Thursday, April 01, 2004
Although I have taken quizzes in this spot, I have never written one of my own. If I did, though, the results would look something like this:
You are a desk monkey at a box factory!
Every day is La Marche Futile for you. Purchasing agents call and scream at you, plant managers tell you blandly that they cannot accommodate your screaming customers, prepress designers tell you why the customer is obviously on crack if they want this job run the way they want it—would you mind calling the customer and telling them that, please?, accounts receivable managers announce that they will not let you ship the order until the customer pays its damn bills already. All of this activity is on behalf of a humble little carton, designed to be thrown away the instant the customer gets it home, made out of materials that contaminate air and groundwater, and will not biodegrade for a good 500 years from now. When you go out to a bar, anyone who asks you what you do will suffer instant glazing-over of eyes. You are trying, really trying, not to be bitter, for fear that your husband will leave you for a woman in a more cheerful industry, and that any lovers you may acquire in your dead marriage’s wake will be frightened off quickly by the haunted look in your eyes. Your parents will wonder why they scrimped and saved to put you through that fancy-pants liberal arts college. You fear dying alone, saving little bits of string and muttering about your third-grade teacher.
What Useless Tool of the Man Are You?
Just between us, dear friends, I suspect that I might be just the tiniest bit tense about my job.
Lest I give the impression that the day was a complete wash, though, I did have a nice conversation with a food writer from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, who is writing an article for this Sunday’s food section about eggs. I don’t know if anything I said was at all usable, but there are worse ways to pass part of a difficult morning than to talk to a smart and friendly journalist about the pros and cons of pasteurization. We’ll see this weekend if any of my stray nonsenses make the final cut.
And no day can be a complete wash if you find your long-lost copy of Talking Heads’ Little Creatures and listen to it with only one light on in the living room, casting a warm sepia glow over everything. At times like this, the living room stops feeling cramped, and feels warm and snug instead. From our window, the lights on the Triborough look like pearls. This is a perfect world. I’m riding on an incline. I’m standing in your face. You’ll photograph mine.
"You are a desk monkey at a box factory!” POOF.
heehee, Seems this ought to come w/ the plum of smoke side effect of the Witch of the East.
In the interest of this spankin new outsourcing trend, you send me a list of names and numbers: I’d be happy to call and tell them they’re on crack, for a small percentage of the action.
“What Useless Tool of The Man Are You?”
I am wife .).
Hey, that’s my explorer in that picture! I told you I’d be there when the weather was warm*.
Gee, the answer I got was, “You are a Capitalist Whore, working for people who overdevelop the land, drive out native animals, and generally crush liberal ideals.” Great quiz, Bakerina.
"You are the ultimate end-user, a useless wart on the butt of society. Enjoy your place at the end of the Hegelian master/slave dichotomy, and eat your cake now! You’re the first up against the wall, fascist running dog!”
Ah yes, what a quiz.
I’m Suzy Homemaker, focused on everyone but myself, running to fat with children screaming as I slink through the grocery store at midday, trying to look as if I have a job, or indeed any other occupation but part-time college student.
Wow. I just took the quiz and got this result:
Shining knight. You stand up for the underdog, rise to the challenge, spread hope and cheer and serve justice. All that before lunch. Your moral compass and rugged good looks are matched only by your performance of your nightly duties for fair damsels and your by your appetite for life. And baked goods.
What’s for lunch, fair damsel?
‘mouse
Great quiz for your first try. Here’s what I got:
You are Institutionalized Chauvinism! Times may have changed, but by gum, they haven’t changed that much. Sure, those bra-burning Ms. readers from the 60’s made a fuss, but deep down, women want to just be treated like ladies. So keep holding the door for ‘em, keep pinching ‘em on the fanny. They’re secretly flattered! And don’t bother their pretty little heads with the tough math of pay raises.
Such responses! You guys are so good. Really inspired, you are. I feel a bit guilty now that I didn’t just make the extra effort and create a real quiz after all. Good thing I have Courtney watching my back. 
Collena, I will always encourage a warm weather road trip, but if that’s your Explorer in that pic, then welcome to Pittsburgh! I hope you are not confounded by the bizarre traffic patterns, and that you are sitting at a little table at Enrico Biscotti in the Strip District, eating the best biscotti to be found anywhere.
As for mr. ‘mouse...wow. I wish that LuthorCorp put Shining Knights on their payroll, but all of the job openings seem to be for Scheming Despots. Ah, well, let’s see what’s for lunch...bagna cauda or tapenade with endive leaves for dipping. A small plate of various excellent sandwiches on homemade walnut-scallion bread. Gin for you. Normandy cider for me. Mascarpone, Greek honey and fresh figs for dessert. Will that do?
I have to admit I clicked repeatedly on the link to this post, wondering where was the quiz. I do not feel cheated, I found the Talking Heads, fresh figs and a wonderful voice. How did I get here...no really, I’m trying to think. Chasing Daisy to Sqoogy to Snowball to Bakerina. Despite being a luddite, times like this I love the internet, making me, Hash Slinging Dupe of the man. Thanks,
Owen Hansen
Feeling the same desperation, Miss Bakerina. Hang tight and someday the chains will loose.
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Yep.