The Close Lay (or "How to Fuck with Your Coworkers")

Posted: April 30, 2009 in friends, I'm an asshole, work

I came really close to getting laid.

Off.

Laid off.

When you’re me, you take what you can get and call it ‘action.’

I cry sometimes.


Last week, a rumor surrounded my workplace that layoffs were imminent.

I, being here only 8 months and pretty much spending the days just writing this stupid fucking blog and signing 8×10 glossies of myself in various poses (they weren’t glossy until after I spent some time with them in the men’s room)

…I was a bit nervous.

Manager: “Well…we reviewed your statistics, Rod. According to IT, it appears that although you were in the lab working 20% of the time, the rest of your day is spent Googling stuff like ‘ugly penis chickens.'”

Me: “Wow…20%?! I had no idea I was working that much.”

Then I left early.


By the way:

Ugly Penis Chickens.

It took me approximately 0.0001 of a second to come up with that phrase.

Welcome to the shit that is my mind.


So, I had it confirmed that indeed, on this very day, there was going to be a layoff announcement.

I was downstairs getting coffee when I bumped into Iain, a friend of mine from high school who works here as well.

Me: “You ready for the layoffs?”

Iain: “I heard. Ugh.”

Me: “I’m the last to be hired in my group. It will be me if anyone.”

Iain: “Same here. I’m the last one in.”

Then…the brainstorm:

Me: “We should email each other throughout the morning just to make sure that our addresses are still working. Having your email shut off is the harbinger of doom.”

Just for the record, I did NOT say ‘harbinger of doom.’

I did not have my first cup of coffee yet so it probably sounded more like:

Me: “No email…bad for man…make man be sad! Oonga da boonga!”

(Apparently, I’m an African caveman before 7:30)


So we made a pact to email each other every so often, just to make sure we still existed in the company’s address book.

At 9:04 a.m, I sent Iain this email:

(the names have been blacked out to prevent people from emailing me at work or sending me nude photos of donkeys and shit)

(click to enlarge…that’s what she said)


Subject: Just Checking

About 20 minutes later…

…Iain responds:


“Still here, sir.”

That’s good.

Both our emails still work.

Or so Iain thinks.

You see…

I like to fuck with people.

So I replied to Iain.

Kind of.

Here’s what I sent back to him:


Sometimes, I surprise myself by being so fucking ingenious.

Like the time I put my wet anus on the 12-volt battery. But that’s another story for another time.

So this is the email Iain gets.

I changed the subject to “Server Error” and then wrote back in a Corporate fear-inducing red font that I no longer existed in the email system.

Then I sent it.

Iain did not respond.

Iain did not reply – and I waited for about 1/2 hour.

Instead, Iain came upstairs to try to find me.

He did not find me.

He did not find me because I was probably shitting.

I do that a lot at work.


Luckily, the IT department can’t track that…

…otherwise, that “20%” work thing my boss thinks I do goes way the fuck down and ‘ugly penis chickens’ becomes my main contribution to the company.

Ha ha.

Ugly penis chickens.

Sorry.

So, Iain, unable to find me along with the email…

…now thinks I’ve been laid off.

And because of our earlier conversation about ‘last one hired’

now thinks he’s going to be fired, too.

On a related note:

I’m a good friend.

Of course, after letting Iain sweat it out for an hour, I emailed him and said, ‘just kidding.’

He replied, simply:

‘Nicely done.’

Nicely done, indeed.

Excuse me now.

These ugly penis chickens aren’t going to Google themselves.

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