Agamemnon missed it, too

I have been quite busy with work lately, and I have nothing interesting to say about it. This doesn't mean I won't talk about it, just that it isn't interesting.

On Thursday, FBI agents and bomb-sniffing dogs did a floor-by-floor security sweep in preparation for the International Children's Games, featuring an appearance by the President. Of the United States. They did not find my collection of illegally downloaded MP3s. Or anybody else's, I imagine.

I've been dealing with a lot of mouth breather problems this past week: people who need my professional help just to export their address books, people who don't bother rebooting their Windows machines before calling to ask me "if e-mail's down or something", and one woman who goes through mice the way most people go through a bag of Hershey's Miniatures.

For my birthday a couple of years ago, Erica bought me a Futurama plaque. It's a 1950s-style propaganda sign that says "You're not paid to think \ A mindless worker is a happy worker \ Shut up and do your job." I loved it as soon as I laid eyes on it. It's been on my desk for about two years now, and when you own something for that long, it becomes almost invisible. You see it, but you don't really notice it anymore.

I moved into a new office last month, and I've been trying to hang it up without punching a hole in the wall ever since. The other day, I read it. I mean I actually, truly read the words and understood them. The words grew a new meaning, and the name of that meaning was "truth". It wasn't just another joke plaque, like the ones you frequently see asking if it's Friday yet or advising that insanity is not a job requirement, but highly advisable. It was tragically apropos; a melancholy Kassandra resting in my cubicle and watching me die just a little bit more every day, wondering why I couldn't see what it saw. "You're not paid to think." It wasn't a command, it was a warning. Now I get it, and it's too late.