Humanity’s most hated invention rings with an unearthly monotone sound.
*cue Harry Potter theme song*
The first notes enter my eardrum and I already imagine a voodoo doll with Rowlling’s name on it. JK of course. The alarm clock continues to buzz and flash and scream in a hopeless attempt to throw a lifejacket of productivity in my procrastinating brain. Filled with hatred and disgust I falcon punch the damned device to the opposite wall. It usually works better than the snooze button.
One Wingardium Lev-i-osa later I raise from my bed and I smash the play button. My living room, kitchen and bedroom of my single-room studio flood with the first notes of the “Eye of the Tiger” and I feel that I have grown 4 centimeters in height. I tie my battle bandana on my forehead and I start preparing my typical breakfast full in Niacin and B7 vitamin: a can of Portuguese sardines, a fully ripe Hawaian sunrise papaya sliced in 16 pieces, and a coffee with a shot of sambuca — I have always hated sugar.
1 minute and 28 seconds later my brain is ready for a song with greater lyrical plurality and motivational gravity. I select the next song in my wake-up playlist and demigodess Beyoncé instructs “All the single ladies” to raise their hands.
On the third “All the single ladies” I start singing along and I am not even wearing my pants yet. On the sixth “put a ring on it” my neighbor Christofer from three floors down starts yodeling along and 7 seconds later Oliver, the French Bulldog from next-door starts covering the chorus parts. The lyrical quartet completes with Oliver’s owner, Karen, soloing one of her favorite hooks. “shut your pieholes, you, atrocious hoodlums”.
With fully energized body and elevated spirits I gulp another espresso with a double shot of vodka and a maraschino cherry and off I go to my work. My fingers are dancing on my display looking for the next few songs for my usual 40-minute commute. Spending so much time in the rowdy and cacophonous underground tin box should be accompanied by harmony-preserving songs. I queue some soul soothing Rammstein songs and I say to myself: Namaste.
When I arrive to the office, I dive in my rolling chair and I avoid eye contact with anyone. I am huge opponent of favoritism so I try to dislike all my colleagues equally and to not channel my negative energy on a specific buffoon. I press the switch button on my laptop and I pray to the 12 gods of Olympus that I won’t need to call IT help desk in order to turn on my coal-powered laptop.
Three cups of coffee later, as I wait for my solitaire game to load, I fumble for my phone and I select my productivity playlist specifically designed to boost my work performance, concentration and solitaire win-rate. “Gucci Gang-Gucci Gang-Gucci Gang…” says the Lil-pump-guy and I am already feeling in the zone. Brain, heart and ears are forming a perfect triangle and I am already chewing my third solitaire game on the “easy” difficulty. Maybe today is the day. Maybe today I will break the floor record of 7 wins in a single 8-hour session.
My boss looks at me across from his desk with a sardonic smile. “Can I have a minute with you?”, he asks and we go into a 1,5 square meter meeting room filled with strawberry bushes and. Mongolian bells which are supposed to boost our working morale.
“There is a problem with your promotion. I do not think we can manage to get it through before the summer of 2022.”
All my hard work. All my solitaire wins. All the long-hours of mentoring to my interns of how to play backgammon in one screen while playing pinball on their second screen. All down the drain. I wish I could smash his long pointy nose to the wall but I have paused a game in my laptop so I could not bother with arguing with a smaller gamer. My destiny as international solitaire player was just around the corner.
I nod my head with deep understanding and we seal the bad news with the company approved six-step handshake.
I quickly go back to my desk and I queue my emergency anger playlist. I need to balance my inner peace and to restore my motivation. Prodigy are now chanting in my ears all their motivational songs and I manage to maintain my composure and to look calm as a shaolin monk on the outside.
“Smash my bitch up” *clicks on King of clubs…
“Eaaaheeyheeaheyyyee-Aaahhaaaaa” * clicks on Ace of Diamonds…
“I am a fire starter…” *throws keyboard on the wall…
The days flows like water and non-prolifically with only 5 wins. I am on my way to my base in order to regroup and to mentally prepare for the upcoming intracompany gaming convention. A juicy Wagyu steak later I dive in my terracotta brown armchair. My fingers magically find my most engaging playlist in my phone with my favorite Inuit folkloric songs. I start stroking my Persian cat while practicing my one-handed 3-by-4 Rubik’s cube flik-flak algorithmic solutions. Several solutions later I break my personal record of 12,3 seconds and I decide that another glorious day has reached to its end.
I press repeat on my phone and I close my eyes shut.
Humanity’s most hated invention rings…
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