So I’m not the biggest fan of my job. All the non-job bits are perfectly fine. It takes me 15 mins to cycle to work. The stress levels are nonexistent. The food court is lovely. I never have to stay late. The pay is comfortable. The chair is comfortable. The thing is, however, I work for
Wolfram & Hart. It’s all beige and corporate and made of evil. The basis of deep rooted distain is the fact I’ve been spoilt by all of my jobs. Having worked as an editorial assistant in an adventure sports magazine, copywriter in an ad agency and stable girl in the horse racing yard, there was never going to be a world where a communications writer in a law firm could possibly complete. In order to prevent myself chewing the side of the table and pulling every single one of my eyelashes out, I do things to flex my poor flaccid creative muscle. Unfortunately for my friends, the focus of these little exercises tends to be directed squarely at them.
The latest stunt (and here is the background bit) was a made for a group of mates who live near me in Toronto. Like me, they are all Irish but unlike me are very, very nice people. They are so nice and such good friends that they cannot bear to be separated from one another for even a moment. They go to parties together, they leave together. They go swimming together, shopping together, and, I’m pretty sure, to the toilet together. Because they have been assimilated into almost the one person, I nicknamed them the
Borg. Massive Star Trek fan I was as a child, the joke, though lost on them, was hi-larious to me. Then, realising they lived on a street named Albaney, they became the Alborg. More hilarity. A graphic designer friend once said to me, just because you can use photoshop doesn’t mean you should. Well, you're wrong because I just photoshopped yo head on the most insidious creatures in the Star Trek universe. Boo yeah.
