Writer's Block, Vol. VI.

I recently took a huge dump at Barnes & Noble.  Anyone who knows me, or has read enough of the things that I write will know that browsing leads to photo finishes in the restroom.  Bookstores are the worst for this, especially since I usually end up with a coffee in my hand, which is yet another of my favorite and most effective laxatives.  So there I was, racing from the bargain bin to the lavatories, desperately hoping that my usual stall was free.

Yeah, I have a usual stall.

Yeah, I am worried that the Barnes & Noble people refer to me as “The Shit Guy” or “Mr. Poo Dude” or “Maybe we should just stop serving him coffee”.

So I did my business.  I won’t get into graphic details, but let’s just say I lost about five pounds.  As I was pressing the little flush handle (by the way, I love that they haven't switched to those automatic flushers yet, because it allows me to better control courtesy flushing, as well as the timing of everything as I stand up to wipe), someone who must have recently entered the bathroom (like a ninja, I must say, since I didn’t even hear the door open) shouted something out to me. 

"CAREFUL WITH THE FLUSH IN THAT FIRST STALL."  

It was too late, I had already flushed, but everything seemed to go down correctly.  When I exited the stall I saw a guy, probably in his twenties, holding a wrench, and wearing some sort of tool belt.  He looked at me and said, "Sorry for yelling, I wasn't sure it would flush right, I'm here to fix that one" as he walks past me and heads directly into the stall I just annihilated with a few days’ worth of bad eating (Chinese food, pizza, brie… some kind of onion soup… many eggs).

I turned around to advise him against immediate entry into the danger zone, but I was too late.  So I say to him, "Well, in that case, let me apologize for the air quality in there."  I was tempted to add in a “That skid mark on the bottom was totally already there when I arrived.”  Also worried that he might lift up the seat, I could have potentially added “Any below the seat markings were probably not from me.”

Anyways, before I could add anything else onto my apology (for what had to be a brutal scene), without skipping a beat, this is what the guy says to me, from his KNEES in the stall, FACING a toilet that I had just destroyed. 

"Welcome to my office."

It sounded so HARD and so wise.  The dude was twenty-something, but clearly, as my brother said, "When you work a shitty job like that, you grow up real fast."  I don't think my brother actually said 'SHITTY' job, but I felt the pun worked rather well.  Sorry big brother, if I misquoted you.

I realize that the holidays are over, and many of us are bummed that we have to wake up early again, go to the office, and pretend to work for eight hours.  Well, the next time you go to the washroom, any washroom really, and are face to face with a clogged poopy toilet, just remember, THAT could be your office.  

Suddenly the cubicle seems pretty nice, doesn’t it?

That's it.  I need to go look at books, I’m pretty backed up from all that holiday eating.

Writer's Block, Vol. V.

The end of a vacation is always so bitter sweet.  Sure, I’m glad that my cat’s not dead and seems to remember that I’m the guy that feeds him.  It’s also nice to be back in my own bed, where my pillow smells like my old gym socks and my wife and I know exactly how to angle the fan for a refreshingly pure and blissful sleep.  But that last day of vacation, when I’m back home and unpacking has that awful feeling that Sundays always had when I was a kid.

How can I enjoy today when there’s school tomorrow?

Whenever I get to work after a vacation everyone just seems so content in their office cocoon.  I feel like I’m missing out.  What do they know that I don’t?

It’s kind of like how growing up, all the other kids seemed to like ‘Winnie the Pooh’, but I found the entire ‘Pooh’ world to be thoroughly depressing.  Seriously, 'Eeyore' makes me want to kill myself.  I have vivid recollections of watching the cartoons and feeling sad inside.  James Taylor has the same effect on me.  Some people sit there finding his music toe-tappin’ and smooth, I find it pants-shittin’ and moldy.

And all the 'back-to-school' paraphernalia out there this time of year isn't helping.  On top of my current vacation withdrawal, my brain is flashing back to the dismal feeling of wonderful summers coming to a close and returning back to school, where I can get in trouble for speaking English in the halls.

