Then, suddenly, you hear something. It sounds really close, and you wonder how it got so close without you detecting it. Then the gunfire starts, and you dive into the safety of your foxhole, and pray that the enemy doesn't throw in a grenade and take out your whole platoon. The sounds of ammunition and shouting echo from all around. It's hard to tell who is your friend and who is your enemy.
A golden bullet whizzes past your head. You have no idea if it was meant for you, or just stray gunfire; a random election based on nothing at all but where you happen to be at the time. Many men have taken that bullet. Some went on to do better things, and some ... didn't make it.
And then it is all quiet again. You live for another day. You feel yourself breathing hard, and a cold sweat smears your skin with its clammy fear. You try to refocus and count the casualties.
Yep, it was another "reorganization" today in Punkie's Tech Job. This time was lighter than in recent memory. Only a few people from the West Coast were let go, and they have until Friday to pick up their things. Some people got promoted, and some people got shuffled to new management. There are even more openings. The golden bullet missed me again, today.
So why do I feel so bad? I am sick of this Jungle, that's why.
This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000377.html