Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts

Friday, March 28, 2014

The Craft of Napping

Guppies at work are bored a lot. Boredom leads to drowsiness, and drowsiness leads to naps. Since management generally disapproves of sleeping on the job, Guppies must develop good clandestine napping skills to get the rest they need to be sharp and alert after work when their real day begins. Napping is about equal parts art and craft; the art you are born with, but the craft can be learned. Here, then, are the basic principles for the craft of napping:

Achieve a Stable Posture

This is the first principle of napping on the job. Part of the great attraction to napping is the relaxation response that occurs when all of your muscles let go as you drift peacefully off into the arms of Morpheus. But when this happens, unless you are either lying down or are in a structurally sound position with bones bracing and supporting your body parts, you are likely to experience some sort of collapse. Nothing detracts from a good nap more than falling out of your chair, or dashing your face painfully into the keyboard--both considered extremely poor form, by the way.

To prevent these sorts of embarrassing disasters, learn to use triangles in your nap postures. The triangle and its relative the pyramid are the strongest, most stable of the geometric shapes; if you ensure that your head and upper body are supported by triangles, you can snooze for hours in rock-solid security. There are many triangular postures--some quite daring and exotic and recommended for experienced nappers only--but the most basic is the old chin-in-the-hands position: lean forward, place your elbows on the desk at about shoulder width, and place your chin on the joined heels of your two hands with the fingers resting comfortably on each cheek. Your face should point to your terminal, as if you are studying something intently on the screen. This is a tried-and-true technique and, if other conditions are right, will give you many hours of peaceful slumber.

Select the Napping Site Carefully

It is perfectly acceptable to sleep at your desk if you have a modest amount of privacy from bosses or nosey passersby, but if your desk is exposed, you may have to select another nap site.

Bathrooms are good for naps, but sitting on a commode for long periods tends to make your legs fall asleep. The danger is that the company will call a surprise fire drill and you will have to be carried out of the building. Sleeping in the bathroom also can be hazardous if you tend toward hemorrhoids. I once worked with a man who spent at least four hours of every work day locked in a stall in the bathroom, sound asleep. He complained a lot about hemorrhoids, and we speculated that he used them for a snooze alarm. The theory was that he sat on the commode and slept until his hemorrhoids hit the water; the shock would wake him up so he could return to his desk for a while until the next nap attack struck.

Have Explanations Handy

Sooner or later, somebody is going to catch you napping. When that happens, it helps--particulary if the catcher is a boss--to have a plausible explanation ready. If all else fails, claim narcolepsy.

Great Nappers I Have Known

In my thirty years as a Guppie, I've had the opportunity to observe many nappers and their techniques. Three stand out in my memory for their creativity and style.

Leroy

Leroy and I shared a cube in a secure area that was protected by a locked door, so surprise visits from the boss were not a problem. A couple of illustrators worked in the cube next to ours, and they insisted that the overhead lights be kept off because reflections on their CAD screens gave them headaches.

It was nap heaven.

I drifted peacefully in and out of consciousness for several days, delighted and well-rested in my new surroundings, before a curious sound intruded to disturb my naps. I began to notice that every few minutes a short beep sounded. It wasn't loud, but it was like a leaky faucet--I couldn't sleep for thinking about it. At first I was mystified; I thought the illustrators must be doing it, but I soon discovered that it came from Leroy's direction. I turned around quietly (we sat back-to-back) and watched him. He seemed to be working. He was leaning back in his chair, his left hand supporting his chin in a good napping position, but his right hand was on the keyboard and he seemed to be scrolling up through a file looking for something. Suddenly, the scrolling stopped at the top of the file, and the terminal emitted the offending beep. Leroy, as if treated to an electric shock, immediately roused up and took a quick look around to ensure nobody had sneaked up on him. He then placed his finger on the right arrow key and began scrolling back down through the file while he went back to sleep. When it hit the end of the file, it beeped again, rousing Leroy for another quick perimeter check before he reversed the process again. He spent all day scrolling up and down through the same document and getting lots of rest.

Harvey

I shared an office with Harvey back in the days before computers, when we wrote everything by hand on yellow legal pads. He was the best napper I've ever seen; he was always on the verge of taking one. He took a morning nap, and an afternoon nap, and during lunch he put his head down on the desk and took a lunch nap. To Harvey, napping was a devine right. He made little effort to conceal it when he felt the urge to doze. I've seen him sit reared back in his office chair, arms hanging straight down on either side almost to the floor, head lolled back so that he faced the ceiling, slack jawed, mouth open, snoring like a dirt bike, and not giving a damn who walked by and saw him. The man was a master.