Still, complaining about having a job definitely qualifies as complaining with my mouth full.  So I’ll shut up now, as it is rather impolite to talk with my mouth full, even if I’m still not sure whether or not I like the taste, or whether or not this particular mouthful will give me a heart-attack someday.  Or make me choke, right now.

I’m still hopeful that in the long run it makes me poop gold.

That’s it. My cubicle calls.

Time of the Signs.

"Hey everybody!  It’s Mindy’s birthday on Tuesday, so we will be passing around a card for all of you to sign!  Then we’ll have a mandatory lunch time party on Tuesday!  It’s not actually mandatory, but if you don’t go, people will just correctly assume that you’re an asshole!  And everyone will awkwardly sing Happy Birthday to someone that they don’t really know anything about!  Except that her name is Mindy!  It will ruin your usual lunch time routine of eating alone in the parking lot!  And there will be one random guy who’s really into it!"

Alright, so I’m exaggerating quite a bit.  And to be honest, I don’t mind the forced socialization and the free shitty cake.  I think what really pisses me off is the passed around group card.  You know the kind with the lame joke and the cheesy picture?

Depending on when you get the card, it can be annoying for different reasons.  If you’re the first to get the card, unfortunately, you know that you’re setting the bar for everyone else.  You’re declaring the emotional tone, the level of jokiness and the overall desired length of each individual message.  Suddenly you have become the blueprint for how everyone else is supposed to feel about Mindy.  You’re a Mindy barometer, and you don’t even know what she fucking does at the company.

You may even sign the card and then realize at the party that you were thinking of someone else.  Plus, no matter what you do, you know everyone who gets the card after you is going to read your message.

“Did you guys see what Johnson wrote?  What does that even mean?”

Getting it last isn’t much good either, because all of the good standard messages are used up, which doesn't really matter because there’s no space left to write an actual message anyways.  You end up writing “YAY” and signing a shortened version of your name, followed by a little smiley face, if space permits.  And now Mindy thinks that you don’t care.

Which you don’t, but you’d hate for her to find that out based on a group card.

If you get the card somewhere in between first and last, there is usually room to write something, but as I have said, all of the standard messages are used up.  You read through everyone else’s to get ideas, and end up judging them, like you feared you would be judged.  And like future signers of the card will do unto you.

“Adam wrote ‘loose’ instead of ‘lose’?  Who still does that?”

Alright, enough of that, you need to get back to figuring out what to write, Mr. Grammar Police.

“Let’s see, I’ll put Happy Birthday Sue… wait… shit no, that’s been done already, ok… how about Best Wishes?  … Damn!  Carl already wrote that, I fucking hate Carl.”

You contemplate scratching off Carl’s name and writing your own, but somehow, you feel like you would get found out. You would, and the consequences would be severe.  Well, maybe not severe, but you might not get cake, and that’s probably not a risk that you want to take.  So you rack your brains trying to figure out something short and sweet.  And it sucks. 

Let’s face it, eventually everyone just starts randomly slapping words together in a nonsensical way, just so that it doesn’t say exactly what the others say, but still conveys the same general message.

“All the best” – Steve

“Nothing but the best” – Jimbo

“Mostly I wanna say, hey, take some best” – Amanda

“Good luck with all things best forever wishing you the best ‘n shit” – Jennifer

“I CANNOT BELIEVE ALL THE BEST THINGS I WISH ON YOU!” – Carl

Amidst the confusion it’s only a matter of time before someone forgets what the card is actually for, signs the wrong thing, crosses it off and then tries to make up for it.

“Sorry for your loss Get ready for all my best wishes coming your way” – Shawn

Shawn should have stuck to his guns.  At least it would have been original. 

Rather than go through all of this torment, why not just think “Seriously, who gives a shit?” and just write the same thing as someone else.  Do you honestly think that the person is going to get the card and go C.S.I. on it?  Original Vegas, not Miami or whatever? Also, original cast?

“Well Jeremy and Cassandra both wrote the same thing, and, when I brought the card into the lab, clearly, Jeremy’s ink was fresher, wetter, guiltier, thus making him the plagiarizer.  Alert the press.”

“Great work, Grissom!”

