The Rat Race

Posted: April 24, 2013 in Rat Race
Tags: , , , ,

Like so many I arise out of my warm and cozy bed, swiping ever so gently the snooze bar on my Motorola Atrix alarm clock and then my day begins. I manage to waste an hour doing absolutely nothing like blindly stumbling into the living room doing what I do not remember, and then I look at the clock of destiny and realize it is time to prepare for battle. Showering is a blur, brushing and flossing my teeth is laborious, flat ironing my hair is utterly time consuming and getting dressed is uneventful yet an absolute necessity for personal esteem and public decency.

I obsessively inspect myself in the mirror picking lint balls and primping my hair up like it’s some wig on wheels. Perhaps I hope to become taller? Slimmer? Don’t know. One thing is certain, when it is java time that is when the magic happens! One heaping scoop of my favorite organic coffee, two Mr. Coffee standard-sized cups of purified drinking water, press the button, and presto! The air is permeated with the powerful aroma of that liquid cigarette of piping, hot cup of deliciousness.

One sip of my liquid lover and I am invigorated ready to face the world. With lightning speed I grab my power tools (coffee, laptop, and lunch bag) and skip through the lilies in my four inch sizzling heels to my sleek and sexy looking black Suzuki four door hatchback. Prior to take off I carefully check the fuel gauge and notice I have less than ¼ of gas remaining, but  of course I already knew that. So, I calculate the statistical probability of driving 10.5 miles to work one way on less than 25% of gas. Using my deductive powers I defy the gasoline trinity (7 Eleven, Shell, and Chevron) and opt to pay homage to one of them later. With my highly developed ethically challenged business acumen, I forecast being late and intend to fully misrepresent the truth confessing a broken fuel gauge. Of course I honorably intend to take my one hour lunch and two fifteen minute vacation getaways from the hamsters wheel of success (cubicle) as if I worked a full eight hour day.

Bumpety…Bump…Bump over the yellow brick speed bumps with a mad dash to the once again, broken and bent gate. As I proceed on to the rat race track the Animalia-Corporate-Rodentia-metamorphosis takes place. The mus musculus landscape is filled with boys wearing cowboy hats and baseball caps. We girls are distinguished by putting on mascara at the red stop light.

Amongst the hum drum tedium of traffic arises the occasional entitled rodent who believes driving in your blind spot on an ending lane offers a free pass to let them in or the universal numb nut that has about half mile of free space refusing to drive faster. As such I wish my car would convert into a monster truck driving right on top crushing the competition but alas, I take the high road by not raising my paw and giving them the birdie. After all, I am a cordial, civilized mouse.

As I cruise 75 mph down the service road sipping on my coffee, checking emails, and listening to internet radio, alas, I arrive into the parking lot maze. With melancholy hesitation I park prayerfully pausing and stroking my prisoner’s badge as if it is the genie that would make work more appealing. I wait. Nothing happens. Well, off to work I scurry.

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Comments
  1. Sharon Hervey says:

    Thank you for this food for thought…

  2. well, nice post, thanks for share

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  4. nice post,thanks for share.

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