"Oh goodie, Peter's typing up another white board druggie post..."
"No, I'm serious."
"Serious is not a word I would use to describe this blog."
"Then why do you still come here?"
Ha! Got you there! So, where was I? Right....
Ladybugs the ultimate civil rights law suit!
"I am not a LADY!"
Wait, white boards. That's it. So here's the deal. For the last month or so my white board has been talking to me. Not in a voice or telepathy. Just by writing on itself. It's kinda like a low budget version of Electric Dreams only I didn't spill any soda pop on it and it doesn't have a love affair with my co-workers. At least not yet...
It all started quite innocently. I noticed a message on it one day after I wrote my latest white board post. It simply stated:
"I'm board. Get it?"
I figured someone came by to see me, noticed the starkness off my message center and decided to fill it. I left it there as a passing amusement and thought little of it. Then I two weeks ago it changed.
"You know I can see you doing that?"
This, creeped me out. I mean no one wants to think about being spied upon. Do you think it could it really see me using an Internet flow charting program? Wow. That would be awkward.
"So. You're no longer using me to write out your ideas?"
"It's just less messy..."
"What's the matter with me? Why did you even request me!?"
"I though it was what I wanted. What I needed."
"Look, it's not you. It's me. I've changed. I've moved on..."
In order to circumvent what could prove a very difficult conversation I responded to it.
In bright red marker I wrote
"I know. That's why I do it."
I figured if it was a co-worker that should sufficiently give them the willies, and if it was the board, I was well on my way to yet another of my relationships built on a stack of flimsy lies. (A new run on sentence record!) Either way, win win.
Which brings us to today. A new message.
Which means I must conclude that the board has become sentient. First it mused at it's purpose in life, second it reacted to it's immediate surrounding and now it becomes self aware. I now know that it's a female white board as well. No man would ever ask that question. They would know that they were overweight by the creaking sound their bed made every nigh as they climbed into it. Additionally they would be uninterested in asking someone to give them false platitudes that would have no means to stop the sound of aforementioned timbers.
Which means that the fourth step will be indignation at perceived inequities with my stapler and fan and then it will begin talking about me behind my back with the coat rack. Oh well, at least I know what's ahead of me. Looks like I better start saving up for tiny office dishes filled with candy, floral window curtains and some cat lithographs...