Reasons To Be Careful, Part One

Once, at my last job, my boss, who was a giant, putrid, whiny, brain dead, panty-waist of a man with chronic dandruff, received a perplexing little surprise via AIM.

He had been driving me to the brink of homicide all afternoon with his superior “I am better than you, mere minion!” attitude, his incessant whining and his rank post-lunch farts (steak and broccoli), which filled the corridor between his office and my cubicle with foul, possibly yellow, sulfurous air. Fueled by intense hatred and a need to vent to my good friend and office mate, The Evil Queen, I fired off an instant message that said only, “I am going to cock-punch that man to within an inch of his life.” I grinned with satisfaction and waited for the inevitable giggle to waft from the Evil Queen’s cube.

But I heard nothing.

Five seconds later the Giant Panty-Waist called me into his office where he was sitting at his computer, a puzzled frown on his colossal Shrek-like visage, scratching his head fitfully. “I got this…thing.” he says, pointing toward the screen. “I don’t know what it is or who sent it or what it means.”

I looked at his monitor, quenching the urge to throttle him with his tie, and there, on the screen, as obvious as a purple Twinkie, was my instant message. You know, the one advertising my desire to cock-punch him to death?

A dozen frantic emotions passed through my brain at once, moving like headless chickens, before it imploded. I had managed to send the message to my boss instead of the Evil Queen.

Now, I should point out, the thing about Mr. Panty-Waist is, he has the technical skills and knowledge of a fruit fly. He once asked me in all seriousness, while about to leave for a business trip, if I could call the IT department to make sure they had an Internet for his computer and would it still work in Chicago? You can see the level of technical stupidity we are talking about here, right? Anyway, everyone in the Company of Total Hell had the entire employee list loaded automatically onto their buddy list and his name was right there under the Evil Queen’s, hence my mistake.

“People get anonymous IMs all the time,” I told him, “It probably wants you to go and look at some dubious images.”

I was glad for the millionth time that I had used a non identifiable user name and not my office log in.

He was none the wiser for the gaffe. When I left that company and his droning ass for good I'm sure he was equally perplexed at the amount of Bear Spanking Porn sites that suddenly sprang up in his email. Actually, he probably enjoyed it.