I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 115 - Katching Up

Here are some updates on recent posts.

From Day 85 - Orange Kounty:

Attila the Son has been checking the mailbox every day in rabid expectation. The object of his affection appeared today in all its glory. Yes, an autographed poster of Paul Teutel Jr, reality TV star, motorcycle designer and difficult son of an impossible father.

From Day 114 - Klown Support Vehicle:

Here were some other interesting floats. The giant Holstein represents Kwik Trip because they, of course, are the company we think of first when considering healthy beverages for children. (This means that there is a dairy some place with an enormous slurpee...)

The ladies in turquoise comprise the Bev's Club. The writing on their shirts indicates that they are all named Bev. They throw Mardi Gras beads to the onlookers. (I tried several jokes here but I leave it to your own twisted minds to think up the best one.)

The Bevs remind me of an early Porkus employee named Mike Johnson. Unlike most of my other Porkus references, this was his actual name which I am using without modification for reasons that will become clear shortly. Mike was frustrating to some since he had an ability to focus reminiscent of Ozzie Osbourne in recent years. I generally tolerated him, though he lobbied me at least weekly to intercede with management to implement his pet project, an Internet employee chat room. Each week, he seemed to have completely misplaced the reasons why I thought this was a terrible idea and would appear hanging over my cubicle wall to announce that he'd just had a wonderful "new" idea -- an Internet employee chat room. One week, he was uncharacteristically silent about his obsession but bubbly about the latest website discovery where he was spending hours of each workday. It was a club for the tens of thousands of men named Michael Johnson. They were going to have a big party and wanted to get (wait for it) Michael Johnson to perform.

The Bevs at least built a float.

Last Drop
Overheard at the parade: One elderly gentleman greets another -- "You're lookin' pretty good for the way you look."

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