February 20, 2006

Last night they asked me about work. I assured them that technical writing is tender and full of poetry. “In the last month I wrote nearly 1,000 words,” I said. “That works out to about six words per hour.”

“Jesus! What the hell do you do the rest of the time?”

“I draw flowcharts that span into infinity. And I also learn how to become electrostatic.”

As it turns out, I have this uncanny ability to pick up large static charges. Consequently, all of my attempts to interact with people or doors result in fantastic spasms of electricity. Shocks. Tears. You see, all the doors around me are made out of metal, and the same is no doubt true about the people.

So far, the electric shocks constantly administred to the tips of my fingers have discouraged me from exploring the world outside my cubicle. I suspect that the company is trying to transform me into something shiny and metalic too.