Murphy’s Law

“Looks like it’s going to be one of those days, fellas” the ill-tempered man bellyaches to his nearby coworkers. It is 7:22 AM on a cold Tuesday morning in December. The day has only just begun, but Mark has already reached his boiling point, set off this time by an uncooperative copying machine. “I’ve had to reset my default printer every day this week, thanks a lot IT” he whines in a sarcastic tone. After pacing back and forth between the copier and his computer muttering obscenities Mark returns to his cubicle with the elusive contracts in hand. The papers crumple as he balls his hands into fists and climbs onto his desk.

“My fellow coworkers, will we just stand idly by as this company destroys our livelihoods? How many infinitesimally minor inconveniences must we endure? I for one say no more! No more to the upstairs conference room being too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. No more to the defunct toaster oven in the breakroom that either leaves food frozen or melts the contents into a plastic puddle at the bottom. No more to the tyrannical and oppressive rule of IT over our default user settings.

Who among you can say you are content with the current state of affairs? We are allowing ourselves to be subjected to inhumane treatment. The batteries in my wireless mouse died last week and there was only one AA battery left in the supply closet. I was forced to use my spare mouse with a USB cable for an entire day like a Neanderthal. At what point will someone do something about these blatant violations of the Geneva Conventions? When will the United Nations intervene?

I drive forty miles to and from work in a 1997 Honda Civic through stop-and-go, bumper-to-bumper traffic every day because I am the best goddamn dairy salesman in the greater Madison area, NOT because I want to role-play living in a third-world work camp. This is no way to live!”

Emily in customer support snaps her gum and rolls her eyes as her neighbor finishes proclaiming his latest manifesto. Mark, expecting a standing ovation from his peers, can only hear muffled coughs and the clacking of keyboards over the otherwise piercing silence. He takes a deep breath and hangs his head dejectedly as he comes to notice one of his shoelaces is untied. He throws up his hands, exasperated, and cries out, “Oh jeez, would you look at this. Honestly, what else can POSSIBLY go wrong?” The desk wobbles as Mark leans over to tie his shoe causing him to lose his balance, desperately grasping at the air as he plummets off of his desk. Mark lands headfirst, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch, and then lay motionless on the floor. Dead.

Murphy’s Law

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