Again, I took a personal day yesterday to take care of various things which were. . . you know . . . personal.
Anyway, I dragged myself back into my cubicle this morning to discover that someone has made off with my wastebasket.
What are they even planning to do with it? The contents, by definition, were valueless. It isn't even like the street value on the basket itself is too great. Believe me, I've done that research.
Ever since I was laid off from a job years ago and replaced by foreign I.T. workers in some sweat shop in Kuala Lampur I make a point on accepting a new employment opportunity to determine the resale value of every item within twenty feet of my desk. I got caught off guard once. I have my Looting Exit Path planned out from day one now.
However, my own larcenous ways are not on trial at the moment. I want to know who stole my trash can and when I'm getting it back or, preferably, how I get my cut of the profits.
Maybe I don't always recycle. Sometimes I even use more than one styrofoam cup per day. Neither of these things, even taken together in one giant Earth-hating, eco-terror, iceberg-melting, pollution-a-palooza, means I don't deserve a place to dispose of things.
Long time readers know that this theft of my company-issued waste receptacle means two things:
1. I will have to find a new place to dispose of my personal refuse. It will need to be functional, not already used for someone else's trash, and amusing enough to make it worth my time.
2. I will get absolutely nothing done until the thief is caught and my rightful wastebasket is returned, preferably containing the still-twitching severed hand of the miscreant who removed it without permission.
Harsh? I'm holding an empty disposable coffee cup with no place to dispose of it. I'm holding trash!
For Great Justice,
G
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