Open Doors Day

LN and I are not particularly traditional people; not in our choices, our lifestyles, or our beliefs.  Therefore, when the upper management at our shitty job decided to arrange an Open Doors Day – to invite all the employees with families to bring their husbands, wives, babies, children, moody teenagers to the office to introduce them to the shitty ways they spend their day – we decided to fuck with it a bit.


Needless to say, we don’t have husbands, wives, babies, children, or moody teenagers, but we felt it was somewhat discriminatory to be left out, just because we choose to fill our lives with bananas, with art, travel and commitment-free sex.  It was then that LN came upon a magnificent idea: we would pick up some random men from a bar and bring them along, preferably drunk.


We profiled our perfect picks: they should be tall (so as to be able to look down on people), impossibly handsome (for obvious reasons), rich would be a bonus (so they could say things like: “Oh, this looks a bit like my office in San Fran, but smaller, and uglier.”), and most of all they should make it very obviously, at every opportunity, just how much they worshiped and adored us for being the most luminous women they have ever had the luck to meet randomly in a bar (thus making it clear to everyone, just how below us this shitty job really is).


After carefully putting together the specification, we made a list of the places we might be to meet these unicorn-men.  We decided upscale business hotels in the centre of our city would be a good start.  We planned outfits: not too Pretty Women, not too Miss Moneypenny, we set the date in our diaries, we were ready to go.


Then the shitty management at our shitty job did the shittiest thing imaginable: they cancelled the Open Doors Day, due to lack of interest.


An Every-Day Day Dream


Sometimes you don’t need any outside stimulus in order to start a day dream.  This day dream was born out of feeling already dreamy, in part due to a hangover and in part due to needing very much to escape somewhere else for a little while.

I am walking towards the office one ordinary day, actually, it is not an ordinary day, it is worst than an ordinary day: it is a day with clouds, clouds that suggest that even beyond the clouds, there is more grey and cloudy sky, beyond, beyond until we are out of the earth’s atmosphere.  

I walk into the building and up to my desk.  My desk is clean and polished because the day before I had taken a day off and so the cleaner was able to clean it well in my absence.  I feel rested because of this day off, but also less like working than normal.  This day off was a random Wednesday and so I have to battle with the knowledge that I have two more full days until the weekend.

I am unpacking my things and getting ready to start the day not with a heavy heart, but not too light either.  A middle-management looking man walks up to me, he is wearing a beige suite and is middle-aged: everything about him is middling.  He tells me his name and says that the day before he had received a phone call about me, that he represents some kind of customer relationship initiative.  A customer had contacted him to tell him that I had helped them enormously in something one day the week before.  However, not in something related to the job, nothing practical, but instead I had made them feel better and happier about something very deep and fundamental to their life.  I had touched them somehow.  He has come to congratulate me.  I am moved and everyone nearby who has heard this news looks at me in a loving way because I have helped a fellow human being feel slightly less alone in the world, slightly less terrified of their own insignificance and (suspected) worthlessness.

For the rest of the day, there is a glow near to where the middling, middle-aged man in the beige suit had stood to give his news.  It radiates out, and for that day everyone in the office and everyone who those people come into contact with feel a warmth and a connection with the energy and the atoms and the vibrations that make us all up.  For one day only we are all under the same consoling blanket.

A Man With Answers


In the middle of our work day. A new request comes in, John de Ganna, working at Answers Quest, will innocently provide is, a perfect day laugh. A man without ganas but with answers.

We (as in this space’s Managers) have always had this passionate appreciation towards the word ganas, ’cause in English there is no such word. If we were obliged to define it, it’d be something like ‘not in the mood of’. So out of this guy’s name and job, we developed his ‘new’ life.

“Seems like the perfect guy for me” says MJ after I send her this man’s peculiar name and company. “I want to marry him so I can take his name!!”

Well, that would certainly be an interesting man to marry. He has answers to everything -from the banal to the existential-. No matter what your question is about, he knows the answer. He works on this!

MJ: “He has all the answers!! The perfect husband!”

“Or… the worst…if you think about it, cause he knows it all”. Oh yes, John de Ganna could really, without effort, make your life miserable with his constant perfect and not-so-perfect answers towards everything.

MJ: “Oh yeah – could backfire…. “Darling – do you know where the clitoris is?” Answer: “Of course dear!”

“HAHAHAHHAHAHA” And this is where I prove my point…”John Dear, If you know then… how come…???
I don’t cum?” Ugh, no. That can’t be right. It would be useless to have a man with answers.

“Darling – I think that all great Literature was written before 1900 – don´t you?”
Answer: “No, I disagree – the greatest work of fiction ever written was 50 Shades of Grey”
“This is Bad!  Yin and yang innit?”

“jajajjajaja totally!” If we are sincere enough.. he wouldn’t match your likes, he would just have answers. Worst!
AMERICAN ANSWERS. FUCK NO!!! I’m thinking John is more of a nightmare than a lovely husband. 

Vikings show their softer side


Late one night, at that time when you are feeling tired because it is very nearly the time to call it a day and go home to your real life, a call came in from Viking Sewing Machines. We let our tired minds wander and we set sail on a day dream of bearded thugs with a secret penchant for beautiful clothes….

*background noise of a dozen sewing machines rattling away busily*

“Hey, hey, hey – Bob. Bob!  Have you got the seam ripper? I just sewed this lining to the front of the dress instead of the back. Honestly, I don’t know where my head is today!”

Bob looks across the ship’s filthy hold where remnants from last night´s feast are rolling around the floor beneath the sewing tables.

“You are a silly billy sometimes Archibald, you need to be more patient, then you wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

Archibald hands the seam ripper to Bob.

“I know Archie, but I’m just so excited about having this new outfit to wear to the next Rape ‘n’ Pilage that I want to make sure that it is finished in time”

Archie and Bob look up suddenly, as a ruckus breaks out by some of the other sewing tables.

“What’s going on guys?!” Bob asks.

“Oh, it’s just that Vince and I both wanted to use the same seersucker for this waistcoat, but I think it suits me best and that the poplin would suit Vince’s shape better.”

Just then a kitten scampers across the floor and momentarily distracts the Vikings. The Vikings then look at each other confusedly as if to say ‘what were we taking about?’ Then laugh and go back to their work.

Blog at

Up ↑