A Dispatch from the Outpost
/Dearest Readers, I am writing to you from the vast frontier known as Cubicleland. As I sit here at my desk, my work illuminated only by the flickering fluorescent lights, I swear I can hear the lonesome coyote howling outside. These are difficult times and I am writing this on actual paper, wide-ruled no less. Dark, dark times indeed. My office computer has been taken down by a virus, likely the result of contact with the white European settlers that are so plentiful in this place. I cannot do anything without my computer so I find myself huddled in the corner of my cubicle, lost and alone. I don't know how long I shall be able to continue this letter because the air conditioning has kicked on and I am shivering from the cold. I have no blankets, only napkins from Chipotle, and I have yet to fashion a coat out of them for myself. That is clearly a high priority. It is me against the elements and I can only pray that help arrives soon.
Though I would like to sound brave, I must admit that my morale is low as I consider the gravity of my situation. My iPod is only 1/2 charged. My personal Blackberry is being drained by my desperate attempts to communicate with the outside world via 140 character messages sent out into the ether. If things should become dire, I do have a land line though it's poorly lit screen and limited options confound. As for sustenance, I have 1/3 of a Diet Coke left. I also have 2 packages of Mentos gum, 4 packets of ketchup and 3 packets of soy sauce. There is a vending machine nearby but I am afraid to leave for fear that help will arrive in my absence. So, there is nothing for me to do but wait. I pass the time writing to you, hoping that somehow you will find this. My hand is not accustomed to holding pen to paper, however. It cramps and protests this most lowly act to which it has been reduced. In those moments, I must turn my attention to other activities such as building structures out of paper clips, dental floss and tampons. I am also planning to make an instrument out of rubber bands and an Altoid tin. Oh, the music I will make! These tasks challenge my mind and take my mind off of my woes. I cannot lie - it is too quiet but such quiet brings with it the opportunity for deep thought and reflection. I've been able to ponder many of life's biggest mysteries and have come to the conclusion that a tree falling in the woods would, in fact, generate sound waves regardless of the presence of witnesses. Also, I am certain that a woodchuck would chuck a great deal of wood if indeed a woodchuck did chuck wood. I continue to grapple with the chicken and egg conundrum.
Oh god. I hear something rustling outside. It could be a bear or a wolverine or, even worse, the guy that fixes the copy machine. I promise you I will be brave. I will protect my stake. I may not have a proper weapon but I've got chopsticks and garlic breath and I am prepared to fight to the death. Hopefully, I will survive. If I don't, please know that I was thinking of you at the end.
Sincerely,
Vikki