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Memorandum to 136A |
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Dear Sleep Workers of 136A: Regarding the practice of subliminal smoking, let's just say that one morning it was me, outside surrounded by extinguished butts, noticing everything expiring in front of my face but what was pinched between the stain on my fingers. Often there was a somnambulist doorman sweeping away the butts on the sidewalk, but I dropped mine anyway because I assumed this task was part of his job. Once there wasn't a doorman, but I thought of him because across the street, a man was throwing up, possibly a drowse administrator or a snooze assistant who had taken on more than he could handle, allowed fellow sleepers to pile too much on his plate. This was a mess that would require plenty of action with a hose and it reminded me of the time that a man with white paint on his shoes left footprints up and down the block, only then, it took much more than a hose to clean up. Smoking on that day, the footprint day, shivering under the white winter sun as a team of doormen scoured the sidewalk with turpentine and metal brushes, I wondered if the ground would catch on fire if I threw down my butt where they were cleaning. I threw it on the street and it floated away on a milky stream of water flowing beneath the curb. I returned via sloth mule to the florescent warmth of my slumber cube and tucked myself into a long and productive sleep assignment. When I came to I was promoted to senior snooze manager and awarded a golden sleep wig along with a magnificent leather pillow. All this was of course years ago. Do I even need to go into all the issues of invisible footprinting and smoke screens as they pertain to dealing with nightmare assistants, sleep partners, and workers from neighboring slumber wards? My point is, quit smoking, because A) no more cold fingers when you surface from a long hibernation, B) you'll breath a lot easier, C) colleagues won't accuse you of hacking. |
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