NO JUSTICE FOR ASSISTANTS
Friday, March 19, 2010
(Morning. ASSISTANT, seated at desk, types quietly. "STEVE" office door opens. Enter "STEVE", glancing about furtively.)
"Steve": Ummm, Rejectionist!
Assistant: Your latté awaits!
"Steve": Oh! Thank you! It's not that-- er-- this is embarrassing, but I have to ask--
Assistant: ?
"Steve": Erm, you didn't, er, by any chance, eat some Triscuits yesterday? That were in the Kitchen Area?
Assistant: ?
"Steve": Because they were, well, they were Cretinous's Triscuits, and the thing is, well...
Assistant: ?!
"Steve": The thing is, he's quite upset, and he's sent-- well, he's sent an email, er, around the office-- he's asked us, the agents, he's asked us to ask our assistants not to eat his Triscuits.
Assistant: !
Assistant: !!!!!!!!!!!!
Assistant: THE ASSISTANT DOESN'T EAT TRISCUITS
"Steve": I know! Of course! Of course I know! I told him you only eat health food! But he's-- (whispering) you know, we don't like to upset him, and we did all promise to tell our assistants not to eat the Triscuits, so I just-- I had to--
(ASSSISTANT turns toward office of Cretinous van Poopypants. Lasers shoot out ASSISTANT's eyeballs. Cretinous's office explodes. Assistant eats a bowl of granola. ORGANIC granola. MADE AT HOME. ASSISTANT rests.)
FIN
Posts
AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA
*falls out of chair*
baaaaahahahaaaaaaaaa
ahaha
ahahhaha
ahaha
ah.
triscuits.
At least Captain Queeg had the decency to start a witch hunt over STRAWBERRIES. Jeez.
Poor Assistant. I know Cretinous eats your food all the time, and I have been meaning to tell you about: ThinkOfThe(dot)com. They make anti-theft sandwich bags with mold imprinting. So at least you can save your lunch, and pray that Cretinous chokes on one of his precious Triscuits.
Sadly, I consider Triscuits a health food.
Shall we all pull together and send c a box of triscuits?
Ooh, that's my next novel: The Triscuit Affair
Perhaps the frozed piss cubes should be emptied into the triscuit box. Or the raw shrimp. Either will do, really.
I think Cretinous might be a villian escaped from a Dickens novel. Fagin, Scrooge, Cretinous. It fits.
AGED, BEARDED CAVEMAN: "Mwahahahaha!" (runs out back door, Triscuits clutched securely.)
That's just...priceless.
Nothing like a bit of office drama to brighten up a Friday. :)
You should now begin to sprinkle triscuit crumbs randomly around the office. At the printer, at the fax machine, in the men's bathroom. CvP will be on the case!
I thought Triscuits *were* health food.
Poor "Steve". I mean you gotta feel sorry for the guy, caught between two boisterous personalities like that.
From: Cretinous van Poopypants
To: Everyone*
Dear Other People,
I have recently come to realize you other humans exist. How did I come by this knowledge, you may ask? Well, I opened my cabinet to discover that SOME OF MY TRISCUITS HAVE BEEN EATEN!!!1!
My assistant whatserface counts them upon an evening and this morning s/he discovered that 14 were missing! Do we not pay our underlings enough? Enough so that they do not pilfer TRISCUITS?! I say dock their pay! Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?
I demand the return of my TRISCUITS immediately, with interest. Find the culprit! I AM IMPORTANT, DAMNIT!
Hugs & etc.,
CVP
*Except assistants - assistant aren't people
Poor Steve. It's so hard when you have to stick to the letter of the law like that.
Rejectionist- Intra-office politics are very entertaining on television. Perhaps you should propose a sitcom or reality show--where you have laser vision.
Creitnous could be the first person voted out of the office!
*fantasizes*
I suggest a conspiracy. You need to make CvP think he is
1) Losing his mind
and
2) ate his OWN damn Triskets and FORGOT!
You'll have to buy some Triskets to crumble in his desk drawer, and then plot with the other assistants to corroborate things you've SEEN CvP DO (that he will not remember)-perhaps starting with walking from the kitchenette to his office with said Trisket box.
What the hell are Triskets? Are they chocolate? Are they rum filled?
Then who the hell wants them anyway?
I would lick all of them and put them back.
I can totally understand if they were the Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits. I love those things! Much better than plain old regular Triscuits.
I think perhaps the Triscuits escaped during the night to return to Triscuitland to fend off the invading Ritzinites that had dipped, cheesed, and guacamoled the countryside. Little Triscuitans were set afire by flombe catapults. Whole towns were covered in ranch dip. Pieces of mystery meet were scattered as far as the eye could see.
Oh go eat the friggin triscuits. For us.
Let freedom ring.
And CvP needs to hide his snack food in his desk if he is soooo weird about the lowly assistants looking ravenously in the general direction of his cardboard Nabisco tasties.
Oh, Marsha Sigman, I adore you now. Licking off the salt--diabolical and fun!
I am a Cheeze-It fan myself. . .
When I had to return the rental cat some weeks ago, his toy mouse was nowhere to be found.
Some days later the mouse re-appeared. And yes, it looks real, particularly in the middle of the night, on the floor in the kitchen.
(Did you know grown human beings can leap onto kitchen counters in one single bound? me either)
All this to say: I still have the mouse. Given the mouse security deposit was retained by the rental cat wrangler, the mouse is now mine.
And I think the mouse would like to move to Manhattan and live in a box of Triscuits.
Oh yes I do.
This is my favorite post yet.
THIS IS MADNESS
this. is. triscuit. man!
*boots down a hole*
It's stark. Beckettian, really.
If it's any comfort, we have someone in our office who sends regular emails to the whole group telling asking us all if we are so lazy and stupid we have to steal her milk instead of nipping across the shop. Naturally each of these emails is followed by an upsurge in targetted milk theft. :)
Oh, to be YOU for a day. Haha.
I would love to see that e-mail posted on the Passive Aggressive notes site. Although I'm guessing it was probably more aggressive than passive.
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