Countdown to Khakiland.

I’ve been a little withdrawn since last week, having made zero posts since then. But a lot of shite has been going down. I was offered the job at the Evil Empire (I used to work there, before here, and now want to return to sop up all those glorious benefits).

They had to be tightwads and lowball me on salary. C’mon people! So, all my energies since then have been spent on dickering (if you’ve ever bought a car, you know how much energy that can take). I finally got them up to an acceptable figure, so now it’s official – I start in two weeks. And so the Countdown to Khakiland begins.


What humiliation.

If you were to have walked into my office just now, you would’ve seen me crazily spraying hairspray around my workstation.

I just dropped a foul SBD (silent but deadly) fart. In leiu of Glade, I sprayed Clinique hairspray to hide the stench.

Yes world, girls fart too. We just don’t pound our chests with gratification when we do. Instead, we sheepishly dig through our “supplies” drawer (the one with the tampons and lip gloss) and look for a masking agent.

Ode to Spearmint Ice Breakers.

Whatever happened to spearmint Ice Breakers? Once a staple on the candy shelf, they now seem to be gone. Undoubtedly kidnapped by a band of unscrupulous bad-breathed thieves in the night (or some marketing wonks hell-bent on getting me to buy the spearmint Ice Breakers container that also has the ass-y Ice Breakers gum in it) . Blech.

Judging by the store shelves, spearmint has been replaced by its lesser cousins — wintergreen and peppermint. Spearmint, as we all know, is the king of mints. Pure old school refreshment. Wintergreen is grandpa’s mint (the stale ones he passed out to you whenever you came to visit), and peppermint is, well, plain old poopy pepppermint. If there is room on the candy shelf for ginger-flavored Ass-toids, for God’s sake, there is a place for my spearmint Ice Breakers.

Just to twist the dagger even more, Hershey’s (the maker of Ice Breakers) has put the wintergreen mints in the same green-colored hockey puck container that used to house the spearmint Ice Breakers. C’mon people. We all know that green is reserved for spearmint. Wintergreen has more of an aqua hue.

Perhaps spearmint Ice Breakers still exist somewhere. Maybe Wal-Mart has simply put a ban on them, just like it did with with that subversive Sheryl Crow CD and Jon Stewart’s book. Maybe my beloved green tins of minty goodness are in hiding, alongside Salman Rushdie and Jimmy Hoffa. All I know is they’re not on my desk right now, and that is a damn shame.

So if you happen to have a tin of Ice Breakers in your possession, grab it now. Raise it above your head and SHAKE IT. Perhaps our lost spearmint comrades will hear it and find their way home.

A bitter pill.

The things we do for money.

Today I went back to my previous employer (which I affectionately will call the Evil Empire) and asked for my old job back. What would prompt me to commit such a heinous act? After all, I quit two years ago, in a pissed off huff over meaningless weekly meetings, mindless Excel spreadsheets, having to use a security badge to go to the bathroom, and just corporate bullshit in general. I JUST COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. And here I am, two years later, bending over once again.

What could possibly bring me back, tail placed squarely between my legs, to the Evil Empire? Money. Benefits. And the fact that the place is so big, I can leave mid-afternoon for an hour or two, and nobody will notice. You don’t read about THAT perk in the benefits booklet, now do you?

Well, the interview went fine. It was a bit awkward, though. As I saw all the familiar faces, I could see the question scrolling by on their foreheads, much like a Wall Street stock ticker: “Soooo. What brings YOU back HERE?” I wanted to say, “OK, this place sucks dong. You know it. And I know it. And my current job — it too sucks dong. But I’d much rather be at a dong-sucking organization that pays well and gives me good bennies.”

You see, I’ve finally reached that critical point in my life (and it took me almost 10 years to reach this place) where I’ve realized that I will hate all jobs, except for the one that lets me stay at home, eating bon bons and watching the Doodlebops with my son. But, to maintain our current lifestyle (i.e. paying our mortgage, eating, etc.), I must work. And if I am going to do so, I expect to be paid well for doing so. For all this, I will take it up the rear.

Am I the only person making this trade-off? Or does everyone just not talk about it?

As part of my application, I inflated my current salary by about, oh, $10,000. That’s because I expect at least a $12-15,000 increase to go back to Dilbertville. Right now, they’re either filling their pants or tossing my application in the circular file.

One good thing is the fact that the Evil Empire will provide much blogging fodder. Countless tales of corporate woe and humiliation, which I will gladly document.

Someone pass the soap.