In the Boredroom of My Mind

"So when you break down the broken numbers and express them in percentages in the prospectus you get a lot of numbers."

11:02am. I hope he doesn't go on and on and on....and on.

"When you examine them it really works out to 12% for income from attrition..."

Attrition? World War I Trench warfare? That couldn't have been pretty. Dig your own grave.

"Discretionary payments add up to 33.34%..."

My discretion is to make-out with the lady next to me. She looks good for her age. She reaches for my pen and gives me a smile instead of an official 'may I?' I nod approvingly as I lower my pants.

"Income from matured plans is 42%..."

Mature. Now there's one word I have a hard time with. I'm trying hard but this mature thing is not working out. Bending my boss over on a table; that's about as high on the maturity scale I'll go. How can people trust their money with me? Did she glance at me? I bet she did. She looks good in mahogany.

12:14pm. Eye contact is on the rise. Nervous ticks become more apparent. "I guess that's it for toda...wait one more thing."

There's always 'one more thing' that usually drags forever. At least mighty mouth is keeping his mouth shut. Maybe we'll have a shot at leaving early. I'm starving. I have to go buy a cantaloupe.

"Are there any other quest..."

Oh fricken no. No!

"Um, yes. Um could you please review the donations from the general fund and how they relate to past figures?"

I...can't....believe it. He actually asked the most useless question he's ever asked. The boss won't bite will he?

"Sure....approximately half of a quarter of the donations come from the EAP which itself comes from the foundation and this in turn all leads to a return in the form of dividends that dates back to 1974. Let's go over each year..."

What I really hear is, "let's smoke pot and read the prospectus. I'll order pizza and shish-taouk. After that, I will offer my wife in a ritual corporate gangbang. If you are one of us you will pander to our smut indulgences! Randy will pass the steroids to enhance your sales. Don't inject! We are not animals. Just rub it in."

I'm losing my mind. I'm gonna jump someone. Should I just walk out? I think I'll walk out. When the right moment presents itself I will bolt. 12:42pm. I'm in position. Give a few serious look of intense pondering and vanish.

"Ok...1982..."

1982? Falklands, 'Hurts so good'....death of Gilles Villeneuve...I'm outta here. I wonder if she'll follow....