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The building I work in may be on fire right now. I sort of hope that it is, but only for the sake of making this a more interesting story. About ten minutes ago there was a really strong smell of melted plastic, and shortly after that the alarm went off. I’ve been caught unprepared a few too many times, so I grabbed my coat, gloves, laptop, and secret money stash and ran down the street to the local Tim Horton’s. I can actually see the top half of my building from where I’m sitting and there are no giant fireballs shooting out of the place, no panicked folk screaming, “Help, help! My baby is trapped inside!” At least so far.

I don’t wish ill of my building, or of anyone who works there. I think it just struck me that I didn’t leave anything of large value behind. In total, I would lose: three souvenir Vegas mugs, one pair of brown, suede shoes (I have two back ups at home), one pair of winter boots (which I sort of hate), one half-eaten box of Lindor chocolates (won’t be missed), and various pens, scissors, paperclips, and office miscellany. I wouldn’t even lose anything that mattered to my work. I’ve got maybe a dozen documents printed out and shoved in a drawer; nothing that isn’t backed up digitally somewhere. I pride myself on the fact that I have a Spartan-looking office, and I feel sorry for the poor bastards with filing cabinets, and stacks of client files, and desks spilling over with printed-out slide decks. That would be my hell, I think.

Well, seeing as the line-up here has completely dried up, it’s a safe bet that the place didn’t burn to the ground. Also a good indicator that I’ve been gone too long.

Comments

Anonymous said…
You have Spartans on your desk?

Do you dine in hell often?

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