Why write anything anyways?  The card already says what we all want to say.  Does anyone get the card and think “well Happy Birthday is clearly printed on the inside and the cover page, but I should probably wait and see what everyone wrote on the inside to gauge what the card is really all about”?

Someone should just write “from everyone” and be done with it, even if it’s one of those ‘BLANK INSIDE’ cards.  No, especially if it’s one of those ‘BLANK INSIDE’ cards.  Fuck it.  They know why we’re here.

“It’s your birthday, here’s a card.”

“It doesn't even say anything.”

“It’s from all of us.”

That would probably more accurately depict what we all think of each other in an office setting anyways.

I’d like to see someone get fired on their birthday, and be thrown a going away party disguised as a birthday, and they only find out when they start reading the card.

“Oh thanks everyone!  What a lovely birthday party!”

“OPEN THE CARD!”

“It says… You’ll be missed… ??? …  good luck for the future… ???? What the-”

“The wrapped present box actually just contains all of the belongings from your desk.  Security will escort you out immediately.”

“Can I have some cake?”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s for employees only.”

Have you ever accidentally not signed a card that everyone else in the office has signed?  And when you see the person reading that card in front of everyone, their eyes slowly going through the signatures, you can somehow feel what they are thinking? 

“Bill… CHECK… Chris… CHECK… [insert your name here]… Oddly absent from the card, and yet, there they are, eating cake, joining in.  Watching.  Laughing.”

At this point, you might even try some kind of covert operation to get the card back before they leave for the day.

“Say Mindy, do you mind if I see that card?”

“Why? The messages in it are meant for me.”

“Yeah but you know everyone reads them as it goes around the office anyways so-”

“I trust people not to do that.”

“Well that’s dumb, look, can I fucking see it now?”

“I already know that you didn’t sign it, and that’s why you’re holding that pen.  You’re too late.  The jig is up.”

Maybe it wasn’t that covert after all.  And as everyone’s suspicious whispers begin to grow louder, you jump out the window and throw your two weeks notice at the boss on your way out, written in chocolate frosting on a paper airplane napkin.

“It’s been real.  I’m out.  PEACE!”

In the end, I suggest just finding a really original way to sign your name, and leave it at that.  Just a signature.  It’s even better if you get it carved into a custom stamp and use an ink-pad to stamp your mark on future joint cards.  It will give you a mysterious edge at work, which will work to your advantage when there is only one donut left in the breakroom, and you are face to face with the overweight guy from sales. 

Behind him, the receptionist offers him a word of advice.

“Dude, I’d let him have it.  He doesn’t even write messages in cards, who can honestly tell what he’s capable of.”

Answer: no one.  But seriously, it had those toasty coconut sprinkles.  It was a big win for me.

That’s it.  There’s no more room left on the card.

It's Business Time.

It creeps up on you, real quiet like.  At first you think maybe it’s nothing.  It will pass.  But you’re starting to re-think the insane amount of peanuts that you ate after your peanut butter sandwich lunch.  It’s not creeping anymore, it’s attacking, and it’s gnawing at your insides.  It’s time.  You need to take a dump at work.

First things first, change to your spare pair of shoes.  What you don’t have a spare pair at work?  Well you should.  Not just because bathrooms are gross, but also, if someone walks into the bathroom while you’re halfway through a wretched fart, they won’t be able to recognize you by your shoes.  They’ll spend the rest of their day trying to find the mystery shoes, but you will have hidden them safely away in your drawer / briefcase / pants.

Now that you’re wearing your poop shoes, you can set out to the bathroom, just as soon as you prepare your entertainment.  As long as you are away from your desk and dumping, you might as well make a little spa relaxation time out of it.  Cell phones are popular for their gaming, but be sure it has a nice silent touch screen.  Loud clicky buttons are a dead giveaway for any eavesdroppers, sorry Mr. Blackberry, but we all hear you in there, and we are all disgusted.  Shit, I bought an iPhone just because I knew it would allow for silent gaming while pinching a loaf at work.  Even though we all play cell phone games while pooping, it’s one of those don’t ask don’t tell things.  We all do it, kind of like not washing up after peeing… wait, what?  Oh and be discrete, and turn off the sound.  

