Today when I walked into my office I found, perched on top of my computer, a blue paperback titled
PRO EVO: Pro Evolution — Guideline for an Age of Joy.
With a post it note stuck to it.
Here it is:
It was self-published, by a house in Switzerland. Now, who could this be from? My office mate swears he didn’t see anyone come in last night or this morning. And it’s not his type of joke really.
Does someone think I need to evolve? It’s true; only yesterday I declared myself a fluffy monkey to the entire internet.
Maybe the “Age of Joy” refers to the fact that I sometimes put a wiped-off-but-not-washed fork in my desk drawer. Somebody has observed my lack of dedication to dishwashing detergent! Before you get all grossed out and swear to yourself that you will never kiss my extra-germy mouth (either for the first time or again), I should clarify that I do wash the fork before I use it the next time.
I bet my mouth is cleaner than a monkey’s anyway, evolution or no, because unlike a monkey I don’t knowingly eat the feces of myself or others.
Maybe its the night janitor. We pass each other on our way to and from public transportation. Whenever I work late and she comes into my office to empty the trash she says, “Whooee! Pretty hot in this building tonight!” Or, alternatively, “Whooee! Damn cold outside isn’t it?”
In both cases I say, “Yes, yes it is!” I say thank you about the trash can, and by then she is gone.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t count that as philosophical conversation leading to the exchange of edifying reading material, but maybe I overlooked something.
Maybe it is the notorious grouch on our floor. Maybe she is only pretending to be grouchy, when in fact she has the secret of true joy, and stealthily spreads her message to those she deems worthy.
My next step: collecting handwriting samples. I do, after consultation with the connivingest department members, have a clear suspect.