HIS BURNING NOSTRILS

Last night I dreamed of a computer company where I worked many years ago. The head of HR was convinced that I was an illegal alien who had acquired a fake American passport, and delayed my first paycheck for nearly two months while she pursued that matter, the customer service department manager tried to get me fired on a weekly basis, because I required complete substantiating documentation (as was clearly stipulated in the manuals) before sending out refunds, and the owner of the company was developing a cocaine habit that eventually swallowed the business.
Last I heard, many years ago, he was divorced, riding a motorbike, and trying to become an actor in New York.

If he's alive, he's probably still doing coke.

A brilliant man. Paranoid as all git out.

He hired a private dick to spy on people.

It was secret, but a regular expense.


Almost nobody who worked there had good memories of the place. There were three reunion parties while it still existed. All three had more ex-employee attendees than people still working there at the time.
Surprisingly, none of us ever committed murder.

So far, I've been at three computer companies. None have been entirely sane, but that first one was a slice.



If I had my life to live all over again, I might do things exactly the same.




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