Fenris Badwulf, caring person

Someone has to be Human Resources Manager for Mitchieville, and that someone is me. I live in an administrative hell: state regulations, corporate rules, and the unspoken norms of behavior that evade the one way justice of the informants and provocateurs of the Human Rights Tribunals. I am the one who wields Occam’s Shovel: if the diversity hire urinates in the paper recycling bin; that is diversity is strength and their reward is a paper hat; if the non-diversity mutters about urine a-slosh, stinking up the office, and making coffee break time a time of nausea and discord, then a paper trail of administrative actions must appear in files and meeting room schedules, sufficient to delude the inquisition that everyone expects to come, efficient enough to allow the workers to keep working, and complicit in appeasement enough to convince the diversity that a paper hat is a Crip culture token of a reparations wide screen TV.

What of the incident of the pissing in the coffee room garbage can? You may ask. It is a no-win situation, as many of you who work for a living would know from bitter experience of similar incidents in your workplaces. Pissing in public is celebrated in the diversity, not because there are many advanced, sophisticated cultures across the globe, spanning history from century to century, that made poems and plays about pissing in public, but because criticism of the diversity is always bad, and the fact that pissing in public is not, really, celebrated anywhere by anybody but feral rent seekers out sniffing for some intersection of gibs me dat and dindu nuffin is an evil fact the mere mention of which will get you into a deeper shit hole than the one you would be in for questioning public urination in the workplace. So, you, dear reader, want to know how I avoided the inevitable doom you yourself witnessed so often in so many other places.

Let us talk of the inevitable downward spiral
of hard right white privilege versus teddy bear plushie panda sparkle sprinkles huggy kissy cutie me memes. You have heard the whispered talk (out of the microphone range of the office microwave, or the eavesdroppers behind the carpet covered cubicle dividers): someone pissed on the floor in the kitchen. Someone has been leaving their shit unflushed in the shitter. And, in winter, inevitably come February, someone pissed on my windshield in the parking lot, now my wipers do not work. Muttered references to the last time, times, this happened. Grumbling over the failure of Workplace Health and Safety legislation. Speculation that the last case of cholera in the office was caused by the presence of human waste in a place where food was prepared. The old talking points come back to drip away at the public weal, as the puddle of piss water in the plugged kitchen sink drips onto the floor in its overflow condition.

Unless positive action is taken, the situation gets worse. When a diversity is in the shadow of guilt, then the paperwork of appeasement must be forthcoming, deep and detailed. Video of the infraction erased, and eyewitnesses discredited. Tell them that right is wrong, because otherwise the hard right white wing wins. This only works for a short time, and the roots of apartheid grow through out your organization. Some avoid conflict, they are apologetic where there is no offense, they boycott social interaction, become anal retentive in matters of form, and they watch to see who of their peers will crack first, hoping it will not be themselves in the damning video pouring a kettle of boiling water over the head of some innocent diversity, happily urinating in the office kitchen sink. Others avoid conflict by plotting conflict on their own terms. These monsters, usually victims, or friends of victims, or well read in the tales of victims, realize that management has no solution, that the laws and codes of conduct do not mean what they say but that pissing in the office kitchen sink is a great way for ruling elites to punish their lessers, to remind them of their inferior status, and to remind them like a slap on the mouth to shut up and suffer.

And you, in your place of work
, does your Human Resources Professional realize this, and seek outside the box for solutions? Or do they butter their bums in preparation for some rainbow junket of consciousness raising at the local whorehouse? The workers form secret combinations. This is what hard right white wing people do. The victim mentality actor who pissed in the sink, unflushed their shit, or carved BLM on someones car, is found with a plastic bag over their head, duct taped to the crappiest office chair, dumped in the ‘paper only’ bin on the recycling dock, their testicles stuffed in their mouth and held there with a lavish amount of super glue. This is what secret combinations do. The conspiracy of white silence extends to the knowledge that the security cameras have been blinded, ostensibly to protect management from having to witness the now murdered and detesticled diversity from pissing in public or never flushing or practicing his cultural right to carve into your car. They know that management does not know, and very much does not want to know. So, they lash out … there is white lash. And your Human Resources Professional just sits, all happy, all in bum buttered bliss. There will, or would be, retraining to be paid to oversee, files to be reviewed and rearranged in new out of context ways to improve their pay, pension, and perks. Not every time, no. Not all of the unscheduled visitors to the paper recycling bin are discovered. People throw non paper into the bin all the time. Even chairs, even chairs with people duct taped to them. The loading dock factotum, master of the state regulations mandated compactor knows better than to look before pushing the on button. To look is to see, and to see is to be a co-conspirator. The secret combination spreads. Inevitably, the attention of the elites is drawn like the High Council of the Elves. Anyone who takes offense at someone pissing in the office coffee pot is a racist, an orc, a servant of the Dark Lord of Mordor. What a reality!

This is the cruel reality that does not exist for those that rule over reality
. They live in a happy world filled with feasts at folkfest, they think themselves a blue skin from Avatar, and the mere mention of Donald Trump causes them to fart like a camel. In Mitchieville, however, gravity will not let you down. As you walk thorough our offices and shops and workplaces, there you will find diversity. This empty office here, that closed locker there, are the presence of the diversity. An inspection of our accounting records accounts for all the extra-jurisdictional cash we receive for programs, studies, and initiatives. We hire, we train, and we tutor. Names appear, with associated fat files, and suitable weepy histories in keeping with the beautiful reality. As to having an actual body to associate with the employee number, well, since the elites think an actor on a television show can stand in for a neurosurgeon, then, heck, why not, we can create the reality they want to pay for with some comforting paper diversity. Since diversity does not work, and the reality of the failure of diversity has not grabbed the elites by their Che pyjamas and dragged them to the guillotine of consequences, then it is upon us, the Human Resources Department of Mitchieville, to take their money (really your money, your confiscated income) and create for them a comforting Potemkin village of happy, hardworking illiterates and anti-socials, just like the dream factory of media does. The manifest presence of diversity in Mitchieville is their billable hours, not the outrage of workers at piss in the coffee pot, stinking shit in the toilet, nor scribbles upon their cars. Staff happily spend seconds applying signatures to attendance rosters for sensitivity training that bills in at thousands of dollars. A portion of the bilked funds (bilk does not mean bilk, it is Scarborough-ebonic for milk, milked; and negative connotations are forbidden) are folded back to the real life workers: they get some cashy money in their pay packet, untaxable, to supplement their paper check statement of confiscated revenues. And soon, the workers of Mitchieville will be getting unreported perks of dope, as soon as it is legalized (thank you dreamy Justin!), and the deniability assured. We have diversity, and it is as visible as the illusions of public media; and, as the public broadcaster gets money to create illusion, so too do we. And so should you.

Might I suggest taking a seminar in Human Resources at the Fenris Badwulf School of Telemarketing Excellence … Get on the diversity gravy train. Become smug and superior. Get tips on automated virtue signalling.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.

One Response to “Fenris Badwulf, caring person”

  1. marc in calgary Says:

    “Bum buttered bliss” reeled me in.

    I care. A bit.

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