You know how runners get a second wind after hitting the wall? A place where you just couldn’t possible go on – but then you do, and it’s all kind of ethereal and out-of-body and life is bunnies and kittens and Breyer’s M&M Ice Cream from then on? I don’t. I’m not a runner. But I’ve heard tales told, and suspect this is what’s happening to me at work. The troubles have become parodies of themselves, and I am left with laughter as my sole recourse.
I can look colleagues in the eye, explain that no, I couldn’t get to project E, because I can’t stress enough how time consuming projects A, B, C and D were – and they’ll just briefly eyeball the projects that are sitting there completed, and say “So… you didn’t do project E?”
So this month it’s all about project E. Nothing but E in April. And when they ask me why I didn’t get to A, B, C or D, I’ll look them straight in the eye and say “What do you mean? I thought we were in agreement that nothing counts but E. Curses!” Then they'll back away from me slowly, because everyone knows that when people start channelling moustache-twirling villains, it's time to back away from them slowly.
As reward for listening to me, I offer to you Dilbert (please don't sue me Scott Adams) and a blessing: May you never understand Dilbert the way a civil servant can understand Dilbert.