Semi-Daily Scribbles

Ralph, the guy in the cubicle next to me, is talking to a demon. I’m 94% sure it’s a demon, anyway. Next-level fucking creepy.

So, let me set the stage:

I’m sitting here at work, scrambling to get this stupid spreadsheet to add up so I can report out on the status of how many thingumabobs are left to receive to close out the Intrepid Project in about, oh, I’d say 7 minutes. And then I hear it. Ralph starts speaking in a hushed voice, only it’s not his voice. The sound coming out of his mouth is a raspy, guttural stage-whispered “I don’t know.” Don’t know what? And who/what is it that wants to know? And once Ralph decides to answer the question posited by this satanic overlord / boss / puppet master of his eternal soul, what other bidding will Ralph be commanded to carry out? Like maybe as it might pertain to the health and safety of certain cubicle mates, and in particular…me? Bad enough Corporate America is rife with hypocrisy and questionable business practices, but are there now no guardrails to keep us safe from Inter-Dimensional Dark Forces intent on enslaving the soul of this here gal that just really needs to pay off her student loans? Hopefully before she hits retirement age?