Don’t bring a magazine or book, because someone might spot it and ask you where you are going.  Magazines and books are reserved for the home edition.

Some people take entertainment free dumps.  They just sit there and will the crap to happen with the power of their mind.  I commend these warriors for their exceptional bowel prowess and deep thinking capabilities.  That’s like running on a treadmill without an iPod.

Now, you’ve made it to the bathroom, and it’s empty.  So you can make a run for the stall of your choice.  Try and get a nice corner stall.  Makes for a bit more reverb, and you can only have, at most, one neighbour.  If there is already an occupied stall (multi-stall unit), then it is your call whether or not to press on.  If it was me, I would turn around, and try again later, although, at times there is no time for that.  It is a personal choice.

Make sure you lock the stall and try the door before you drop trou and have a good sit.  The last thing that you want is to be so focused on ‘Angry Birds’ that you fail to realize that the door has swung open and you sit, exposed, cell phone in hand, poopy in bowl.  At which point you would have to quit, move and change your name, which can be rather expensive.  This can be especially dangerous if the stall faces the door to the outside where the water cooler is.  “Does that really ever happen?”, you may ask yourself.  Yes.  One hundred percent yes.  If you could only see the single tear running down my cheek as I write this.  Learn from my failures, folks.

Now, with all locks checked, you sit.  Commence. 

When sitting in the stall, doing your duty (doody?), and there is someone else in there with you, you may feel the need to clench up and refrain from making any sound.  This timid behaviour is not abnormal, but can be rather unhealthy for the ol’ colon, most doctors agree.  ‘The Icebreaker’ is a manoeuvre I came up with that you should always keep in mind.  It is when you or the stranger lets out a little fart, just to let the other know that, it’s ok, and no one here is judging.  Once you hear a fart response, you know what it means: “Go ahead pardner, let’er rip”. 

If neither of you make any noise, because no one wants to ‘speak’ first, you could end up sitting on the can for hours, in some kind of bizarre Mexican standoff, which would be fine if the pins and needles in your damn legs would go away.  Avoid all of this, by being an ‘Icebreaker’, pay it forward, karma.  Do unto others as you would, you know, all that shit.

Now that it is happening, there are some things you should remember.

Don’t talk to yourself, ever.  Not ever. I once heard a guy clearly say, “oh my god” with a certain groaning tone in his voice.  I wish that I could go back to a time and life before having heard it, but I can’t.  Don’t be that guy (or gal).  And yes, grunts count.  You shouldn’t have to push so hard, certainly not while at work.  Start looking into getting more fiber in that diet of yours, Groany McAwfulstein.

Don’t talk to other people either.  If it is illegal to talk on the phone while driving, it certainly should be so while pooping.  Even if its hands free, I doubt anyone wants to know that your free hands are potentially wiping your ass.  That's one conference call you don't want to be a part of.

“Hey, Bill, could you mute your phone?  Why are you breathing so heavily?”

“What can I say, I guess I’m just really into this shit.”

Also, people that talk from the stall to anyone else in the bathroom should be fired.  Or there should be a button you can press that sucks them down into the toilet and ejects them out of some chimney somewhere.  What?  It comes with a parachute, in this fantasy world, in my mind.

"I tried to tell my wife that her creamed corn does this to me every time, but she jus-"
-EJECTOR BUTTON-
"AAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh..."

I understand that some people need to cover the toilet with a layer of toilet paper, or use one of those toilet seat prophylactics.  I get it.  You don’t want someone’s butt cooties.  But if that’s the case, be sure to dispose of your bullet proof vest along with your dung.  Preferably in separate flushes to avoid clogs, which I will discuss below.  Last thing, about that extra protection, don’t be that freak that wraps the entire toilet like some kind of mummy or cocoon, and then leave it behind.  Seriously, what the fuck? I feel like I’m in a science fiction movie and the CHUDS or Ghoulies are going to be birthed out of this thing.

And throw in a courtesy flush whenever necessary, even when you are alone.  It’s good to keep the bowl fresh, and the air as light as possible.

