who annoy me or attract me. People who do neither for me will cease to enter my realm of perception, unless they have something useful for me (such as medicines, humor, or money).
I will speak only the English language, until I can learn to communicate solely in the universal language of math. Base ten math. Failing that, I will communicate solely via music. While this might make it difficult for people to understand me, it will reduce significantly the people who feel the need to communicate with me.
When tired, I shall sleep. When not tired, I shall not sleep. Unless, of course, there is really nothing else to do.
I will raise my eyebrow in skepticism any time anyone tries to relate any sort of history to me. I will rescind my membership in the International Flat-Earth Society once I have sailed completely around the world, or perhaps viewed it from outer space.
When death comes, as it might, I hereby declare my intentions not to be embalmed. In fact, I wish to remain where I fell, until the natural course of order has disintegrated me, except for my teeth, which may be used for bartering.
Yes, friends, you may think that I am already as direct as It Gets, but the changes you will see will have ramifications beyond the wildest of your piddling dreams. My übermannish will to power, my denial of the current structure of society, will stand as an example to everyone on the power of Truth and the benefits of living simply.
Which is good for me here at work. Scissors themselves strike me as a falsity, so I will continue to do what I always do -- fold and tear, fold and tear. I'm getting pretty good at it, you know. If you really get your fingernail into the creasing motion, it works wonders.
Oh, never mind.
By Brady Richards
032701