My Resident Smart Ass
I’m a funny, witty type of guy. Atleast I think so. And then every once in while I get put in my place.
The rumor mill at work was rampant about some shifting personnel stuff, so I sent an email out to my team telling them to calm down and everything was okay.
I got a response from my resident smart ass (RSA) and the conversation was as follows:
RSA: So you're saying that we are not all being shipped out and replaced with a team of unicorns from Atlantis who are willing to work for tomato pulp? Cause that's what I heard from a highly reliable source.
Me: Hmm, my highly reliable source says the Atlantean unicorns only eat golden hay that has been sprinkled with pixie dust so they grow to be 6 feet tall.
RSA: Ok, so my source may have been a bit off on the produce types. Interesting that you didn't deny anything else in there.
Me: No the rest is absolutely true. The Atlantean unicorns are cheaper than our usual code monkeys, I mean, valued employees. How they can code so fast and so well with their hooves is just beyond me. Must be that unicorn magic.
RSA: Damn those Atlantean unicorns! This is the third job that I've lost to them. I think it might be time to look for another occupation. I hear there are plenty of openings in the golden hay farms.
Me: Yeah, but you don't want to know how they make the hay "golden". You'll never eat bread again.
RSA: I interned at one of those pixie dust plants a couple summers ago. Can't be worse then that.
Me: Did they make you wear the haz mat suits? If not, you might be contagious.
RSA: The operations necessary to extract the pixie dust from pixies were far too delicate to be performed with haz mat suits on. All I can say is that I'll never be able to look a pixie in the eyes again.
Me: I quit. You win.
And then I cleaned up the Coke I had snorted all over my computer screen.