Tuesday, September 6, 2005

My boss asked for an update today on a bunch of Google ad campaigns I was supposed to launch.

“Whoogle?” I replied, my virtual shoulders shrugged in absolute :oO.

Then he fired me.

No, I’m kidding, though I bet this would’ve made a charming story if it really happened. I don’t believe we’re at the point where I must fabricate anecdotes–real ones are better, don’t you think?–but if the need ever arises, you let me know.

What I did lose today was a piece of my car. It happened in the parking garage, the same garage I’ve frequented for two years and 26 days, on the exact same speed bump I’ve crossed and recrossed regularly. I went over the bump, heard a clang, and looked in my rearview mirror to see a hunk of metal resting on the ground. It’s like my car decided to shed those unnecessary parts in anticipation of its sale. Engine? Perk.

Actually, I lost my “heat shield,” which according to our building engineer protects the outside world from the 900-odd degrees generated by the converter. Apparently people have set grass ablaze with their cars, and why this is still a valid fear I can’t imagine. I mean, I know I’ve finally curbed my urge to drive blithely over lush greenery in an impassioned quest to promulgate fire, but that’s just me.

It turns out these heat shields tend to rust and detach themselves from the mothership, with little detriment to the trade-in value. Of greater interest are the stories the building engineer shared of his 12 years spent deep mining. It’s a lucrative trade that will allow him to retire by 50, and it’s certainly not for lack of effort.

He saw people die. Not in hospitals, not surrounded by loved ones, not on a bed of some sort. I suspect health insurance doesn’t even reach a mile below the earth’s crust. We’re talking heads popping. Skulls crushed until they’re level with the shoulders. Entire portions of the body shorn by speeding nozzles. This is the stuff that would warm the cockles of Quentin Tarantino’s heart before landing straight on the celluloid.