h a l f b a k e r yRIFHMAO
(Rolling in flour, halfbaking my ass off)
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There's a sly, prickling feeling running up your spine. You glance around, nervously... Nothing there... This may just be a hoax, but you can't be sure... It may be true, or you wouldn't have thought that, surely? Perhaps the boss is watching? You never actually catch her at it, but there's that
feeling that you're being watched. Where does that come from?
No-one who's ever been up to the seventh floor, to Accounting, has ever come back the way they were when they left... Or so *they* say...
In truth, the forms issued by Accounting are impregnated with a serotonin suppressant chemical. Absorbed through the skin, it makes you slightly depressed and worried. Concerned that you might lose your job, you become more docile and compliant with management demands.
More likely to work overtime for nothing, you play right into the hands of the beancounters.
Of course, it might all be a myth... Should you tell someone?
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You mean they've stopped putting the stuff in the coffee machine, the drinking fountains, and the air conditoning ducts ? |
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You tell me, I'm the boss where I work. |
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Reminds me of the saltpeter in the military academy food. Kept us //docile and compliant // on weekends. |
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//but there's that feeling that you're being watched. Where does that come from? // |
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The pinhole camera in the ceiling.... |
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