3:00 is the infinite hour
3:00 THE INFINITE HOUR. Time grinds to a halt. It's too early to think about
leaving, the food is gone from your stomach, you can't leave for a coffee break
because you spent so much time on the can earlier and someone would notice.
3:05: Are you kidding? Frantically scan the social group for something
entertaining, only to find that people are bothering about home loans
3:09: Mailing list hasn't sent anything either, Shit.
3:10:25 Check email. The send/receive button seems to be broken.
3:15-3:20 Fantasize about what the world would be like if 3:00 could just be
skipped.
3:20:38: Check email. Apparently my penis is too small, and these guys want to help!
3:25: Start revenge fantasies. If 3:00 were a person.
3:30: That rant only lasted five minutes? 3:00 must die.
3:32:41 Check email. Nothing.
3:35: Think about ambushing 3:00 before the work day tomorrow and kicking the
shit out of it. I can see the headline in the Chronicle: "Anthropomorphized time
period assaulted. Suspect busted out of the pen by cheering crowd of cubicle
slaves."
3:38:12: Write email, realize I have nothing to say. I swear, hit send/receive,
and watch the blue Outlook bar cross the screen.
3:38:18: Hey, that was fun! I do that five more times.
3:40: Drank three straight cups of water--going back and forth to the cooler is
fun!
3:45: Watching the clock on my desktop. Resetting it to atomic time over and
over doesn't make it go any faster.
3:48:19: Check email. I qualify for a home loan! Even though my name is
misspelled!
3:50: Cutting fingernails down to the quick and using the clippings to write
things into my arm. I end up with marks that make me look like a heroin addict
who can't get his shit together.
3:52: Oh, dear God, end this hell now. Somebody post a funny blog entry or let a
natural disaster strike somewhere or let Lalu say something stupid or
anything at all. I hate my computer and if that stupid idiot from Citibank calls again to help me
maximize my savings potential I will hunt down his children and turn them into a poorly done,
first-try-is-just-for practice taxidermy project.
3:53:01: Check email. That's it, I'm hiring mercenaries, invading Nigeria, and
stringing every banker in the place together by the balls, coating them in
honey, and dropping them naked into a polar bear refuge in Siberia.
3:53:09: Check email. Nothing. I hate all of my friends.
3:54: The phone rings. It's the guy from Citibank, wanting to "follow up" on a
couple of "action items."
3:56: I'm a puddle. I resolve to get hit by a car every day at 2:57 to avoid the 3:00 hour.
3:56:01.8: Check email. My dick just gets smaller, apparently.
3:57: I don't even bother praying to God any more. It's obvious He hates me, and
invented the human race for his sick sport. Otherwise He would have made the day
23 hours, instead of 24. I pray to Satan instead, offering to become a serial
killer and harvest souls for His Dark Majesty if He'll only make the next three
minutes go by at any semblance of normal speed.
3:58: Satan doesn't answer. That cheap idiot.
3:59: Attempt to pass out. Fail.
3:59:21: Check email. Nothing
3:59:29: Check email. Nothing
3:59:31: Open up the clock icon in Windows and watch the second hand go by. I
swear the programmers made it like those clocks in elementary school that tick
*back* before they tick forward. I hate Microsoft. They'd be the first souls I'd
harvest for Satan if the Prince of Darkness wasn't such a cheap idiot.
4:00: I slump to my desk, exhausted, wrung out from the weeklong hour that just
passed. In celebration, coffee!
leaving, the food is gone from your stomach, you can't leave for a coffee break
because you spent so much time on the can earlier and someone would notice.
3:05: Are you kidding? Frantically scan the social group for something
entertaining, only to find that people are bothering about home loans
3:09: Mailing list hasn't sent anything either, Shit.
3:10:25 Check email. The send/receive button seems to be broken.
3:15-3:20 Fantasize about what the world would be like if 3:00 could just be
skipped.
3:20:38: Check email. Apparently my penis is too small, and these guys want to help!
3:25: Start revenge fantasies. If 3:00 were a person.
3:30: That rant only lasted five minutes? 3:00 must die.
3:32:41 Check email. Nothing.
3:35: Think about ambushing 3:00 before the work day tomorrow and kicking the
shit out of it. I can see the headline in the Chronicle: "Anthropomorphized time
period assaulted. Suspect busted out of the pen by cheering crowd of cubicle
slaves."
3:38:12: Write email, realize I have nothing to say. I swear, hit send/receive,
and watch the blue Outlook bar cross the screen.
3:38:18: Hey, that was fun! I do that five more times.
3:40: Drank three straight cups of water--going back and forth to the cooler is
fun!
3:45: Watching the clock on my desktop. Resetting it to atomic time over and
over doesn't make it go any faster.
3:48:19: Check email. I qualify for a home loan! Even though my name is
misspelled!
3:50: Cutting fingernails down to the quick and using the clippings to write
things into my arm. I end up with marks that make me look like a heroin addict
who can't get his shit together.
3:52: Oh, dear God, end this hell now. Somebody post a funny blog entry or let a
natural disaster strike somewhere or let Lalu say something stupid or
anything at all. I hate my computer and if that stupid idiot from Citibank calls again to help me
maximize my savings potential I will hunt down his children and turn them into a poorly done,
first-try-is-just-for practice taxidermy project.
3:53:01: Check email. That's it, I'm hiring mercenaries, invading Nigeria, and
stringing every banker in the place together by the balls, coating them in
honey, and dropping them naked into a polar bear refuge in Siberia.
3:53:09: Check email. Nothing. I hate all of my friends.
3:54: The phone rings. It's the guy from Citibank, wanting to "follow up" on a
couple of "action items."
3:56: I'm a puddle. I resolve to get hit by a car every day at 2:57 to avoid the 3:00 hour.
3:56:01.8: Check email. My dick just gets smaller, apparently.
3:57: I don't even bother praying to God any more. It's obvious He hates me, and
invented the human race for his sick sport. Otherwise He would have made the day
23 hours, instead of 24. I pray to Satan instead, offering to become a serial
killer and harvest souls for His Dark Majesty if He'll only make the next three
minutes go by at any semblance of normal speed.
3:58: Satan doesn't answer. That cheap idiot.
3:59: Attempt to pass out. Fail.
3:59:21: Check email. Nothing
3:59:29: Check email. Nothing
3:59:31: Open up the clock icon in Windows and watch the second hand go by. I
swear the programmers made it like those clocks in elementary school that tick
*back* before they tick forward. I hate Microsoft. They'd be the first souls I'd
harvest for Satan if the Prince of Darkness wasn't such a cheap idiot.
4:00: I slump to my desk, exhausted, wrung out from the weeklong hour that just
passed. In celebration, coffee!
