The following is an attempt to communicate with my work computer. I already typed this in Word, but just in case he reads my blog I'm posting it here, too.
Before I get into it, I'd like to point out how appreciative I really am of all you do for me. Thanks to you, I barely remember having ever used a "typewriter" and am trying hard every day to erase the horrible memory of the time when I had to use a "telephone" to talk to actual "people" or "read a book" in order to "find things out". Because of you, all the knowledge I could ever need is just a mouse-click away. I'm using you right now, in fact, and you're doing a great job. In short, I'm very thankful for all that you do.
There's just one thing: Can we do it without the attitude?
Yeah, I think you know what I'm talking about. All day long we go about our work, me typing and clicking away and you dutifully humming along, and then 5:30 rolls around, it's time to hit the highway, and all of a sudden you think you know my job better than I do. Here's you, every frickin' day, and I quote:
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO LOG OFF?
Well fuck yeah I'm sure! Why do you think I chose to log off if I didn't want to log off? It's like you're second-guessing my desire to leave this short-walled, laminate-surfaced cube of boredom for the day, and believe me, friend, that desire is unshakeable.
I understand you probably just want what's best for me and you're all about second chances, but it's your tone I really don't like. It's almost like you don't think I can make it out there without you, like you doubt my ability to get by without your guidance and you're giving me one more shot to sit back down in my office chair, comfortable and safe in your electronic embrace. Well I've got some news for you, mofo: You ain't all that and I do just fine without you!
Are you sure you want to log off? Shit. When I decide it's time to log the hell off, I expect you to log me the hell off, no questions. If I change my mind and decide I'm not done with you for the day, well then I'll just have to log back on again, won't I? Know your place, bitch. And get back to work.
Mickey (the guy whose left foot rests all-too-close to the red switch on your power strip, if you catch my drift)