My Cell



Here I am confined, 8 hours per day. It is spartan, efficient, and decorated in varying shades of institutional beige. The illegitimate result of a drunken menage a troi between brown, yellow, and grey, beige is a bastard color, suitable only for seatcovers in bingo halls where elderly Catholic women gamble away their Social Security checks "for the good of the parish." It covers my workspace like a saggy ace bandage on a homeless veteran's wartorn limbs. When I snap, it will not be a gun that I bring to work; no, I will arrive armed with a selection of spray paints, in bright, primary colors. I warn those who view this picture and feel compelled to tell me that it is actually ecru, taupe, putty, or any other color whose name was derived from the French language - I will break two size 12s off in your ass for that.

(Yes, there is a game on my screen - my captors try to be kind - but it is a crappy low-res game from the 80s.)

At odd intervals, random strangers come to my cell and thrust unknown papers at me. They must be stamped, logged, filed, and delivered to other cells for further stamping, logging, and filing - the papers, not the strangers. I never know what new puzzle they may devise for me - tax returns, satisfactory academic progress appeals, marriage licenses, W-2s, title IV authorizations, master promissory notes; their cunning knows no bounds. If only the Human Resources manual didn't forbid the use of my Sith powers...

Twice per day I prepare the outgoing mail, and twice per day I open the incoming mail. These too must be stamped, logged, filed, and delivered. The mail carriers delight in sending us things that should not come to us. Envelopes plainly addressed to other departments, catalogs for Sierra Trading Post and a host of other retailers, and my personal favorite - collection notices for people who decided to give Knight Hall as their fictitious address.

But it's not all bad. I can, at virtually any moment I wish, lift my head for a lovely view of the similarly embeiged Registrar's counter.



Is "embeiged" a word? Not until I stamp it and log it and file it.

In other news, this is post number 397. So far, the suggestions for #400 include a supernatural event, a RevRant, storytime, pr0n, death poetry, a rant about pr0n, and icky yaoi pr0n involving dolls. I am still taking suggestions, but pr0n seems to be the popular trend...

Note: Linus is actually quite glad to be working again, but the author of this post, Darth Furious, is not amused.

9 comments:

Clayton said...

that view kind of depresses me. :(

Modig_Bjorn said...

Shiny!

%Your desk isn't mauve is it?%

born again flocker said...

The stamping, logging, and filing doesn't sound very fun. At the least the interaction with the public has potential to keep it interesting.

Levi said...

Seeing the financial aid assitant's point of view has changed my outlook on life. You really are human like the rest of us, and my mind has been opened to your emotional capacity. You are not the heartless automatons I thought you were.

His Sinfulness said...

Actually, the heart removal will be done after I complete the probationary period...

Raksha said...

"(Yes, there is a game on my screen - my captors try to be kind - but it is a crappy low-res game from the 80s.)"

Don't think of them like that. Think of them as Retro Chic. Your keepers are tragically hip. They are MySpace superstars.

Also, "embeiged" is my favorite new word.

Levi said...

How hard would it be to do an Interpretive Dance post?

His Sinfulness said...

That would have to be on Mark's blog...

Gina said...

Interpretive dance post? That doesn't really go well the other suggested topics. Thinking of the results of the combination is not pretty, an interpretive prOn post, ouch… and eugh.

I would like to note that I have read you blog and commented (The temperature here in hell has been slightly chilly of late, just imagine what will happen if I have to break out a jacket) ;)

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