Much like the oarsmen on a longboat traversing the waves of the north Atlantic ocean heading out to battle in an unknown land with only the motivation to not die, we sit here in our office of Perpetual Ineptitude. The way in which our desks are aligned in relationship to each other is much like a classroom where we all face in the same direction. We don't have any walls thus making our workplace cubical-free. Behind us, in the back of the room, sits the whipping seat; the desk where the boss sits and overlooks us much like a warlord overseeing his abused and mistreated warriors. Day in and day out, we are reminded of our worthlessness, our incompetence, and our allegiance to the code machine to which we are imprisoned.His seat, however, benefits from the luxury of secrecy and anonymity by having his eyes over our shoulders while hiding his nefarious deeds from the prying eyes of his over-worked and beaten subjects, conveniently aiming his monitor away from those who could see. To quell any talk of rebellion or outrage, he speaks light of any situation that we may feel too harsh, desperately trying to find common ground with the likes of us to help lessen the perceived gap between boss and underling. Truly, he is a master of deception and propaganda, but the peons are not fooled. They see through the clever disguise just waiting for the right time to spring into action and steer this mercenary ship back home.
