The thing with working in Evil Corporate World, however, is that one has to find alternative ways to entertain one's self lest said individual becomes dead inside.
Which brings us to my newest fascination and idiocy at work here.
You see, there's a door across the way from my office that, according to the tag, says it's an electrical room.
Makes sense. We have a metric fuckton of computer networks, and the same equivalent electrical needs as an aircraft carrier. Seriously.
So an electrical room makes sense. I understand the purpose of the room. I grock that there might be phone lines, or network servers, or telecomm junctions… or other fancy techno things that my creative right brain wouldn't understand, or give two steaming monkey shits about.
Until you see the sign that they just posted on the door a few weeks ago.
Here's a copy.
What in the holy hell?!? Right?!?
That sign cracks me up. Suddenly a room that is probable the size of a closet with a shitload of wires and that is only visited a couple times a month by some fat, neck-bearded IT guy has taken on a whole new dimension. Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick… that sign is bat-shit crazy!
The problem, when presented with a sign of such immense exaggeration is that the creative side of old Dr. Zombie goes into overdrive. I already have trouble NOT slacking and screwing off at work… but the introduction of this weird, alarming, and utterly hyperbolic variable is almost overwhelming to my never dormant sense of laziness. Plus, I'm a writer, and the creative gears are always turning in the vast empty warehouse of my skull. So, I spent several minutes delighting in imagining what might be lurking behind the door, what might ACTUALLY be there, just behind the nondescript yellow door with the klaxon-like, red warning sign. What secrets are hiding there? Is it a CIA safe house? Could it be a portal to another dimension - a portal requiring the added safety of some special portal-proof suit that is inventoried and assigned by Jim… our main facilities guy?
Because if that's the case, I think they're seriously overestimating Jim's abilities. I've been down to ask Jim things, down to his dank office in the basement of the building. It is small, cramped, and overfilled with boxes and tools. It smells bad because it's right next to the loading dock, and I think that the constant saturation of poor Jim's already taxed brain with the diesel fumes that roll off of the Fed Ex trucks may have caused some serious mental injury. Either way, do we want to trust poor, addled, diesel fuel-goofy Jim to protecting us from whatever it is that sits ominously behind the third floor spooky door? Whatever it is, waiting there ominously, champing at the bit to release it's malevolence upon the world.. because NO ONE HEEDED THE DANGER AND WORE THE PROPER PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT!
So… what's a poor undead drone to do. Well, let Doctor Zombie tell you, dear reader.
I am - right now - officially announcing the inception of Project Spooky Door. Or Project Not Doing Any Work.
Whichever. They both work.
I spent about 10 minutes making up some signs and have decided to indulge my reckless imaginings and - in so doing - maybe add some levity to the workplace. At the least, one should look at it like it's a piece of performance art.
I will be updating the sign to the Spooky Door in the hallway on a weekly pass. The sign will hopefully explain what's going on in the room that such strident precautions must be taken.
I'm curious about two things… first, how long before someone actually catches on and pulls the signs down; and second, who'll actually notice.
This is how I entertain myself, and hopefully you'll be somewhat entertained as well.
So, kicking off Project Spooky Door -- here's our first guess at what might actually be behind the door.
Watch out. They're bite-y and know how to open doors!!!