Porkpie Hat – Jenkins’s Final Performance Review

Actually, sir, It’s Jenkins. Wharton sits in the cubicle beside me. Thank you, yes, I am settling in quite well. It’s been 12 years now, so I’m getting fairly familiar with where everything is.

What’s that, sir? What do I feel my strengths are as an employee? You’re certainly taking this in a novel direction, aren’t you?

My strengths . . . my strengths . . . I suppose you could say the ability to keep a straight face most of the time. That definitely comes in handy for motivational meetings and the like. And decent penmanship, of course. That has been frequently commented upon.

Things I would like to work on? Hmmm. Well, I suppose if I had to narrow it down to just a handful of things, I would definitely put being a bit more honest near the top of the list. Less pilfering of coffee and office supplies, fewer incidents of sabotaging the photocopier and phoning in bomb threats in order to get the morning off, that sort of thing.

Also, something that seems to get in my way a bit is an utter lack of interest in what I’m doing. Laziness, procrastination, cynicism, intelligence, high expectations—one could really go on and on, couldn’t one? I suspect that all of these things are a barrier to my success with this corporation.

Oh, there’s no shortage of things I would like to change. The real problem lies in finding the motivation to do it. Quite frankly, I don’t think It’s going to happen. I expect you’ve felt that way yourself, haven’t you sir? I’ll bet there was a time when you, too, had dreams and a sense of humour. But you were obviously able to overcome them, and reach your true potential.

Well, that’s a good question. A real poser, as they say. Absolutely didn’t see it coming. Truth be told, I hadn’t really given it all that much thought, you see.

I suppose my long-term goals are to, you know, just keep slogging away in the accounts receivable department, whilst nursing unrealistic dreams of telling you to fuck off. The job itself is mind-numbingly tedious, of course, but it beats serving coffee or setting up a meth lab in the trunk of my car.

And there’s a certain grim satisfaction in staggering through to the weekend, when I can plug in my electric guitar, or sleep with my girlfriend, or catch a foreign film, or find myself a patio where I can sip a lime margarita, and watch the birds all flying by.

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