Nobody Has Time to Work Anymore. Everybody is on social media all the time.
I joined Facebook, then I joined a group on Facebook, then I joined some individual Facebook pages.
Everybody is writing everywhere and posting twenty-four hours a day, eight days a week.
And nobody writes in anonymity. Somehow they’re reading what other people are writing while they’re writing themselves.
No way my boss can be on social media. He’s at work. I’ll tell him what I think while I have toast and coffee for breakfast. “I’ve got to go to work today. I hate my job. My boss is a slob. How did he get to be boss? I’m smarter than he is. There is no way he will see this.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. It’s my boss. “See me when you get to the office.”
I’m on break now. That meeting with the boss didn’t go real well. He told me he gave me 4.99 demerits for my remarks on social media, and when I got 5.00 I was out the door. For you youngsters, demerits were used in old school days to indicate bad behavior. Enough demerits and you went to the principal’s office.
I’ll sit down and post a few words while I’m on break. “My boss is the greatest boss in the world. He’s absolutely brilliant. They should give him a promotion.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. “This is the CEO of the company. Cut out the bull.”
It’s nice of this restaurant to have computers while people eat lunch. I’ll just post a few words. “”Did you notice that ____ has those long painted fingernails. They can be used as daggers.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. “Meathead, I’ll be waiting for you when you get back to the office.”
Ah, afternoon break. Fifteen minutes of blessed silence. Wait a minute, I’ll use the computer in here to tell Aunt Rosa what I think. Aunt Rosa doesn’t even have a computer. No way she’ll ever read this. “Dear Aunt Rosa, I love you, but your spaghetti last Sunday, eh.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. It’s Aunt Rosa. “Junior brain. You ever had a plate of spaghetti dumped on your head.”
It’s 5:45. I’m late leaving work today. I’ll just post this before I go. Nobody’s here. “The maintenance people didn’t empty my trash basket yesterday. They’re not doing their job.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. “We’ll be up shortly to dump you out the ninth floor window with your trash basket. The maintenance crew.”
That was a good supper. Who can I send a message to that can’t possibly read it? Uncle Joe, he’s on his last breath in a nursing facility. All those tubes they have him connected to. “Uncle Joe. You know I love you.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. “Bubblebrain. Quit lying. You’re in the will anyway. Uncle Joe.”
Twelve o’clock at night. Everybody’s gone to bed. Think I’ll insult that guy in North Korea. “Chung Ho Chow. This is me. Stuff it.”
Wait, I’m getting a reply. Does anyone know how to read North Korean?