Always flush the nuggets prior to placing any toilet paper in the toilet.  Regardless of its size or girth, the last thing that you will want is an at work clog, which would cause you to quit, move and change your name, which can be rather expensive.  If you eat excessive amounts of cheese and are known for rather solid logs, perhaps bringing a pocket knife would help, as you could break it up into pieces to avoid any problems.  The Swiss army knife scissors are usually pretty effective.  You be the judge.  Although public toilets tend to have tremendous strength, honestly, if it looks too big to go down smooth, it just may be.

I know, you may be thinking that I have crossed some kind of line, but I’ve never caused a clog, nor been responsible for the perpetration of poopy water all over the bathroom floor.  Save your judging for someone who deserves it, like those responsible for ‘puddles’, ‘leftovers’ or ‘poopseat’.  Those are the careless people that live with an overall disregard for anyone else’s well being.  It’s not like I use that same paring knife to cut my snack cucumbers. You should be thanking me. 

Once successful flushing has been achieved, it will be time to make a break for the sinks.  Obviously wait until the place is empty before exiting the stall.  The walk of shame from the stall to the sink is an especially long one if it turns out the president of the company is in the bathroom.  Even more so if the muggy, thick air acts like a punch in his smug, presidential face.  He probably doesn’t even have to poop, he probably has a servant that extracts it from him and turns into pot pourri (poori?).  Why is he in my bathroom anyways?  Doesn’t he have some golden toilet somewhere that massages his ass while he sits on it and spits out money for every turd he squeezes out?

Not that this has happened to me or anything, twice, at the job I quit last year.

If you really are worried about run-ins with co-workers or bosses, remember the three keys of real estate: location, location and location.  Try and go to a different floor if possible or even, a different building if your schedule permits.  For example, maybe there’s a great McDonalds down the street.  Also the cheap cheeseburgers can often help induce labour, if you have been having trouble lately.  Just be sure to allow enough time to get there.  While most work place poops are photo finishes, you want to be sure you make it to the finish line, or else you will definitely have to quit, and move, and change your name, and that can be rather expensive.  First you'd have to change your pants.

Look, I know this is an awful lot to take in, but if you don’t feel like you can follow these simple guidelines, then maybe you need to find a job that you can do from home.  Or just be unemployed.  Or just hold it in.

That’s it.  I got to stand up and wipe (that’s right, STAND… see: Panel of Judges).

Celebrate Good Times? Come On.

It all started off when somewhere, some lunatic first thought to themselves that “saaay, Friday is one day before Saturday, and boy oh boy does that ever make me happy”, figuring it was like some kind of a holiday to him. So he goes around wishing everyone a ‘Happy Friday’. Wow, so witty and clever. This is the same joker who probably has a nickname for everyone he’s ever met in his entire life.

“What up [enter obnoxious nickname that only this person uses]?"

Long pause.

"[repeat obnoxious nickname but stretch out the final syllable and make the voice go higher and higher by at least three octaves]!”

You know, I bet they have a big fucking barbecue too, and always mention that they’re going to grill or golf or whatnot. They do real well for themselves, no doubt.  They say shit like 'that's what I'm talking about' or 'you da man' or 'story of my life'.  They’re named like, Karl or Travis, or Casey, or like Wendy. Well shit, the keener intern/temp/asshole from two cubicles down (the one who bakes cheesy doodles and marzipan hot buns for EVERYONE in the office every two or three days) picked up on this cheerful and awesomely fun behavior and started applying it to Mondays too. You know, to be ironical and/or cute or something. It wasn’t. It’s not. They’re not.

Telling someone that they have a ‘case of the Mondays’, Office Space style, is lame, but it isn’t nearly as lame as suggesting to “turn that frown upside down” and then bringing it all home with a big ol’ “Happy Monday!”

Seriously fuck you. Turn your head upside down and stick it UP YOUR ASS WITH BROKEN GLASS. Now. Go back to the temp agency forever and ever please. Now.  But hey guess what? Happy Monday and Happy Friday just weren’t good enough for these happy office folk. It was only the beginning.  This brings me to one dreadful Tuesday,  when someone said unto me, ‘Happy Tuesday’. I don’t remember when it was, but I seem to remember taking a few personal days afterwards, understandably so. I even contemplated quitting.  I wanted to set fire to my ears and never go back to the land of hearing.

