Your day job vs. gardening – when your wife will only suck the tip
by Angela Perez
When the Life Path Genie appeared before the man in his dull grey cubicle there on the 39th floor of the office building, it really was quite a shock. He had never complained about his work. And while pushing cyber paper and assisting Vice Presidents with important needs and gentle egos wasn’t what he’d dreamed of being when he grew up (he’d planned to be a sexy astronaut or a real pussy magnet in a loud and famous heavy metal band), well, he was never the type to complain.
And while his job wasn’t necessarily as fulfilling as his hobby of raising 20 varieties of daffodils in a tiny hothouse he’d built in the backyard, his job paid the bills and provided decent health insurance for both him and his wife of 10 years.
Although he was middle-aged and in full health, he knew it was just a matter of time before he needed pills of all sorts and regular rectal exams. “That’s the aging process love!” his mother told him before she died last year.
The man often found work fulfillment by sometimes attending a monthly whiskey club some of the lower-level employees on his floor had put together. But he wasn’t much of a drinker so he didn’t always go.
The Life Path Genie showed up the moment he clicked on the third job listing on LinkedIn. POOF! The genie appeared next to his computer. Only 10 inches tall. The man was startled but he didn’t cry out.
“Since you’re in a cubicle, I’ll have to whisper,” whispered the genie. “I see you have been looking for jobs while you’re at work. You know, you could get fired for that.”
“You aren’t wearing little shiny pants,” said the man. “Or a little turban. Where’d you get such a tiny business suit?”
The genie tapped the computer screen impatiently. “These things are of no importance. What is important is that you looked for jobs three times three days in a row from a work computer. Such actions immediately summon me, your personal Life Path Genie.”
“Wait, are you from human resources?” asked the man, looking around nervously. “Are you here to fire me?”
“No, no, no,” said the genie, laughing just a bit. “I’m here to help you find your true life path. Obviously this isn’t it, or you wouldn’t be looking for jobs. At work. That’s really taking a risk you know. IT and human resources could find out and then it’s the axe.”
“Well, it’s not so much that I want to quit. I mean, I have great benefits, the pay is decent. Higher than average really! I’m low-level so I’m not really on the radar of the really super important people in the top levels of management who ensure the continued success of this operation.” The man paused for a second and continued. “Oh, and there was this one woman who was only about 30 years old working in the cubicle next to me and one of the new managers really liked her blonde hair and cute pants and noticed her talents and raised her several pay grades. She was moved up, not for looks, but for talent. It shows that you can get ahead around here if you have talent and combine that with the right pants!”
“Sir,” said the genie, “you’ve been here six years. The flowers of your labor are in full bloom. You come to work early so that the important managers can see you and you stay late, laughing loudly at co-workers’ jokes that aren’t funny, so the managers know you are working late. When, in fact, you are playing solitaire, updating your Facebook page, reading the New York Times online and talking about sports. Is this how you want to spend your life?”
“Well, genie, there ARE worse things to do with yourself,” replied the man. “Like working for the state or with people who don’t speak English.”
“I also know that your wife doesn’t have sex with you anymore because she also isn’t happy in her office job,” said the genie.
“Well, she gives me hand jobs some mornings,” said the man sheepishly. “Sometimes she gives the tip of my dick a right good sucking. What business is that of yours?”
“Good sex is important to finding your life path,” said the genie matter-of-factly. “Well, sir, I think I know all I need to know about you. Get ready, my friend. Your life is about to happen!” And with that, the genie disappeared with a poof that was no louder than an unobtrusive fart.
The man had no time to figure out what had just happened because he had an important meeting to attend that was actually really very unimportant.
That night after arriving home and tending to his tender daffodils, he walked out of the hot-house and stood very still in the quiet of his backyard. It was dark already and the stars were clear and bright. He looked over into the neighbor’s yard and there was the pretty 24-year old school teacher who had moved in only 3 months earlier.
She was naked and looking directly at him. He walked over to her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, feeling blood rushing into the tip of his rather unused penis.
“I’m going to fuck you right here in my backyard,” she said, wrapping her lithe young limbs around his body. “And then I’m going to kill you.”
The man turned to see if his wife was peeking out the window. She was not. He turned back to face the school teacher.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I very much want to stick my cock into you and see where this goes. But please don’t kill me.”
“We shall see,” she uttered softly. “We shall see.”
The next morning, the man’s wife found her husband dead in his hot-house, stabbed in the stomach presumably by the clipping shears protruding from his belly. He was sprawled across the Hoop Petticoat variety of daffodil.
The police speculated that this was most certainly a suicide. When they questioned his wife and the neighbors, including the school teacher, no one knew of any reason that the man had to kill himself.
“We loved each other,” sobbed his wife. “We went to the movies regularly and ate out at lovely restaurants once a week.” When asked about how he felt about his job she replied, “He’d just gotten a 3 percent cost of living raise at work. They allow him access to social media. It was all going so perfectly.”
“He couldn’t have suffered from any kind of despair or disillusionment. Why, why throw our life together away?” she wailed. The wife was inconsolable but comforted by all of the gluten-free and free-range gourmet duck fat casseroles that friends and family had started to bring over to express their sorrow at her loss.
Later that week, at the man’s office, as his department’s administrative assistant cleaned out his desk (there were mostly clip binders and soy sauce packets in the drawer), she found a sticky note addressed to the VP of Human Resources.
“Dear important sir. I did not attend the three meetings I had on my Outlook calendar for tomorrow. I didn’t want to work here anymore.”
“Tsk tsk,” said the administrative assistant. “What could he have wanted to be, poor dear? A VP perhaps!” She was going to give the message to human resources but remembered she had to put out coffee in the conference room because four very important managers were scheduled for a meeting in 10 minutes.