Thursday, May 05, 2005

Demented Rage

Strange! I could write. Now I can't write. What happen? Someone set up us the bomb! I look back on some old posts. Seems to me they were written by somebody else. They are almost familiar. Could I have written them? My name is there below. Maybe it is true after all.
Why do I keep looking at the stupid TV and those penguins? Yes they are comical and amusing to watch, but it's time to write something. I look back at the stupid penguins. Smack myself in the head. Stop it! Concentrate! Write something!
I guess I could write about BOSS again...
Two days ago COLLEAGUE called in to say she had to go to have wisdom tooth pulled and she would be late, so BOSS had to help me open the mail. Boy does she hate that. She thinks it is far beneath her to do such a lowly thing. It disgusts her. You can see it when somebody from some other department comes in for something and she knows they are looking at her sitting there with the dumb letter opener in her hand, next to me. I am the Mail Boy, I am supposed to be there, but she is BOSS, not supposed to be there, supposed to be at her own big important desk in front of computer checking out her stupid horoscope and doing God knows what the fuck else. But there she is, sitting in front of those pigeonholes, boiling, raging.
'WHAT DO YOU WANT!' she growls, head snapping back almost breaking her damn neck.
'Uh... nothing,' says the person who like a lightning flash turns back through the door and races away at high speed.
She terrifies everybody else while amusing and fascinating me.
Every now and then I turn and look at her. Every letter has to be date stamped and she brings that date stamp down with tremendous force, fueled by unimaginable reserves of awesome fury that, if harnessed, could power the world until the sun explodes.
Her face is contorted with bitter hatred. Hatred, and resentment at having to open these stupid letters. She actually throws a letter in my direction for me to put in a pigeonhole at my end of the bench. I try to stop the grin spreading across my face. She is so ANGRY. Such raw and towering anger! I've never seen anything like it. I've never seen anybody this angry. She is like a volcano. Clearly she has no control over it, she is helpless before these furious eruptions.
At last, when all the mail has been opened, BOSS stomps back to her desk. I hear her pick up the phone to make a call. The other end must be engaged because she slams the phone down. I mean she SLAMS the phone down. A minute later she tries again, and SLAMS the phone down again. And again. And again. At that point I find myself wondering if the World Arm Wrestling Champion could slam a phone down so hard. I really doubt it.
Anyway, I was talking to a woman at work today, a woman who has personally experienced the wrath of BOSS, over some trifling bullshit matter, over which she was completely undeserving of such a display. She told me that this uncontrollable raging anger could give BOSS a stroke! I hadn't thought of that, but now that she mentioned it, it seemed possible, for sure. Yes, that could happen, with such violent attacks that BOSS is so frequently possessed by.
I realised then that I could be the one to save her from such a fate!
She's not such a bad egg, when she's not vibrating with demented rage.

1 comment:

J C said...

Kinda makes me wonder what it is that causes the rage of BOSS. It'd be interesting to find out. You never know what is inside a package until it gets opened.

It reminds me of the "grab bag" I knew as a child. It was a small paper bag that I bought for a nickle or a dime, depending on how much money I had to spend. The bags contained a few pieces of candy and usually a small trinket, a whistle that had fins on it like a propeller and it spun wildly and whistled when you blew on it. Or a bracelet of beads threaded onto a length of elastic thread, or some other little toy a kid would like. Maybe a little chewable wax animal filled with sugar water. The bags were placed in a tub or bucket and the kid would reach in and "grab" the bag he wanted.

I was never disappointed by what I found inside the grab bag.

Could it be "Boss" is a living "Grab Bag," just waiting to be opened by some enterprising kid?