An odd thing happened at work the other day. I was sitting in my tastefully decorated office enjoying my usual mid-morning bourbon, when there was a knock at my large, mahogany door. “Enter,” I said, assuming, of course, that it was merely one of my many frightened assistants bringing me a very important document to review. But then, in walked my boss’s boss and the Vice President of HR.
“Well hello ladies,” I said. “Can I offer you a cocktail? Perhaps I can have Sun Lee give you a hand massage?”
Alas, I could tell right away that there was business to discuss, and so I ordered Sun Lee to stop fanning me and sent her away. My executive guests sat down, cleared their throats in unison, and then my boss’s boss said, and I quote, “Matt Norman, even though your brilliance is unable to be measured by any known standard and you have hair like an angel, we’ve decided to outsource your current position to someone cheaper and far less talented. Consequently, your services are no longer needed here on the Death Star.”
I turned off my flat screen television and refilled my bourbon. “Now, ladies, let’s take a step back here and think about this like rational, highly paid adults. Do either of you really think you’re going to be able outsource this?” For emphasis, I pointed at myself with my thumbs and smiled.
Moments later, as I was being escorted out by two Storm Troopers, I’ll admit, I started feeling a little anxious. I mean, I have yacht payments just like everyone else. But then I realized that there’s nothing to worry about. The economy is positively booming, and demand is at an all-time high for . . . whatever it is that I do.
So, I just wanted to let all of you know that for awhile I may be, as they say, “out of pocket.” I’ve decided to leverage my newfound freedom to take a breath and recharge my batteries. In the meantime, if you need to get a hold of me, just look outside. I’ll be the guy going through your garbage cans looking for discarded macaroni and cheese powder.