On meetings, again
Oh Lordy, another six-hour meeting of unfocused rage and circular arguments as my life creeps ever closer to its inevitable appointment with the Grim Reaper.
And then, as the conversation goes around the block for the third time, a relevation from the chair:
"This subject is closed. We've made up our minds."
"But..." protests the most persistant of those seated around the table, "but..."
"Let's not waste any more time on this, I can feel my life slipping away, and we have to move onto the next item on the agenda..."
"But... but... but... what about ME?"
"In fact, the next person who even speaks about the previous item on the agenda will be clubbed to death with a chair leg and buried in a shallow grave in the car park."
"But... but... you've completely failed to take into account the way I've been doing this job for the last 17 years and..."
"Action point: Body disposal, that's your forte, is it not Scary?"
And as I wrap the still-twitching corpse in clingfilm, my joy is unbounded.