Apathetic Thursday

Death duplicates. That’s his job. He sits by the copying machine across from the break room and photocopies anything that needs to be photo copied. It’s not the best job in the world, but it sure helped speed up things around the workplace. No more hanging around the copy machine talking, it’s in and out as fast as you can manage. No one wants to be hanging around death for too long, especially not on Mondays.

There have been a few drawbacks since he started working, however. We’ve actually bought a new copy machine because death kinda… well, took it’s toll on the poor critter. It’s really amazing how well those things burn. Management wasn’t happy with the ordeal and they sent Bob in to talk to Death… boy, that was a bad idea. Talk about being face to face with death.Whew, I didn’t expect Bob to come out of there alive… actually, I didn’t expect him to come out at all, but he did. He was pale as a ghost and had his resume in hand, but he made it out alive.

Then there is Jim, as soon as he heard we had Death in the copy room he ran out of the office and bought the farm. I think he’s doing pretty good with cattle ranching now, actually. That same day Tom kicked a bucket and accidentally nailed death in the head. His aim was dead on. Death took it pretty well though, he waited until the next day, then he tripped Tom down the stairs into a pointy bed of spikes. That was picture perfect moment, the look on his face was priceless. It was like Kodak meets Master-card.

Death seems to be feeling down lately though, grave you might even say. I don’t really know what to do for him, I’d like to try to help him out, but what can you do for Death? He’s kind of a loner, but maybe that’s just how he rolls. I mean, Dead’s serious. I tried to tell him a joke, talk about a dead audience, you get no response from this guy. Amy said maybe she could push up some daisies from the basement, and that might cheer Death up a bit, the problem is that there is so much stuff down there that they just might be six feet under. Jessie assumed room temperature might be the problem, and suggested we turn down the temperature in the office.. This didn’t help, Death just said he was icy cold.

I suggested to some coworkers that a change in color would help, and that maybe Death just needed to get some new clothes. A few actually agreed with me, the rest just said that black Death is just a plague we have to endure.