Hey, I finished that memo you asked me to do. I really tried, but, to be honest, I was struggling to give a shit. I hope you understand. I don’t actually hope you understand, I just hope you don’t give much of a shit either. I guess it’s better to clear the air here: do you give a shit? Wait, don’t answer, because I don’t give a shit. I’ll just “hope” to do better tomorrow when I’ve had more coffee to perk me up, or methamphetamines to make me really fucking insanely interested in memos.
Is there anything else you need from me today? I’d be happy to give it a go, but, to be honest, it’s probably not going to turn out well. I’m feeling down about the fact that you asked me to write a half-page memo, one-half of which is just the “To,” “From,” “Subj,” and “CC” lines. I’m pretty sure you could have done it yourself, considering that there are templates for these things, and I know you already know how to set your margins to “obese.” I did spend a lot of time playing with fonts, though, in an effort to make it look like you’re yelling at everyone. I eventually settled on “Stencil,” which made the two-sentence memo look even longer, while giving the impression that it was carefully spray-painted at a crafting table. I know you want people to think you care, so you’re welcome.
Now I’d just like to go home and catch up on The Walking Dead, which I think of as a period drama about office politics. Do you watch that show? No? You sure? Good—you remind me of Dale. Anyway, I also have an unopened box of Cheez-Its that I’d love to eat, possibly because of the marijuana I smoked in the restroom and that weirdly no one here ever says anything about. You do know that’s not a peppermint skunk, right? That is weed—very terrible-smelling weed.
Oh, man. I’m starting to have second thoughts about telling you how I feel. This will probably come up on my annual review, won’t it? I mean, I know I’ll still get a “met expectations,” but I’m concerned you might put in something like “has an honest approach” or “communicates effectively.” I do not want to be promoted beyond being an intern. If I get paid for this job, people will stop laughing nervously and saying I’m “keeping it real.” There will be complaints about my mail-delivery drone and requests for my truly awful batch of weed. I can’t have that, boss-dude. Please just fire me. Please!
What did you say? Whatever—sure, I’ll be your CFO. Can I move accounting to Iowa? Whoa, you said yes. Alright, this just got real.
The next time you need a job done well, feel free to ask me. I’m always happy to pitch in and half-ass it. Actually, can you quarter-ass something? Because that’s what I’m doing. But before I go, I did have one idea that I think might improve morale around here, besides your excellent, ghost-written, all-capital memos. I think you should let people know it’s okay not to like each other, as long as they can work well with each other, bitch behind their backs, and take some fucking methamphetamines every now and then. Then maybe everyone would write their own memos.