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Your boss stares you in the eye. “Do you understand what I am saying?” Before she can finish a girl from Marketing barges in and hands you a slice of Jane’s birthday cake. Jane from Finance is now vegan. The cake slice looks like your grandmother’s bowel cancer.
The cake wiggles and squirms in front of you. “It’s a new kind of birthday cake,” your boss says. “No meat, no cruelty, just 100% kindness and a commitment to make the world a better place!” She stares at you. “Do you understand?” she says.
You want to tell her how everyone is late for meetings.
You want to tell her how it’s not your fault: IT only works 50% of the time.
You want to tell her how you have no time for work. You want to declare that this is not a #greatplacetowork but instead Hell on Earth.
Your boss looks at you. She’s almost weeping. She has deep expressive feminine eyes. “Are you committed to gender balance?” she asks. “Yes,” you say. Your boss looks at you like a Grecian Oracle. “We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “”Are you a woman?”
It’s 12pm. You’re hungry. You want to eat. You have 10 years of JAVA coding experience but all that seems to matter is slicing your cock off and declaring yourself oppressed.
You look around. The walls are covered in pride posters, asexual posters, bisexual posters, pansexual posters, every & all kinds of deviancy. Everyone has always hated you at your company but now they come to applaud. A mob of pink-haired weaklings carries you on their shoulders.
Everybody is gathered around you now. Your boss. Zoe from HR. Maria the Cleaner. The brown fellas from IT. Everybody. How did they get a day? “Come out! Come out!” they say. “It’s National Coming Out Day!” YOU. MUST. SUBMIT!
You scream. You shout. “I’m not gay! I’m not gay!” We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “”Are you a woman?” It’s Friday afternoon.
You think about the prospect of promotion and nod your head. You stare your boss in the eye. Finally, you feel that you are not fighting anymore. They offer you a seat in the pod. The marketing people offer a cake that wiggles and squirms in front of you.
“I will not sit in a pod,” you type as your terrible terrible week throws you back into the repetition of last Monday. “I will not eat bugs!” you retweet as you find this 75+ plus twitter thread vaguely unsatisfying and see your media account dissolve and disappear forever.
“I WILL NOT LIVE IN THE POD,” you shout!
“I WILL NOT EAT BUGS!”
@Follow @bronzeagemantis... you type... I think that’s what I need to do... yes?”
I’m sorry. I can’t help you. You’re sitting in the pod. You’re eating bugs.
You tried hard... but YOU ARE GAY!
You click retweet
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