Saddened Hearts, Slut, Mud and Phlegm

SADDENED HEARTS, SLUT, MUD & PHLEGM (SHSM&P) is an international megafirm for which I worked for 10 years. I have changed the firm's name for this post. I have done this not only to make it more descriptive but also to protect the innocent–me.

I worked as the staff illustrator for the firm's weekly international newsletter. Basically, my job was to add interest through my editorial drawings and cartoons to an endless stream of otherwise dull, self-serving articles about the firm's dubious business coups, without stepping on any political toes. I did this with great aplomb. In fact, in all modesty, I can say I became a genius at being amusing and bland simultaneously, which is not an easy thing to do. In retrospect, I might have become one of the great cartoonists of our time if my drawing hands had not been blandcuffed. Well, that's humor ... err ... um ... water ... under the bridge. (Or over the damned-I'm never quite sure which is the appropriate cliche.)

And speaking of water, there came a time when SHSM&P entered difficult financial straits. "In terrorem," they claimed–"due to an act of God." It couldn't have been their fault. Poor dears. Many of the firm's higher-ups took salary hits in the six figures. And some had to suddenly develop a keen interest in marine biology–a euphemism for being de-partnered. That's when SHSM&P decided to "right size" the rest of the firm. That's "right size," they proudly told their soon-to-be jobless employees–not "down size," even though downsizing is what they were doing, which, of course, is a euphemism for firing.

The managing director, Mr. Saddened Hearts himself, who had a heart for art, was saddened indeed because he was under intense criticism from the philistines he worked with for paying for art for the newsletter. Hearts, with saddened heart, disingenuously avoided personal responsibility for this by saying he had no idea the firm was paying for my art. Maybe he thought I was operating a charity art service for the fabulously wealthy? Furthermore, he had signed my timesheet every week for ten years, indicating his approval of both my time, my work and my paycheck. Nonetheless, illustrations were cut from the newsletter along with my job. I saw cadmium red! I was as angry as a trapped lioness. I charged in to see Mr. Hearts about this, who, being a kindly and benevolent leader, heartlessly roared, "Don't tell me your troubles."

At lunch over a wonderfully appropriate bowl of pasta puttanesca, Ms. Slut, my supervisor, told me that SHSM&P was reorganizing and had plans for a more important position for me on the newsletter. But, she added, for various bureaucratic reasons, my future position was not quite ready to go. Would I mind helping out on some other work assignments until the new position started, she asked. Of course, I said. She then sent me on a series of assignments that seemingly were designed to kill me or for which I was absurdly over- or under-qualified. The most outrageous of these jobs was operating a pollutant-spewing shrink-wrap machine in a hot, unventilated room with no protective gloves or face mask. I explained that I would be glad to help out as a shrink-wrap operator. However, I had never operated one, didn't particularly wish to breath in carcinogens and didn't want to get OSHA involved in looking into the conditions under which SHSM&P's employees were asked to work that particular job.

Another assignment was to stuff and seal thousands of envelopes by hand and tongue because that machine was on the fritz. Unfortunately for Slut and the firm, I had watched the Seinfeld episode in which George Constanza's fiance died from licking envelope flaps, so I flat out refused to lend a tongue.

Sometimes I was sent to cover for a secretary who was out sick. This was invariably distressing to all concerned because I had no secretarial skills whatsoever. On one of those occasions, when I heard "take a letter" I replied , "to where?" Short of scrubbing the bathroom floors, I got all of the worst assignments that were to be had. My bad reviews were piling up. Suddenly it occurred to me that Ms. Slut (puttanesca personified), was trying to discourage and enrage me into quitting. She wanted me to leave in a huff.

One day Mud, Slut's boss, called me in to sling some mud at me. He noted my growing stack of negative reviews and asked if there was anything the firm could do to help me perform my assignments more satisfactorily. I replied that if the firm really wanted to help me, it could stop harassing me in the hopes that I would quit.

The final indignity came on an assignment with Phlegm. Mr. Phlegm was at his most phlegmboyant that day. He kept drooling, snorting and licking his lips every time he passed me. I thought that was part of being phlegmatic. But then, he licked them a little too slowly while handing me a gift, a CD. At first I thought he was trying to be nice, but then I saw that the title of the CD he had bestowed upon me was Drums of Passion. I put two and two together and passionately drummed my way out of that phlegmy letch's office, nearly slipping on all that slime as I ran out.

Not surprisingly, there never was a more important position for me at the Newsletter in the works. That was a pretense so Slut could put me into unsavory situations to goad me into quitting. SHSM&P knew it; I knew it; SHSM&P knew I knew it; my lawyer knew it and SHSM&P knew my lawyer knew it. But we all pretended that we didn't. I think I won the battle because, one day, with no further ado, Slut and Mud fired me and simultaneously handed me an extremely generous severance check. I guess that was the prize for winning. They said the check was for all the excellent work I had done for the firm for the past ten years and the perfect performance ratings I had gotten until recently. Shaking their heads, they added that they had no idea what could have caused an employee's performance to slip so precipitously.

As I left SHSM&P headquarters for the last time, I took a circuitous route. I wanted to have a look in the shrink-wrap room. I am very happy to report that the shrink–wrap operator was wearing a facemask and gloves and that the windows were wide open.

Paint on,
Depingo