� Memoirs of an Evil Genius �
Conquering the World, One Martini at a Time

� She Saw it Coming �
3:07 p.m., 2004-09-22

Well, the cat is out of the proverbial bag here at Arts-Friendly. By this euphemism I mean to convey that Sophie decided to make my departure public knowledge, as of yesterday morning. So far, I�ve had to explain why I�m leaving about six different times. To four people. The city�s brightest lights don�t shine in the offices of Arts-Friendly, if you know what I mean.

I guess the fact isn�t so much that they don�t understand why I�m leaving, as much as it is that they don�t want to hear it. Not that they seem particularly devastated by the news (those bastards), but I think maybe it hasn�t quite sunken in yet. I should probably give them another couple of days to cope with Anger and Denial, you know? As embarrassing as it will be when they come to their senses and start sobbing and begging me not to go, I shouldn�t rush the grief process any.

Actually, any shock or grief these people are experiencing probably isn�t being brought on by how much they�re going to miss me, but by this company�s well documented (on this website, anyway) history of eschewing replacements in favor of shuffling responsibilities when the workforce shrinks a little bit. Kind of like if your parents decided to start buckling the kids up two to a seatbelt rather than invest in a minivan once your baby brother got born. Or, like, if you were a chorus line, and your fellow kick-dancer�s spangled leotard got ripped, and the costume lady tried to make you both squeeze into one, together, rather than buy a new one. That would be really stupid. But also pretty fucking hilarious to watch, I imagine.

When I was on my way out the door last night, Carla stopped me, all sotto voce, and told me she was sorry I was leaving, but that she "saw this coming". Like, great prediction, Madame Gloria, do you want I should cross your palm with silver, now? Anyone with two eyes in the front of their head totally "saw this coming"! Even the ones with one eye, or two eyes on either side of their head, probably also saw it, but they couldn�t tell how far away it was or if was coming or not because of problems with depth perception. I guess my point is that this conclusion didn�t take much jumping to reach. Probably, this conclusion kind of fell out of the cupboard and smacked her in the face when she was trying to get a box of baking powder for her cranberry muffins.

My point is just that it hasn�t exactly been a well-kept secret that I haven�t been entirely happy during my tenure here. Not that I went around talking about this job to my boss and co-workers quite the way I�ve talked about it in this space, but as my schedule has become increasingly cramped, I�ve learned to cut out as much extraneous bullshit as possible in order to make room for more important matters. As such, the amount of time and energy I spend tolerating unnecessary bullshit and mincing words has been reduced to a bare minimum. I don�t suffer fools gladly anymore, because I don�t have that luxury; I call a spade a spade, and if you don�t like being called a spade then don�t act like one, is my philosophy.

Perhaps a bigger man would hide his frustration, or at least not let it escape in hissing bursts of indignation, but a bigger man also sets himself up for a misbegotten future of continued trafficking in angst. If idiocy drums out a tattoo on my patience, my patience will not prove to be very resilient. Again, this may not make me Employee of the Year, but�so the fuck what? I don�t want to be Employee of the Year, I want to be outta this dump. If someone else wants to deal with all the detritus brought on by miscommunication, understaffing, and overbooked agendas -- and do it with a smile, no less -- they are more than welcome to my office.

Anyway, I guess what it all boils down to is this: I wasn�t entirely happy here, I�m still not entirely happy here, I�m entirely happy with my decision to go, and I�m not going to play fake-nice about a job where I take one day off (as I did Monday), and come back to find myself three days behind (as I did Tuesday).

So there, job. Shove it.

Someone Got Here By Searching For: peta ads porn I�m Watching: The finale of The Amazing Race, and rooting for anyone other than Colin and Christie to win. I�m Reading: Er�still haven�t decided yet.

A Year Ago, I Said:

The point is, this radioactive, mutant silverfish that looked like fucking Jabba the Hutt with six legs � started to run in circles, the motion catching my attention through my peripheral vision, causing me to shriek at the top of my lungs (in a manly fashion) and throw the bowl across the room, doing a full-on body shudder-and-recoil move that wasn�t dissimilar to something done by Jennifer Beals in Flashdance.

Bugged Out
9-22-2003

� 2005 by Dr. No, all rights reserved; you break it, you buy it.



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