My business cards arrived.
Don’t get me wrong, for business cards, they’re pretty ok. They have my name, job title and company name all clearly displayed. I suppose that they’d be good for handing out to women in a vain attempt to convince them that I am in fact employable. And I could use them to win free lunches at restaurants.
But it’s depressing that I have a business card. When I was kid, I always assumed that I’d have something really cool as my calling card. Like murder, mayhem, or a rare type of poisonous lizard. How can you reconcile yourself to a piece of cardboard when you thought maybe people would come across an entire platoon of slaughtered Nazi-Cyborg Wizards and nervously scan the jungle for your shadow?
It’s just not fair. For a while I was thinking about getting my name and number painted on the backs of some black widow spiders and handing them out instead of cards. But that would just be impractical. Who the hell wants to spend the time to draw on spiders? Also I’m nervous about keeping swarms of poisonous things in my pants.
Now, it’s bad enough that I have to carry these things around. But it’s downright soul-crushing to me that my job title doesn’t read:
Horrible Despot of the Desert Raiders
Supreme Potentate of Earth and Sea
The Terrible
God of War
Devourer of Souls
I want a job where I can sit in my cubicle and answer the phone, “Ehren, Devourer of Souls, how can I help YOU today?” Of course, if I got that title, I’d probably have to also get one of those harmonizers that drop my voice about six octaves. You know maybe I’d better get one of those things and hook it up just in case. Maybe that big promotion is just around the corner and all that’s holding me back is my sweet, lilting tenor. And even if it’s not, I bet I get more respect from my boss next time I answer the phone in a voice that makes her eyes bleed.
In other news, I was asked to participate in an inter-office prank war. I politely declined. I don’t understand office pranks. For some reason, shooting rubber bands at an office member is hysterical, but when you show up at their house at 4 A.M., chain them up, lock them in the trunk with a hornet’s nest, drive them three states away and abandon the car in the middle of the desert, suddenly you “crossed a line.”
Personally, I think they were overreacting. I mean, I know what’s funny. Rubber bands are not. Kidnapping and attempted manslaughter: hysterical. After all, you can’t spell “manslaughter” without “laughter.”
2 comments:
Business cards always remind me of the book/film "American Psycho". You know the scene... the one where they are all comparing cards to see which one has the best quality... Since seeing that film, I've always found business cards a little creepy.
I do like the spider idea though...
i dont know about some of those titles if you plan on giving your business card out to women. "devourer of souls"- it's like you're telling girls that you're gonna use them then discard them as dull lifeless shells- not the kind of info guys give out on first meeting. some of my ex's could easily take that title- i wish i'd had a card to warn me. and Ehren "the Terrible" REALLY might give off the wrong impression to a girl you're trying to sleep with.
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