“Well, enjoy the freshly baked lemon poppy seed jalapeño popper pizza bagel coffee cupcakes that I baked from scratch. They’re healthy and nutrasweet! Happy Tuesday!”

This is where we’re at now? Celebrating moments of time just for existing once a week? Obviously Wednesday and Thursday came next, and so now, we’re all pretty much fucked. Perky, chipper, screechy-voiced wienies are coming out of the woodworks wishing us all Happy Anyday and wanting to tell us about their weekends and plans and home renovations. What’s next you ask?

“Happy 5th of November everyone!”

“Happy dusk on a Sunday!”

“Happy Bathroom Break! Seriously, number one or number two?”

“Happy Which Conference Room is the Two O’Clock Meeting in this Afternoon??!!”

“Happy 3:17PM Eastern Standard Time.”

What happens when their birthday falls on a Tuesday? Does their head explode when they try to process the joy at having two such gigantic things to celebrate?

“Happy… Tuesduh-Berrrthday- toomEEEeeEEEee HELP …. SYSTEM FAILURE…”

Explosion.

Dare to dream.

The only consolation is that these people probably aren’t happy at all, and that’s why they need to pretend that it being Tuesday is reason enough to throw a HAPPINESS PARADE. Guess what? It isn’t. You can be happy, and it can be Tuesday, but if ever you feel the need to say Happy [insert any day of the week], please stop for a minute, take a big deep breath, and jump out the god damn window.

That’s it. Happy Tuesday.

Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Darkness prevails as a buzzer sounds in the corner of your mind. You wake to find that the sound is all too real. You must find the source, and shut it down. It must be a mistake. It’s far too dark to be time to get up for work. The street lights appear to still be lit. In denial, you hit the snooze at least one more time than in your usual morning routine. Eventually, your brain processes the numbers on the digital monster and you can deny it no longer. It is time. You rise to start your day in the darkness. You skip breakfast since it is still too dark. Breakfast is supposed to be sunny, cheery and lit up. You decide to replace it with a light supper instead to brighten your dark morning. It looks like night time, so maybe it could just be supper time. After a chicken leg, a handful of french fries and a diet soda, you exit your home, flashlight in pocket, lantern in hand, and journey to your daily occupation.

The days are long, and riddled with hunger and acid reflux due to the consumption of improper morning nutrients. You regret not ingesting a simple muffin or toast, and a cold shiver passes through your body as you think about what you packed for lunch this morning, more chicken and fries. Through the office windows, you sense that there may be light outside at long last, but you don’t have time to investigate any further. You must return to your windowless environment, and continue pretending to work, whilst watching the minutes pass by at an impossibly slow pace and surfing the internet. Upon the eventual completion of your routine daily hours, your entire system is once again thrown for a spin as you step foot outside. It is dark again.

“How can this be? Perhaps the sun simply has just not risen yet. Surely I could not have spent all of the bright hours indoors... here. That would be, well, it would be not good.”

Later, as you eventually find your way back home, you dreadfully conclude that the sun is not about to rise. It definitely has already fallen. Network television can only divert your attention away from the bleak truth for a certain amount of time, as you eat reheated turkey out of a cereal bowl with your bare hands. You probably would go to the gym, or even for a brisk walk outside, but now, what’s the point? Anyways, you already went to the gym once this week. Or was that last week? Hmmm... The dark mornings and nights all seem to blend together. No matter, the sun is gone, and won’t come up again until a time when you won’t be around to see it anyways.

Should you decide to take action against this dark and dreary lifestyle, you must make some drastic changes in your life. After all, you can’t go on like this. It wouldn’t be fair. No, the answer is not going the gym, having productive hobbies or starting better dietary habits, stupid. You need to start devising a plan, a schedule wherein you can still get your eight hours of sleep, as well as your eight hours of work, and keep the maximum amount of the sunlit hours as your free time.

