The strike isn’t over – they’re still picketing in front of several buildings their company occupies in the light industrial park my office is in, but when I got back from vacation a week ago, our driveways were free of Nerds On Strike.
Now, that’s just fucked up. First of all, I had all new insults cooked up, plus there were dozens more of them that I had not yet met and insulted, individually and personally.
As you read earlier, we had steadily been ratcheting up the misery, and not just with my abusive behavior. My boss, who owns the building, in partnership with the local police, has played the “it’s our right” game masterfully. Yes, you have the right to be in front of the building. No, you do not have the right to sit in the shade of the trees on our property. Now you must stand in a five-foot wide, shadeless strip in 100+ degree heat. And for a bunch of cubicle dwellers, that’s abject misery, homeboy.
Yet, they still appeared to be pretty game when I left. The only thing I can think of is that MAYBE my last go-round with these jackoffs sufficiently illustrated the absurdity of what they were trying to do. When I pulled up to the driveway, this is how our last conversation went:
Jeff: “Hey there, Scooter! Hot enough for ya? HAHAHAHA!”
Picketer: “We’re trying to-”
Jeff: “Yeah, yeah. I don’t give a shit. Let me lay out for you what you’re accomplishing by standing in this driveway: NOTHING. See, your company leased space in this building for you to work in. There is nobody in that space. Nobody. There are a bunch of chairs, unassembled cubicles, desks and shit, and it is completely empty. Nobody in your company works there yet, so by definition, EVERY SINGLE CAR that you hinder from getting into this building has NOTHING do with your labor dispute. EVERY. SINGLE. CAR. Do you know WHY that office space stays completely empty?”
Picketer: “We’re on strike.”
Jeff: “No, Brain. It’s because all the people that were supposed to work in that office are standing out here on this fucking picket line! There is no one to cross your picket line because you’re all out here! Who are you going to call a scab? THERE’S NO ONE IN THERE, DUMBASS. And there’s never going to be anyone in there until this strike is over. Chew on that, would you?”
Picketer: “You don’t have to keep-”
Jeff: “Fuck ooooffffff…”
I sure hope I got through to them. It could have been my logic. It could have been following EC’s suggestion to tie one of their union buddies to my grill.
Either way, it’s a bittersweet victory.
As Jeff sat
upon his throne at his desk, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer union idiots to abuse.