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theZEBRA Is Chewing On  Creation Gore Vidal Listening to:  Everything in Transit Jack's Mannequin Lick Those Stripes! I Be Gallopin' After Ye The Herd Zebra Poo Black Stripes, White Stripes Songs of the Plains
Family Court One would be in less danger From the wiles of a stranger If one's own kin and kith Were more fun to be with. Ogden Nash | Desk Monkeys Sunday. 1.4.04 9:26 am I am alive. Barely just, but alive. I’ve just had a month’s break from coll. A month which was supposed to have been spent lolling about lazily at home until I took on the shape of a glassy-eyed dugong. But the only word I can think of to best describe the last two weeks is…traumatic. Pure and simple torture. Let me explain. My favouritest aunt thought that I might have been perhaps not too happy with my job at the skatepark, on account of my wages being enough to just sustain a family of four hungry gnats. So she ferreted around and found me a temp position in a bank. Well, that’s very nice of you, dear aunt. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve already got the tummy, and my legs are starting to resemble dugong flippers. Another week plastered to the couch should just about do it. So my aunt left and I stroked my dugong whiskers happily. Unnecessary hard work gracefully evaded. Or so I thought. My dad got wind of it and one hour later, off I went to inform my aunt that my dad had changed my mind. I’m a silver lining type of zebra. How bad could a job at the bank be? Maybe a robbery would occur during my time there, complete with ski masks, guns and hours wishing you’d gone to the loo earlier. Or I might meet someone secretly embezzling millions from the bank, blackmail said person and convince him to buy me a Jag E-type for Christmas. So off I went comforted to my first day of bank work. And was promptly directed to a tiny table with a computer (without online access) and stacks of forms barricading me from the exit. I was to be a computer desk monkey. I didn’t even have a phone or a stapler. They were generous enough to supply me with a pencil, but they’d forgotten to sharpen it. I wouldn’t need it tho, they told me. All I’d have to do is close and set up credit card accounts of people with more money than me. Nothing to it. I could take a break when blood from my stumps started smearing the keyboard, to prevent it from short-circuiting. In the event of which they’d deduct the cost of the keyboard from my paycheck. Two weeks later, I slammed my head through the computer screen, walked to the manager’s office and politely told her through the air vents of the monitor that she could find some other masochistic jackass with a penchant for papercuts to be her desk monkey. And with that, I was FREE. Never had the sunshine shone so brightly, never had the breeze breezed so breezily. My dad told me that I would learn much from the bank. He was right. I learned that I would never ever ever work in a bank again. Unless it was to rob one. 6 Comments. Man! hey, man friend had that job
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