Day two of work wasn't so bad.

Yes. Yes it was.

An insurance company is the very antithesis of what I am. I am not organized. I am not reliable. I don't even like to sit down.

I do not plan for the future; take preventive measures for my well-being.

I don't even count very well.

But the work is mind-numblingly easy and the atmosphere is extremely laid-back. Today, we had a TWO HOUR lunch break because it was the birthday of some higher-up. I used 30 minutes of that time to drive home, 25 to eat, 34 for a nap, and the last 30 to drive back to work.

Wait...30+25+34+30...there is a minute unaccounted for. I probably used that one up undressing and dressing. Yes, I can change very quickly. Thank you, military training.

But I really needed the nap. Day-walking is still pretty rough on me. I've been averaging 3 and 1/2 hours of sleep. It leaves me pretty out of it. Hell, I shouldn't even be driving.

But the work is easy.

It occurred to me that even a very young chimp could do my job. It occurred to me that I had nothing to do for a few minutes, so I may as well write a little.

This should give some example of what I produce when I'm chained to a desk.

Mail Monkey

Orientation Lady: Attention everyone! I'd like you to meet our newest employee. His name is Gooey and he is a 14-month old chimpanzee from western Africa.

Everyone: Hi, Gooey!

Gooey: Ook! Ook!

O-Lady: Now Gooey, here's what you need to do. Gooey, Gooey, look at me...Gooey! Okay, now what you're going to do is sort this big stack of papers into smaller stacks.

Gooey: Ook ook?

O-Lady: Right. Then, you're going to put cover sheets on those stacks. Then, you're going to put them back into one big stack again.

Gooey: Ook ook.

O-Lady: Very good!

Gooey: Ow! Shit!

O-Lady: Oh, and watch out for those staples!

Gooey: Ook.

* * * *

I Am...Mail Boy!

Paper clips. Staples. Rubber bands. White-out. These are my weapons against the endless onslaught of envelopes. "I am...Mail Boy!"

"Yes, Mail B!" An evil cackle signals the arrival of...

"Gasp! My arch-nemesis, Post-Man Shorty-Pants, come with another delivery of pure evil. You won't succeed, Post-Man! I'm guarding the drop-box. You won't be able to get any mail into my slot, no matter how hard you try! What? What's everybody looking at?"

Mail Noir

Then she walked in. I knew her type. Tall, blond, with quick, lithe hands that looked like they could have me opened, sorted, and filed before I'd even be able to release the drag I just took off my Pall-Mall cigarette.

"I'm sorry, there's no smoking in this building," she said coldly.

"Lady, I could tell you the same thing." I took another drag.

"Hmph. Yes, well, here is a box of mail. Sort it, please."

My eyes narrowed into slits that even an invoice couldn't get through. "Listen dame, I don't sort nothin' for nobody."

She blinked coolly. "Well, then why did you apply for this position?"

I flicked the butt of my cigarette over the cubicle wall. I ignored the muffled protest from the other side. "Let's not play these games." I leaned casually against the desk, putting my hand down to steady myself.

Suddenly, there was a whir, a click, and a
KACHUNK!

"What was that?" I asked questioningly.

"My automatic electric stapler," she answered respondently. "You put your hand on it, and it stapled it."

"Dames," I muttered as my vision began to swim. Always making a guy staple himself in the hand. Then, everything went black and I knew no more.

* * * *

Life In Saline

Beno and I were conversing and he brought up the fact that marine iguanas weep saline tears. It's how their bodies get rid of all the salt they absorb from being in the ocean.

That's all the exposition you get. Wait, maybe a little more...

[Two marine iguanas are basking on the rocky coast of the sea.]

Iguana Ben: Dude, are you all right?

Iguana Ed: Uh, yeah. Why?

Iguana Ben: You're crying.

Iguana Ed: Well yeah, I'm a marine iguana.

Iguana Ben: You know, we've been basking together on these rocks for years. Is it too much to ask that you learn to open up to me for once? Do you think I don't care about your feelings? Well, I do. Now tell me why you're crying.

Iguana Ed: It's my biology. I'm ridding my body of saline through my tear ducts.

Iguana Ben: Don't shut me out with your wall of "science." The only way we're going to get through this is with heart-felt communication.

Iguana Ed: 'Guana, please! I'm outta here; I'm gonna go eat some algae.

[Iguana Ed dives into the water.]

Iguana Ben [yelling after him]: You're always swimming off to eat algae! It may numb the pain for now but it won't do it forever! I just hope that when you finally admit that to yourself, it won't be too late. I'm not always going to be here, you know!

[Iguana Ed pops up out of the water with a mouthful of algae.]

Iguana Ed: (chew chew) Where are you gonna go? (gulp) This is an island.

[Iguana Ed dives back underwater.]

END SCENE

* * * *

I think that the only way I'm going to survive this job is by going a little crazy. Oh, well. There are worse things.

* * * *

Congratulations to everyone that graduated. My advice to you is: Pursue higher education.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some mail to see to.