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the MOVE

©01 The Media Desk

By popular demand. The Day We All Got Fired!

        Well. Nothing is official.... yet.

        However it would take an Inaction by the State Legislature, or a specific Action by somebody of the caliber of say Madam Governor or one of her high level hired guns to prevent it. Otherwise, the Desk's Day Job Office is moving across the street, and thereby, into history.

        This move has accomplished two things so far. It has caused the Desk to seriously Clean and Pack the fire hazard it has been working in for the last three years. Most of The Stuff has found its way into various boxes, some labeled, some not, and for the most part, in nothing that would resemble Order to a professional desk packing crew. That, and it has drained the Desk's Strategic Reserve of Whisky, both good and cheap.

        The Stress Level in this office is incredible. Bossman has delegated chores and assignments until nothing constructive can get done. Customers have heard the nasty rumor and are demanding all sorts of things be done before That Fateful Day. The floor fan got broke, and some files from 1997 have been shredded that ended up with an, 'Oh, no, I think we need to keep them'.
        Such is life.

        The phone has been ringing more or less constantly for the last three days. Half the calls are about what's going to happen when the customers want to check on a work order, or call in a repair, or complain about a fax machine calling the Director's private line, and stuff like that.
        The honest answer is.... 'We don't know.'
        We have been assured that it will be 'Business As Usual'.
        However from where the Desk sits, it looks more like 'Politics As Usual'.
        Job assignments are being shuffled faster than the cards by a Three Card Monty dealer. All training is canceled for Everybody associated with the Office of Whateveritisthisweek.
        The scuttlebutt from across the street is... "Don't say I told you."
        "I'm dumber than Hell. Ask Anybody." See-a tale of two dorms
        "You're going to be working over here until they don't need you any more. The others will learn your jobs, then..."

        So the gut feeling the Desk had last month was right... We all got fired.
        Just we're being allowed to take the scenic route to the door.

        Could the rumor mill just be playing a sad song simply to cast a Death Pall on the Desk, and the Other Guy, and the Bossman, and the Fiance as we move into their domain?
        But you never know.
        We have been polishing our resumes. And watching the job postings. And practicing such needed job skills as saying, "You want Fries With That?"

        Others are saying that our move is simply a prelude for a New Outfit, and soon the Sun will Dawn over the Cold Wastelands of the Antarctic Winter and a New Chapter of Life will be Written.
        Like the Desk believes everything is that rosy.

        Pessimism pays in the long run. An Optimist can never be happily surprised.

        So we pack, and the Desk's co-workers hope for the best, and we find notices of things that should have been done as 'VERY URGENT ' in 1993... with no indication that anybody even read page two of the letter.

"Relax. Things are worse than you can possibly imagine." -the media desk.


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