Killing A Morning At Work Properly


For the most part, people are usually in their office by 9:00am sharp. Because I wake up at the ass crack of dawn and have time to read two newspapers, drink three cups of coffee, eat a thing of yogurt and a whole other routine of shit, I tend to arrive somewhat early – let’s call it 8:30am.

I usually don’t pick up the phone until 10:00am to make calls seeing as how I work mainly with people in New York, Toronto and Chicago. So that begs the question: what the hell do you do for 90 minutes?

As I previously stated, I already read two newspapers, so reading the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal is out of the question. I am forced to get creative.

First, I will go down to the shitty Blimpie sandwich store built into my office building. I get a large black iced coffee and a banana for $2.75 – an incredible deal. It’s not Starbucks, but there’s never a line and the Indian chick behind the counter knows exactly what I want every fucking morning. This kills five minutes before I’m forced to head back to my desk.

Since I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore (they’re just, like, so passé), I’m now at the mercy of the Internet. Facebook comes into play for 90 seconds, followed by several minutes spent on the following news websites:,,, and

With about 20 minutes killed thus far, I move into the danger zone: I can spend hours on this retarded site looking at comics and reading Wikipedia entries about poisonous plants. This is where I will spend the next 30 minutes intermittently.

When I need a break from the Internet, I will go and harass my co-worker for a few minutes. If he wants to get coffee, I go with him, back down to the Blimpie, in an effort to kill more time.

Did I mention I’m writing a book? Cool, right? This one is fiction. I will write a chapter or two sometimes, spending about 20 minutes doing so. A bestseller for sure.

The morning draw is coming to a close and I spent the next 10 minutes or so on my iPad, playing Scrabble or Uno in the conference room, pretending I’m making an important phone call to Brazil. 10:00am comes, my day starts and I get on with my work.


Oh, and if my boss is reading this, this is totally fiction. It’s only 8:58am. Fuck.

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image – Dougward