"Tales from the Office Crypt" are always strange. Nothing says horror to me better than a bunch of mindlessly programmed office drones just waiting to die, by miserably hanging on to jobs they hate year after year. Have you ever walked among the living dead? Horrid territory to cross, and we all have the stories to prove it. With that in mind, let's dive right into this cheerful holiday season's major bummer, that of the careerist suicide. They walk among you every single day, whether or not you're aware of them, though by their shuffling ineptitude, the object is more like "passing" for being alive over life itself. It's a cheap con game for suckers.
You've met part of my extensive cast of characters by now, some more memorable than others, with the understanding that boring weirdos probably go out of their way to shock me, because appearing here is about as close to Broadway and the big-time as they'll ever get. "Lisa the Average Designer" was one of those types. She's about as bland as you can get, which is her life strategy for getting by; being as nondescript as possible so as to not arouse, well, anything from anyone. It's the office version of "playing possum", which is actually a really good practice for being dead, and given her dreadful output of work, I'd bet that one really good clear scanning of her brain would show her to be more dead than alive. Hurry! Someone unplug her before she dies on her feet!
One dull day in the generic office that never changed was her annual diving down into the holiday blues, greatly aided and assistance by a near-constant daily dose of Valium that she liked to brag to me about, as if heavy usage of addictive narcotics on the job was as glamorous as a lesbian love affair in prison, which it isn't. She mechanically stumbled around the place like a ghost already dead in the land of the living, moving only to lurch awkwardly between the lunch room for free coffee and then back to her computer, her dead eyes neither noting anyone nor saying anything, which clearly telegraphed the message to her co-workers that she wasn't all there, because she isn't.
It was in this cheerful spirit of giving that Lisa decided to finally cough up a real story about her past abuses on the job, like the annual horrorfest that is the big company Christmas Party, a dreadfully forced gaiety requiring strong drinks, loosened neck ties, and even looser tongues. Her clammed-up tight PTSD from too many burnout years on the same job heightened the bombed-out demeanor she had as a refugee of publishing wars. One infamous company routinely bulk hired (and then bulk fired) every few years as a solid financial strategy that wrecked every life it destroyed, by artificially buoying up hopes that maybe this year would be different, though in reality, they just shuffled employees around the industry based on their bottom lines. Middle-manager? You're in, just don't dare ask for that raise so your kid can go to college.
Like the cafeteria here? Great! Just clam up and take it when that incompetent manager asks you to cover for him once again, because he/she sleeps with half the office, and blackmail ruins lives. Lisa was a typical Baby Boomer lay-off from a company so famously abusive in the industry, that their one-time CEO was well-known for his practice of firing new hires on their first day for stepping into the building's elevator while he was in it (which was part of HR's strategy for quickly dispatching of people who escaped their dysfunctional notice first time around, or who had an "in" to the company that superseded their bullshit "decision-making process" cronyism that didn't match their "corporate culture as a fit") in lieu of actually publishing that as part of his company's policy in their employee handbook for all to see, which could be pursuant as an action made through proper legal channels.
Fun, right? Wait, there's more to get you "in the mood" for this holiday time of year! Do you like those free flu shots from the company nurse? How about the "free" spinning classes in the corporate gym? So good, right? Right? And yet, despite all of the crap they shoveled down her throat, she still maintained to her last day there (in full earshot of her "new" company because her deaf ass yelled all her answers to me), that she would leave the gig where I worked alongside her like that <snapping fingers>, if they would only just call her back. But, why is that so bad? OK. I'll tell you why.
Because in addition to the mad editor who hoarded so much that he lived (with company permission) in his office, eating off of a hotplate placed near a huge stack of highly flammable papers, you know, since we print books on paper in publishing. Did she ever report him to HR as a fire hazard? Nope. Not once. And that was the bargain she made: ignore the kooks and the crazies, under pain of firing. So, what did you do with the layouts, I asked her? I had to know. "Oh, I just placed them near his hot plate without disturbing anything, or, if he wasn't there, left it on his seat." Yeah! Makes total sense. She was that desperate to belong to a big, name-brand house.
It all culminated in the annual Christmas party, when another editor decided he'd had enough, so he jumped out of the window during canapes and cocktails. Yep, that's what she told me, with absolutely no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. Yeah, she laughed dryly, because she has such a great sense of humor. "We had to go back to our offices because the party was over, and then HR made all of us who were there talk to the company therapist." And...did you? Yeah, she said, but I was fine. She sold her soul a long time ago anyway, but that she didn't speak to me. I already knew she was dead inside.
For all of my brothers and sisters fighting the good fight today and every day, I urge you to seek counsel during stressful holiday seasons when you are particularly prone to depression. I don't want to see you go down like that. Suicide is for punks who can't handle life, and chronic clinical depression combined with alcoholism is no joke. For family and friends of patients in care this year, make sure they double up on "the goods" by taking more meds than usual if necessary to get by, under strict supervision of a doctor. You don't want to walk around with the pain of their murder lying heavily on your heart. Trust me. You don't want that. You can't handle it. G-d bless you this year.
For you, Jimmy: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2015/07/jimmy-od.html
