11
I don't like going to 11.
It's a third world colony, an outpost miles from civilisation. It's a cave, but without any of the advantages of a cave. No sexy cave-people, no buried treasure, and no shelter from the outside elements. In fact, it is nothing but outside elements - a final resting place of those left in a cosmodemonic purgatory.
Those unhealthy souls have been sucked dry of life and left there, on 11, empty husks, tumbleweeds in a desert of corporate indifference. It's impossible to feel sorry for them, however, for they are too far gone. They are the dark side, they are the other, they are the enemy. The enemy of live and love and all that we hold dear. They are the Health and Safety Nazis.
The Health and Safety Hitler and her Goebbels stalk the floor, looking for incorrectness and finding it everywhere. There is a section of the floor marked out behind filing cabinets by traffic cones - I kid you not - for all the chairs, computers, headsets and general office knickknackery that has been declared too dangerous for use by the denizens of 11. The stash is often raided by brave residents of ather floors, don't tell anyone though!
One person complained about the glare on her computer screen, so the blinds have been closed for the past two years. All the blinds. On the entire floor. It's like living in communist Czechoslovakia but without the dry bread and cheese. It's a Health and Safety Issue to eat by your computer, you see. No, I don't know why either.
So: a cold, dark and hungry place. And lonely, for talking is a Health and Safety Issue. People are trying to work you see, and they might develop migraines from distraction stress. Cold. Dark. Hungry. Lonely.
It is a scary floor, 11, and you can feel the chill draught of life-suckage every time your elevator passes it. There are a few refugees stuck down there who have not yet turned, and my god do I feel sorry for them. Get out people, I want to scream as the elevator slides by, get out now, before it's too late! But I don't because those Nazis have me running scared, and I've been off the floor a long time now.
Yes, once even I was trapped down there, with seeming no hope of ever seeing week-day daylight again. I got away. It cost me a part of my soul, but I made it and I do not regret the expense.
But now, I don't like going back to 11.
It's a third world colony, an outpost miles from civilisation. It's a cave, but without any of the advantages of a cave. No sexy cave-people, no buried treasure, and no shelter from the outside elements. In fact, it is nothing but outside elements - a final resting place of those left in a cosmodemonic purgatory.
Those unhealthy souls have been sucked dry of life and left there, on 11, empty husks, tumbleweeds in a desert of corporate indifference. It's impossible to feel sorry for them, however, for they are too far gone. They are the dark side, they are the other, they are the enemy. The enemy of live and love and all that we hold dear. They are the Health and Safety Nazis.
The Health and Safety Hitler and her Goebbels stalk the floor, looking for incorrectness and finding it everywhere. There is a section of the floor marked out behind filing cabinets by traffic cones - I kid you not - for all the chairs, computers, headsets and general office knickknackery that has been declared too dangerous for use by the denizens of 11. The stash is often raided by brave residents of ather floors, don't tell anyone though!
One person complained about the glare on her computer screen, so the blinds have been closed for the past two years. All the blinds. On the entire floor. It's like living in communist Czechoslovakia but without the dry bread and cheese. It's a Health and Safety Issue to eat by your computer, you see. No, I don't know why either.
So: a cold, dark and hungry place. And lonely, for talking is a Health and Safety Issue. People are trying to work you see, and they might develop migraines from distraction stress. Cold. Dark. Hungry. Lonely.
It is a scary floor, 11, and you can feel the chill draught of life-suckage every time your elevator passes it. There are a few refugees stuck down there who have not yet turned, and my god do I feel sorry for them. Get out people, I want to scream as the elevator slides by, get out now, before it's too late! But I don't because those Nazis have me running scared, and I've been off the floor a long time now.
Yes, once even I was trapped down there, with seeming no hope of ever seeing week-day daylight again. I got away. It cost me a part of my soul, but I made it and I do not regret the expense.
But now, I don't like going back to 11.
posted by Lackey | 1:15 pm
2 Comments:
It is true, these words that Lackey speaks. There are those that have got out - some say straight into the arms of of a bigger demon down by the creek; while there are those that are forever bound, with no possibility of escape, to the nightmarish hell that is 11. I pray with all my might that someone soon will save my ever darkening soul from these wretched walls of distain.
A denizen of eleven eh? I thought I smelt something...
Don't worry son, rescue is at hand, there's a pub across the road. All you've got to do, is stand up and walk out. Walk across the road. But you can't can you! My god boy, summon up the courage and do it soon, do it now, before it's too late and all fun-sense is gone!
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