There was a department party last night. Or as the chief idiot likes to call it, a major event. By which he means that he gets to get patted on the back for my work.
The chief idiot waved me over to his circle of fellow intellectually challenged managers, only to hand me his drink and ask for a refill. I don't believe, waiter, is part of my job description. My many talents do not include forced labour.
He never once introduced me to his fellow managers or the Federation lynch mob bigwigs that he was talking to. Of course, I have no right to know anything. In the Federation food chain, I am plankton. When you refer to them later, my shrewd deductions will identify them.
It was such a thoroughly detestable enjoyable experience that the next time, I will come prepared with body armour. Wouldn't want to make it too easy for all the back-stabbers managers. Their lies praise was so moving that I am even more motivated to let them to fix their own messes.
Next time they decide on the menu guest list, I will strongly recommend that my name not be included.
Note to self: Plan debilitating illness for the next scheduled department party.