The past few weeks at the Ambrosia office have been, most concisely articulated, quite "meh." While production has remained relatively steady, and everyone has been trucking through their day to day tasks, its like someone pulled the plug on our collective pool of energy and we're all just idly swirling the drain.
I, personally, have been hard at work trying to pinpoint the catalyst and, after much research, have developed several theories on the recent change in overall office dynamic.
Of course, we could all just be caught like in the doldrums of summer -- the heat, humidity, and copious quantities of rain we've had the past few months dulling our normally razor sharp ninja-like wits. This is the sort of practical, uninspired, and entirely non-conspiratorial (boring) explanation for our wilted spirits that I would come up with in a creatively depraved state (cue yawns). Fortunately for all of us, I was not ready to give up there.
Another hypothesis is that el' Presidente has had Jake slowly replacing our grey matter with tiny electronic bits; effectively turning us, synapse by synapse, into robots. While this explanation is possible, and would explain the high-pitched ringing noise I've been getting near magnetic objects, I find it rather improbable based on the fact that I still manage several acts of sheer idiocy a day. No sensical human being would program a robot to spill coffee/ketchup/water all over itself/ the expensive equipment around it on a daily basis; thats just bad for business.
My grand postulate involves none other than that noisy little African Grey we all love to fear. While the rest of us have been plugging away like an army of water-logged zombies, Hector has been accomplishing some pretty amazing things -- even for her.
Two weeks ago, while squawking the afternoon away on her perch in Jake and John's office, Hector decided that it was time for a little characteristic mischief. It's no secret that John and Hector have a unique relationship, meaning she doesn't glare at his eyeballs or appendages hungrily as frequently as she does with the rest of us (even after he attempts to feed her his keys). On this particular afternoon, in a moment of birdie glory, Hector flew-- yes, flew -- up and over John's desk and showed him exactly how she was feeling. She pooped right into his keyboard. After this grand escapade, things quieted right down, but as John was trying to gauge her motivation, his eyes fell to one item in particular that lay precariously near the apparent target of Hector's bombardment:
The Doomsday Button. Of course!
In a further demonstration of Hector's newfound energy, she seems to have found a new zest for vocabulary. Usually Hector is finicky about learning new words -- for months we've been trying to teach her some really good turns of phrase to no avail. Not long ago, however (and surely to spite me as the office Ornithophobic), she took to creepily saying my name at random intervals. This past week, to everyone's amazement, the bird belted out "Soundboard" entirely unprovoked. Almost the whole staff heard it -- it was a total shocker, considering nobody has put any concerted effort into teaching her the word. Guess she really must be a big fan of the Hector soundboard we included!
And, as a last piece of evidence that Miss Hector D. Byrd is the energy thief, she has been hard at work in the foyer destroying the ceiling of her unspeakably expensive birdie sanctuary. We suspect, based on the rate of deconstruction and the appearance of the mounting pile of remnants below, that she has been inspired to create a bust of Andrew to sit at the entrance of our workplace.
Whether it was some sort of exorcism-like parrot ritual, a collective staff hypnosis, or she simply used her death ray on the lowest setting, it would appear that Hector has managed to corral the staff's creativity for her own. So much so that, from the past 3 weeks of news, her pooping on John's keyboard is my most blog-worthy item!
Until our office chi as realigned itself ... in coffee we trust!
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