But for his most entertaining nap sessions, Harvey used the bobbing-for-apples technique. I can close my eyes and--if I don't fall asleep--I can still see him: He sits hunched over his desk, pencil touching the pad of paper before him. Slowly his head begins to sink. At first it is a slow, gradual lowering, as if he is trying to get closer to what he is writing. But the lower he goes, the more speed he picks up. Finally, after he has attained terminal velocity, lowering his forehead toward the desk at a frightening speed, he suddenly snaps to a stop and pops back up. But he doesn't recover quite as far as his starting position. He starts another descent, and, like a bouncing ball, each bounce is a little lower in amplitude than the one before. Miraculously, he never descends to the point where his head bumps the desk. At the end, when the bounces have died out, he is sitting with his forehead about three inches above the pad, sound asleep. He starts to snore.

Richard

I shared a cube with Richard right after he retired from the service. His great napping talent was his ability to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. He loved to talk and tell war stories, so he usually initiated the bullshit sessions. But after he had told his story, and it was your turn to respond with one of your own, he would sit and look you right in the eye and smile and nod as if he were following what you were saying, but his lids would droop and finally close completely. All you could do was stop talking, turn back to your desk and go back to work. After a while, he would wake up and, as if nothing had happened, start telling another war story. I heard later that he was diagnosed with narcolepsy, but it was damned disconcerting to watch him fall asleep while looking you right in the eye.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Running Start (Is Jogging Really Good For You? Ask Any Body.)

Copyright 1978
Roger L. Deen

Running Start
(Is Jogging Really Good For You? Ask Any Body.)
by
Roger L. Deen

     Excepting reformed smokers and successful dieters, nobody wearies the soul of normal mankind as does the habitual jogger.  Jogging freaks, fashionably gaunt and smug, delight in flaunting their pedestrian exploits before normal (non-jogging) people.  When a jogger lets drop, "I'm shooting for a hundred and fifty miles this month," the fact that you walk the dog around the block twice a day hardly seems worth mentioning.

     Before jogging became such a rage, you could deal easily with jogging snobs -- you just avoided them.  But now they are everywhere; they have literally overrun the country.  In every neighborhood, park and vacant field; at all times of the day or night, in all sorts of disagreeable weather, you see them plodding along with that air of detached superiority that makes you vow guiltily to shed a couple of pounds.

     Here, for those who have secretly envied jogging junkies, who have read the books and articles extolling the joys and benefits of running, who have promised themselves they are going to try it first thing tomorrow, is what jogging is really like.  The following is based on eighteen months of personal research, in which I tried mightily (and vainly) to discover some secret that would transform what is essentially a dull, boring, painful activity into something pleasurable. It represents the typical beginning of a jogger's day.  If there is any fun in it, I failed to find it.

In a darkened bedroom an alarm sounds

MIND: Huh? What? Oh.

Body extends a groping hand, silences the alarm, then turns over and snuggles contentedly back into the pillow

MIND: Hey, Body, you awake?

Silence

MIND: Bod?

BODY: Mumpf.

MIND: Let's go.  Time to get up.

Another long silence

MIND: Body?

BODY (exasperated): What?

MIND: Move it!

BODY (stirring): Go away. (An eye opens and immediately slams shut again.) Are you crazy? It's still dark!  What time is it?

MIND: It's six minutes past five.

BODY: Good lord!

MIND: Come on, let's go.  We've got to go running this morning.

BODY: Why?

MIND: Because it's good for us.  Think how great you'll feel after it's over.

BODY: Ha!

MIND: Come on, let's go.

BODY (turning over and pulling the blanket securely up beneath the chin): I'm feeling a little puny this morning.  You go on without me.

MIND: I said GET UP!

BODY: Awright, Awright, you -- (mumbles something obviously derogatory)

Listlessly, eyes still closed, Body assumes a slumped sitting posture on the bedside.  He remains like this for a long time without moving.

MIND: Are you still awake?

No answer.  Body starts falling slowly backward onto the bed.

MIND: No you don't!  On your feet!

Groaning pitifully, Body stands and staggers uncertainly in the direction of the bathroom.

BODY: Ow!  What the... What happened?

MIND: You ran into the bathroom door.  It's closed.  If you'd open your eyes, you'd know that.

BODY (limping back toward the bed): Listen, I really hurt myself.  I can't run now.  I might damage something perman--

MIND: Forget it!  You're not hurt.  That's only a small bump on the forehead, and we don't run with our forehead.

BODY: Oh yeah? What about the toe?  The toe hit the door too, you know.  And it feels like it could be broken.  Tell him, Toe.

LEFT BIG TOE: Yeah, boss, I think I hurt pretty bad.  Maybe we should see a doctor or something.

