Myra Lee

2004-09-22 - 10:42 a.m.

Some days I really don�t feel like writing snappy bits of ad copy. ("Blurbs," as we call them �round these parts.) I just want to write, "Please buy this crappy product. You like it. It�s shiny. It�s cheap. You shop at Wal*Mart. Buy this right now, motherfucker." Or something along those lines.

Today I was told I�m going to lunch with the company president. It�s a goodbye lunch for a coworker who�s quitting to become a youth pastor. I just hope there is no talk of religion. These coworkers of mine are pretty shameless about foisting their beliefs on innocent bystanders. In fact, there�s been a laundry list of prayer requests sitting in the printer for several days. The believers within the company have a Bible study once a week, and they e-mail each other bullet-pointed lists of prayer requests.

The first day I noticed the list sitting in the printer, I didn�t read it. I quickly glimpsed "Ike�has emphysema, doesn�t know the Lord" and I knew it wasn�t my printout. Then, the printout was still there the next day, and I told Brandis about it. She took a peek and read one that said something like "Brent�has cancer, is very bitter, had a rough upbringing, doesn�t believe in God, house burnt down." It�s been almost a week, and no one has retrieved the prayer list.

I don�t (and would never) mean to make light of cancer or any other human suffering. But there is something surreal about happening upon a list of various peoples� ailments, longings, and spiritual status in the printer at work. And I would be miffed if I was listed on that forgotten printout left to be read and misunderstood by all who print things. It�s sad, like the Dead Letter Office in Bartleby the Scrivener.

And on that note. Regarding this upcoming forced lunch: I would prefer not to.


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