to the universal clockwatcher

every office or lab has one. a pole up the ass, liver spots, the invisible "i live to be downtrodden" sign. there's the frequent sighing, the swan song of passive-agressive "it's not me, it's you" statements, the vocal self-flagellation and poor attempts at sarcasm and wittiness when you've gone too far.

you, i really hate you sometimes. i hate how you discuss my comings and goings with my coworkers, and then how you turn around and fabricate times on government-regulated logs to make it appear that you were at work early, when in fact you never are. i don't care what you do. why do i have to minimize my gmail window when you walk by, despite your searching for online soulmates on company time? why is my coffee break unjustified, when your complaint-riddled bitch-whisper sessions are sanctioned?

if i had to work with you forever, i would wish evil things on you. a failed marriage; a yapping dog; early menopause and sterility; no friends or hobbies. sneaky thing that you are, you managed to take care of all these items yourself and leave me with nothing to feel but pity. and pity you i do.

but, i'm not putting up with your shit anymore and you'd better watch what you say to whom. because guess who has an exit interview with HR in a few months? that's right. and while i'm off earning a degree and looking ahead toward the future, you'll be watching that same grey wall clock and tsk tsk-ing at my replacement. how excited you must be.