A Man to be Trifled With

“I’m not a man to be trifled with!” I howled.

Jenkins bowed his head and returned to his cubicle. I smiled, satisfied I’d showed him who’s boss, and returned to my office.

Upon my return I saw it. My desk, chair, everything was affixed to the ceiling. My computer, upside-down, sat bolted to the desk. They’d even stripped the carpet and reassemble it piecemeal upon the ceiling. I’d no idea how many people it’d taken, but it happened while I’d been screaming at Jenkins.

It was then I realized.

I am, it would seem, a man to be trifled with.

Why I'll Never Work in an Office

The meeting was going poorly. Very poorly.

My presentation, finished last minute, wasn’t up to standard, Mr. Ferguson felt that were it given at the client meeting, we’d lose the account. He was adamant I rewrite it before tomorrow, even if it meant an all nighter.

I don’t deal well with pressure. He was screaming.

So I swept the leg, Cobra Kai style.

He hit the floor before he even knew what happened, clutching his mangled knee and screaming. My co-workers stared a moment, in shock, then burst into hysterical laughter.

Needless to say, I’m currently unemployed.

Totally worth it.