You must go to sleep at two in the morning, and wake up sometime between nine and ten, the golden morning hours during this dismal season. You will not rise and go to work. Instead, you will spend your sunshine well. Bask in the living room in your underwear and let the sunshine warm your body. Go outside, shop, eat, or even take a nap. Do everything that you always dream you could be doing when you are normally indoors during sunny sky time . Sometime before sundown, unfortunately, you must then head to work. Work until midnight and then return home for bed.

The schedule is perfectly balanced and maximizes at home sun time. But your main obstacle is to make your employer agree to it. Ask. If they say no, you must first try and convince them that you are in fact a Vampire, or whatever supernatural or alien type of being or entity is trendy, and that you need to spend the sunlit hours at home asleep in your coffin, cave or spaceship. Vampires do seem to be so popular these days, so give that one a whirl first. They are just so cool and shit, so I feel that they’ll totally agree to it, like, for sure.

If they don’t believe your sudden Vampirism, or whatever creature of the night you suggested, the second tactic is to make up a religion and say that these are the only work hours that comply with the decrees of your rare and special Sun God. Don’t take a name that sounds too goofy. Just create a fake religion with a name that sounds official and real like Radapopolism, Solar Molasses, Sunny Deezlhism, American Apparel or Scientology. Try to get a few other colleagues on board with your religion, to make it seem more legitimate. If you just tried the Vampirism argument, best to wait a week or so before trying your new religion argument out on them. You’d hate for them to catch on to your ruse.

If these genius ideas still don’t work, then just quit your job. You’ll definitely be happier getting a nightshift job somewhere than to have to spend all of your free time in the darkness. Some options are:

-Janitor
-Stripper
-Lady / Man of the Evening
-Private Detective, film noir style, not Ace Ventura style
-Something at a Hospital
-Writer
-Babysitter’s Club
-Unemployed

If you insist on keeping your current Vampire unfriendly job, then there are some techniques to employ to assist in combating misery during the year’s dark ages.

You should take at least three personal or sick days per week. Take longer lunch breaks when you actually do decide to go into work, and spend them entirely outside. Move your cubicle next to a window, or directly inside some executive’s cushy corner office. They won’t notice. They’re busy working. Decorate your cubicle with palm trees and pictures of the sun and the beach. Garnish every cup of coffee or glass of water you drink with paper drink umbrellas and always drink with a twisty straw. Keep Hawaiian shirts, board shorts and flip flops in your desk, and change into them every day. You must remember to bring them home occasionally to wash them. Most people don’t like stinky people. Put a space heater in your cubicle. If this makes you sweat too much, than I would advise against it, or at least advise you to bring the clothes home for a wash more frequently. Bring a boombox armed with reggae tapes and carry it with you at all times, even in meetings - especially in meetings. Tell people that you hope that they like jamming too. Every day, bring a container of sand, and dump it on your cubicle floor, slowly creating yourself a beach at the office. Be sure to leave a note for the cleaning crew ordering them not to vacuum up the sand. For your lunches, only eat spicy Mexican food. This will simulate warmer climates and sunshine inside your body and also help you to take sick days more honestly, by increasing your diarrhea frequency.

All of these techniques may lead to the unexpected and early termination of your employment. Don't worry. This in turn, will enable you to enjoy more sunlight time. If you start looking for work elsewhere, remember to job hunt in the dark night hours. The contacted employers will be gone for the day, allowing you to leave messages instead of talking directly to them, and you will definitely look like a real go-getter when they see that you called in the middle of the night. Mention your desired work hours, but wait until the interview to bring up your religion or Vampirism. If, however, you fail to snag a job that suits you and your desired schedule, and you eventually have become accustomed to being home during the day, then switch the focus of your job search to some of the options listed above.

If all else fails, move back in with your parents, and tell them it’s entirely their fault. They’ll love hearing that, and you can enjoy free food and sunshine. If this is not an option, then begin crashing on a friend or relative’s couch after your eventual eviction. Assure them that it’s just until you get back on your feet, sometime well after the spring equinox, of course.

In conclusion, Winter sucks the bag, and I hate the Winter Blues.

That’s it. Let the sunshine in.