Zombie free zone...

So, every zombie called in sick today at work. On a Monday. To be honest, being the only one in the office was like a normal working day because the zombies never speak unless they are in fear of missing out on free food.

The world’s second most boring man, let’s call him Lester, who is in the Sydney corporate office and I do not answer to in any way, shape or form, called me, to justify his existence, after I sent the email to Sydney advising I was the only one in the office today.

Lester: - So, no one but you is in the office?

Me: - Correct

L:- So, zombie one isn’t there?

Me: - No

L:-Is zombie two also away?

Me:- Yes, did you read my email?

L:- Yes I did. Is zombie three there?

Me: - Did I write that he was on the email? I wrote no one in the office but me. By no one I mean not a soul, nada but for me, on my Pat Malone, bugger all, zombie free.

L:- I wasn’t sure when you said everyone was away that you meant the whole office.

Me:- Uh huh

L: So, no one’s coming in?

Me:- No Lester

L: - So, it’s just you?

Me: - Correct

L: - No one else is expected in?

Me: - Is there a point to this conversation Lester?

L:- what do you mean?
Me:- what do you want, Lester?
L:- just checking who’s in.
Me: - dead silence
L:- So, you’re not expecting anyone in.
Me: - dead silence
L:- So, it’s just you?
Me: - Bye Lester

Reply email from Lester. “Thank you for your email advising the absences in the office. Please advise when the staff come in to work today.”

Fuckwit.

You know when you’re totally bored at work and you start having thoughts like…

- What would happen if Martians landed at the office looking for intelligent life? Would they be disappointed?
- Do beautiful people get bored shitless or are they in jobs as beautiful as themselves and everything is – well – beautiful?
- Are beautiful people shallow?
- Are non-beautiful people deep?
- River deep, mountain high – a profound emotional image or just stating the facts?
- If a zombie hunter came in and rounded up all the office zombies and took them away in chains would I notify corporate office first or have lunch and then mention it in an email the next day supposing I remembered to?
- Can you die from not having sex?
- Can you die from too much sex?
- Are vampires picky when it comes to blood type? Was that mentioned in Twilight?
- If mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, what about cows? Why don’t they get mentioned? Is it discrimination? If so how do we combat that?
- Are boring people born boring or do that have boredom thrust upon them?
- Thrust or parry?

And the boredom beat goes on… 

The Amarinda Chronicles...

My name is Amarinda Jones. I am the only one of my kind here. I am trapped. With them. The soulless ones. Eight hours a day I keep vigilant and refuse to become one of them. I tell myself I am too strong, too proud and too independent to be dulled down by their monotonous rituals. I refuse to give in to the dull, colourless and boring ways of these creatures. What are they? I speak the name of the undead for I am unafraid of the consequences. I have lived too long with these creatures to fear them. They are the office zombies.

They rarely speak or if they do it’s in a language I have no knowledge of. They mumble and grunt, each nodding before scuttling back to their dull, grey existence in behind walls that encompass them. I sit, ruler in one hand and pen in the other waiting for an attack of the bland and the boring, fearing their dullness will rub off on me, and I too, will be doomed as they are. Ever ready to flee, my Doc Marten double strapped Mary Jane’s stand ready beside by sock covered feet.

My only communication is with the outside world. The sound of the phone signals hope. The delivery man smiles and chats not knowing that I work with them. The zombies. But then how could he? He is normal. They are not. They search for food and only look at me when on the prowl for it. I hiss at them and stand my ground, in my stockinged feet, drawing myself to my magnificent height of 5 foot two, defying them to come closer for I am ready.

My only hope and sustenance is the hands on the clock edging ever closer to the hour I can escape, for a while, from the creatures.

I know there are kindred souls in similar outposts to my own holding their own against monotony, ignorance and gluttony. We are one. We are many. We prevail.