Monday, February 14, 2005

Ever since I started doing accounting at work, I’ve played the oracle to a host of amazing questions, queries that often have absolutely nothing to do with spooky numbers and their kind. This is probably because I’m sitting in the old office manager’s seat, and apparently the imprecise placement of your ass can redefine your role entirely.

Questions about mathemagical problems, I’m fine with those. It’s in my blood, my very birthright as an Asian, to sniff out integers as a boar would savory truffles.

“Did you guys match my 401k?” asks one employee.

“I’m processing it right now,” I reply, “in my left pants pocket.”

“And what about salary?” she pushes. “Did you guys get around to doing that?”

“What is sa-al-ary?” is my counter-question.

A job well done, right? You needn’t answer. The other inquiries about office minutiae, dear reader, sometimes get on my nerves. The following is my guide, which I recommend you don’t use, for answering three common questions that really should be reserved for the office fern.

[It’s the Declaration of Independence!]
Question: Can you have him sign this?

Boring Answer: Of course. In fact, I’ll do you one better and make a three-course breakfast. Do you take sugar?

Fun Answer: No can do, and I’m really sorry. Last person who tried to make him sign it? Man, I didn’t know one’s thigh could wrap around the arm so easily, or that internal bleeding could become external so quickly. Really makes you wonder what they teach in health class, doesn’t it? Poor woman, they didn’t even have cake at her funeral.

Tell you what. I’ll grab a brand new manila folder. I’ll mark the tab with “Why Don’t You Get Him to Sign This Yourself, Moron?” And here, I’ll even file it in my high priority cabinet. No, no, it only looks like a trash can on the outside.

[Oh noes, I l0st3d my papers!]
Question: Why can’t I print?

Boring Answer: You know, I haven’t the faintest idea. Been experiencing some printing problems myself all morning. Let me call the IT guy.

Fun Answer: My best guess is the little man inside the LaserJet fell asleep. Again, for fuck’s sake. Usually, and this is being generous to the little fellow, usually he’ll get right to it as soon as you hit the button. You click “Print,” he runs over to the toner, drenches himself with ink, and painstakingly recreates the exact image you see on your screen. Then, per cleanliness protocol, he’ll take a shower, dry himself real quick-like, and push your paper out of the printer. I will call the IT guy so he can administer a beating.

[Is my urine really sterile?]
Question: Where is the Culligan Man?

Boring Answer: Yeah, I’m also getting tired of all this soda, so you can bet I’m looking forward to the cooler refill as much as you are. He should be here in a day or two, but let me call for faster delivery.

Fun Answer: Dead, most likely. In a ditch. With lots of clean water.