Non-Congressional Stalls
As we’ve heard in recent weeks, stalls can be a frightening space in which to hang out. Or, a quite rewarding space, depending on how one looks at it. It is much the same at my Place d’employ (yes, I just made up that phrase). Stalls are a work weirdity that are beyond my grasp.
Employees are fighting over parking spaces. Those who are old-timers get spots on the same property as the building we trudge into every day. Others park in further away available spaces as downtown will permit. But some employees have been sneaking into the on-site parking, hoping not to get caught, forging a passable version of a company-issued parking pass. Others park on incorrect levels, hoping beyond hope that they can park next to the president’s Porche. Women have begun backing into stalls so they can be more like the VPs. These women won’t admit it, but it is true. The closer to power, the more of it rubs off.
I, on the other hand, have simple needs. I pray to be able to park in the most unsafe portion of the underground parking. I pray that someone will steal my piece of crap Ford and never return it. I pray that someone will throw out a cigarette butt into the front seat (I leave my windows rolled down for just that reason) and the car burns to a crisp. I pray for these things, but not being a religious person, I suspect those prayers fall on deaf ears.
Filed under: Humor
