I've talked about doing various violent things to various stupid people before. Doing so holds a two-fold purpose. One, it lets me get out all my frustrations and my issues with said people before it wells up to the point where it becomes perfectly reasonable to bring a handgun and a melee weapon (preferably a sword or something) to work and start cleaning the place out. On most days, such impulses are well-contained and are used to fuel the malignant little voice in my head that represents the darker side present in every human being. It also allows me to keep my creative skills from becoming dull and useless, which is something I desperately need to prevent if I'm going to stay in this line of work. Let's face it, the way things are with me and my work, I need to find ways to keep myself creative or I'll drown.
I find it actually rather funny that this is the second time one of my blogs has gotten me into a bit of controversy. Albeit this instance is different for a variety of reasons.
For one thing, the last time this sort of thing happened, I had a deeply-rooted respect for my immediate supervisors, team leaders, and editors. That time, I lacked respect for the person who was calling the shots from his high-horse. This instance? I still respect my editor, but my immediate supervisor? Well, to be honest, the others are more capable of pointing out her management flaws and are less tolerant, if only because I've lived through worse. My issue with her lies in her inherent idiocy. She seems utterly incapable of putting together even one cohesive article without the need for someone else to re-work the damn thing into something even remotely readable.
Another difference here lies in what sort of trouble I've gotten myself into, if I really have gotten myself into any.
In the first instance, the trouble didn't really last. I was gone from the company soon after, which was fine by me. They made up some ridiculous reason that no sane employee of the office really bought into. This was because I spoke the truth. Well, not really. To be honest, it wasn't even really an opinion to begin with. It was a series of counter-points to an e-mail that the boss sent us, likely in an effort to boost morale or quality or somesuch. Unfortunately for him, people either didn't read it (a shame, really, because Steve Pavlina is very good at what he does) or thought as I did: it was little more than his hypocrisy at work, not to mention his belief that he can pull the wool over the eyes of everyone in his company. I merely countered it point for point not on the merits of the work itself, but on the delusion that the words it contained actually applied to the nature of my work at Intelligraph.
They hated me for it because of two reasons (again!). First, I exposed their hypocrisy right then and there. They have this little habit of sending out motivational e-mails, never citing where they came from. Most of us didn't bother to really read them, but I often took the time to analyze them. More often than not, I found that they couldn't have written any of the things they were sending, but I admit I admired their ability to cover their tracks. Without knowing about their sources, I couldn't trace the original authors. Until they made that fateful mistake. They left in the URL to their source. That was proof enough for me, as they simply copypasta'd the damn thing from the site to the e-mail. Even if they did take out some of it, the fact that they neglected to remove mention of Steve Pavlina's site was a stupid, amateurish mistake. I capitalized.
This second instance, on the other hand, is more closely tied to the fact that I've come to embrace various aspects of my personality that can be branded 'insane' by most standards. I've been described as sadistic, as cruel, as psychotic, as sociopathic, and a whole range of similar adjectives that normal people don't want to be associated with. And for the most part, I enjoy it. I enjoy the fact that my interests and tastes often give other people the chills. I enjoy the fact that my blissful enjoyment of films like Battle Royale and Audition puts even horror movie veterans at a bit of unease. I'm not one to socialize and I'm not that fond of other people, despite the fact that I can work well enough with them. Just don't expect me to socialize outside of the work environment, where I need to do so. But some people tend to reach out to loners, for reasons I fail to understand. So I cultivate fear. It isn't true horror, the kind that brings nightmares to people. But it works for my purpose, which is to keep people from getting too close.
Of course, my sadistic tendencies (particularly when I'm angry or when I'm writing) can easily be misinterpreted. Due to some recent news, I'm starting to think my immediate supervisor believes I'm out to kill her. Frankly, the thought did cross my mind, but I realized it wouldn't have been very satisfying. No, a true Devil would exact a more long-term campaign. Destroy the finances, the mind, and the emotions. Only then would a true Devil enact the brutish, puerile act of physical torment. In other words, I'd rather see my enemies ruined from the top down first before I bring out any of my little friends. But those sorts of campaigns tend to be expensive and, frankly, I haven't the energy in me to plan another one of those right now.
Despite the fact that I try to detach myself from the office grapevine whenever possible, it becomes rather inevitable that I end up catching wind of some things. Like somebody sending a certain supervisor a picture of her being stabbed or something. It could be an animated picture, my source wasn't entirely sure. Naturally, the target, having read Reckoning, has linked this to me and considers it a part of some twisted pattern. Please. As if I could actually animate. I can draw, but I hardly have the inclination, the tools, and the scanner. Besides, if I was going to do something of that sort, I'd be a lot more careful about it. For one thing, I'd be smart enough to do what needed to be done to make sure it never got to her. At least, not until the time was right.
Besides, this is hardly my style. If I wanted to force a confrontation, sending a picture would not have been my path to doing it. I would have done more than just write a simple short story designed to relieve my anger about it. I'd have written something utterly scathing, as I did with that dumbass owner of Intelligraph Corporation, Gene Cruz. I wouldn't even have bothered to cover it up with some silly pseudonym like "The Incompetence," though I did entertain the idea of using "Incompetent Simian" over the course of writing it. I'd have written about it, seeing as how I can't draw to save my life and I have no scanner.
You might be wondering what I intend to do about this. Simple. I intend to do nothing about it beyond this post. This sort of thing is something that happens in any office, anywhere. It just so happens that I'm crazy enough to admit to my more eccentric tastes and I can be brutally, brutally honest about my darker impulses and how incompetent (or not) I think someone is. So I'll ride this one out and see what I can discern from it. Besides, I do so enjoy observing the psychology of fear. That's it. I'm not going to do anything. I intend to carry on as I always do. Do my work, find ways to alleviate boredom when I'm done, play chess with one of the voices in my head, and enjoy myself when I get home. Nothing out of the ordinary for me.
If they want to run around like headless chickens, let them. Me? This is nothing.
I'll go home later, fire up my laptop, and play a little Baldur's Gate II. Maybe when I finish my save, I'll run through the Classic Adventures mod. Blush reminds me of a very dear, sadly departed friend of mine, so I'm sort of partial to her as my favorite NPC from CA.
Anyway, to lighten the mood:
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