the finer dandy

…more like borderline harassing.

In all honesty, I don’t have a solid grasp on the concept of a union. All I know is that it’s a group of people within a certain industry that band together in order to make the workplace a better place for all of us journalists.

Wait a second…the term “better workplace” is like an oxymoron.

Nonetheless, since our plummeting newspaper is running on fumes and we are headed for a catastrophic crash landing, the union has been organizing itself so that it will get itself recognized by the head honchos who are pimping our talent.

Hold on, let me back up.

First off, the newspaper doesn’t recognize our union. Therefore, it doesn’t recognize our need to be treated fairly.

That said, the people at the union have been calling me and trying to get me to sign a “card” which is basically a ticket for the union bandwagon.

First, they called me on my cell phone. How the hell did they get that? After I didn’t return their call, they called me on my work phone to ask permission to call me on my cell phone. Then, the lady on the other end of the phone said, “I heard you’re planning on leaving.”

How the hell did that bit of info get out? Do union spies have my apartment bugged? Did they place video cameras in my bedroom? Have they been watching me pleasure myself to soft core porn?

Whatever. In all honesty, I don’t care about this union shit. I feel like if I join this haphazard union, I will be welcoming a whole lot of trouble. Plus, it will make me feel like I am officially a part of this newspaper group - and let’s face guys, I am looking for other opportunities.

Do I want to be at this newspaper for the rest of my life? I don’t think so.

I feel like Stanley from The Office in this whole ordeal. I am so blasé about it. I just want to get my work done and get a paycheck. I mean, I’ve already come to terms with being a journalistic whore. I don’t think that signing this magical card will really solve anything. Sure, it might help the cause, but it won’t be immediate gratification. And I’m an immediate gratification kind of guy. Hopefully, my days of hookin’ my writing will be over soon and I don’t have to deal with all this mess.

I want to be my own PIMP. This way, I can ho around how I please.