Every fucking week I drag my world-weary suspicious self into the old office gig, I am rewarded with another episode of “is this place fucking real or what?”

It is the opposite of all other toil in which I have heretofore participated. Not entirely, ’cause it’s still work and I spend my days in slogging minutia as is typical of an office job. No ones paying me to think great thoughts in my pajamas, which to me would be the definitive “good job.”

Still and all, it mostly doesn’t suck. The other day there was a fire drill. It was a real drill, because they truly needed to test the alarms. And, it turned out the volume didn’t quite make it. But, as the drill happened (and mind you they handed out shit about why it was necessary all community-like and treated folks like grown ups and, as they might say, “stakeholders”) any way as the ring a ding ling a ding warning was subsiding, someone wheeled out a cart of hot coffee and hot cocoa. And, piece de resistance, two fucking different sized marshmallows, man. Mini bitty ones and the classic marshmallow cylinder.

Ain’t that the fucking height of drill luxury. Hot fucking cocoa.

Today, though, my reward was high amusement. For someone who has gotten into shit her whole life for a somewhat bawdy sense of humor, imagine my shock and giddiness over watching a chick hang a poster of the widest variety of condoms I’ve seen. Unfurled in their glory with instructions for use. Quite risque.

Naturally, I walked up to her to announce my disgusted offense at her pro-recreational sex propaganda. She gave me ten condoms each a differen color, flavor or configuration for my troubles.

Fucked up, man. This is my office job.