prison...you should go
technology is amazing, is it not? we have automatic flushing toilets, AUTO-mobiles, anti-godzilla guns and more than our share of communication devices called 'cell-mobiles'. and yet it would seem that even the most simple of tasks are impossible for some people to complete.
in turn, due to johnny jimmy jacobs' lack of 'brain-use', the rest of us are wildly inconvenienced. in this case, causing me to eat food, primed with anti-vomit, as a way to kill an indeterminate amount of time.
what does this have to do with someones lesser-brain-use you ask? here it is.
twas a blustery day, and my under-parts where visited by the city winds more than twice. it was one of my rare days off and I had many-a-thing to accomplish. the snow was fierce and the air was biting, but I braved the outdoors regardless. after all, rent had to be paid, things had to be boughten, and a cat had to be adopted.
so there I was, downtown with the snow making unconsentual love to my face, the slush teasing with shoes with cold threats of penetrating the full grain leather, and the ice promising a secure surface to break my teeth on once I fell. I made my way from the metro exit to my apartment owners building, ahead of schedule. I pushed open the heavy glass door, made even heavier by the forces of paranormal air inside, not wanting to get cold. the lobby was airy, clean and filled with plants that looked plastic, but upon chewing a leaf I discovered they were, in fact, real. I took the three steps up and walked past the security desk. always nervous around those that monitor our safety in buildings, I avoided eye contact. with a 3 day unshaven face and messy hair, I look like your everyday exploder-of-things.
I stood and marveled at the sheen and lustre of the elevator doors. so...dull-metallic-glinty. gently i pressed the up button and waited patiently, trying, in my head, to guess which one of the six would get there first. as i rocked on my heels, elevator fours chime chinged, announcing its arrival.
stepping into the carpetted verti-capsule and checked myself out in the mirrors that covered the walls. I waited, and waited. then I realized that I wasn't moving. i pushed the button for the seventh floor and felt the gentle push against my soles. I kinda felt like keanu reeves in speed 1. the elevator scene.
before my fantasy was able to take flight, I reached my destination floor. level seven. I waltzed out and turned the corner, casually showing the busy office people that I was free and they were trapped behind desks and cancer-causing photocopiers. I finally made it to the office doors. composed of thick glass and metallic chromic shiny handles. and a piece of paper. and here my friends is the culprit.
curses the bastard paper. curses the persons that put it there. curses the ink that the words were built from. curses the alphabet. curses all around.
if someone is going to part from the office for a certain period of time, and leave notification of their supposed return, would it not be proper practice to leave on the paper the time at which they left? of course it is. but no. these idiots decide that its a marvel idea to simply write/type/linoleum print 'back in thirty minutes'.
thirty minutes from when? did I just miss you? are you to return in mere moments. if I leave now, will our elevators pass eachother? if I wait, will you come back to find a skeleton in tattered clothing, sitting at the wall with a rent cheque in hand?
you would have simplified my life and helped me keep my projected schedule if you'd only written the time from which these thirty minutes applied. but sadly you could not. your hand was cramping, and the thought of typing those six to eight extra alpha-numerals was unbearable. your fingers would have contracted gangrene or jaundice. so instead of risking these deadly, amputee collected diseases, you opted for the virus I call stupidity-horrendous-maximal. and therefore, you have accepted a fate worse than the armless. but you didn't know, did you.
no. you're just an innocent moron. you live in a tall glass tower. and you know what they say about people in tall glass towers.
'people in glass towers shouldn't wear heels, for heels bring clicking, and clicking brings horses'