MIND: Okay, listen up everybody.  I'm sick of the whining and bellyaching every morning.  We will jog this morning.  We will not return to bed, and we will not have breakfast until the roadwork is finished.  Is that clear?

Grumbling noises issue from various parts of the body.

Outside, a few minutes later, the jogging begins.

RIGHT CALF: Ow! Ow! Ow! That hurts.  I think I've pulled something.

LEFT KNEE: Hey, take it easy.  Remember my ski injury.

LEFT ANKLE: How about me?  I was hurt worse in that ski accident than you were.

LEFT KNEE: Sit on it.

MIND: All right, you guys, knock it off.

After the first quarter mile:

HEART (peevishly):  Will someone please tell me what is going on?

MIND:  It's about time you woke up.  It's a beautiful morning, and we're jogging.

HEART: Not again?

BODY: Yeah, ain't this the pits?

HEART: How far are we going this time?

MIND: Never mind.  You just keep pumping.

After the first mile:

BODY: OK, that's a mile.  Let's knock off and go have breakfast.

MIND: Keep running.

BODY: But I'm starving.  I'm so hungry I've got the shakes.  I'll never last another mile.

MIND: Well, just do the best you can.  If you get too desperate, try consuming some of that roll around your middle.  There's enough fuel there for several marathons.

BODY:  I don't want that stuff.  I want eggs and bacon and toast and butter and honey and...

MIND:  Oh, shut up.

After a mile-and-a-half:

MIND: Hey, everybody, here comes another jogger.

BODY:  Well, whoopee; just whoopee.

MIND: It looks like a girl.  Let's just straighten up and look sharp as we pass.  Stomach, suck it up; legs, pick up the pace a little.

LEGS:  Are you kidding?  We're about to collapse, and you want to go faster?

MIND:  Get with it.  Here she comes.

BODY: Nice stride.

YOUNG WOMAN (smiling): Good morning.

MIND and BODY: Good morning.

The young woman passes.

BODY:  Nice stride.

MIND:  You can say that again...Hey!  What's going on?  Who told you to stop?  Let's get back to business.

After two miles:

BODY:  How about a break?  Let's walk a ways.

MIND:  Keep running.

BODY:  Walking is good exercise, too.

MIND:  Keep running.

HEART:  Are you aware that you could be causing some real damage?

LEFT BIG TOE:  Yeah.  I told you I was hurt on that door.  I think I may be swelling and getting numb.

RIGHT BIG TOE:  What makes you so special?  I'm just as numb as you.

LEFT BIG TOE:  Stuff it.

MIND:  Cut the bickering, you two.  Left Leg, why are you dogging it?  Right Leg is doing most of the work.

RIGHT LEG:  Yeah!

LEFT LEG:  Dogging it?  You're a fine one to talk.  What exactly do you do besides sit up there and give orders?  And who appointed you boss anyway?  I think we should have a meeting and elect a new boss.

A chorus of "yeahs" echoes throughout the body.

MIND:  This is not a democracy.  My function is to lead; I'm the only one suited for it.  Your function is to obey orders, and right now the order is for all to step up the pace a little.

BODY:  No.

MIND:  What?

BODY:  I said no.  I'm not working any harder than this.

MIND:  Okay, everybody, I was just going to stop after three miles, but just for that childish bit of insubordination, we're going to do an extra mile this morning.

RIGHT FOOT:  Boo!

LEFT KNEE:  Hiss!

HEART:  Fascist!

RIGHT LEG:  Shut up, you guys, or he'll make us do five miles.

MIND:  Good advice.

After three miles:

ARMS:  How much farther?  We're getting tired.

LEGS:  Tired?  What the heck are you doing to get tired?  We're doing all the work.

ARMS:  We suppose you think it's easy to just hang here in the same position all the time.  Try it sometime, and you'll see how tough it is.

LEGS:  Pansies.

MIND:  Knock it off, all of you.  If you spent half as much energy running as you do griping, we'd be finished by now.

BODY:  How much farther?

MIND:  Only one more mile.

BODY (groaning):  "Only," he says.

Back home after four miles:

BODY:  Hey, that was fun!  I feel great!

HEART:  It was exhilarating, wasn't it?  I thought we all performed quite well.

LEFT LEG:  I wasn't even tired.  I could have gone around again.

RIGHT FOOT:  Me too.

BODY:  No sweat at all.  Tomorrow, let's do five miles.

LEFT FOOT:  Or maybe even six.

RIGHT KNEE:  Yeah!

BODY: But now, let's hit the shower and go have breakfast.  We deserve it.

There is a chorus of "yeahs."

MIND (sighing):  You guys go on without me -- I'm exhausted.