Gerald Ford worked in an office building, in a cubicle, and was not a President. He was merely a blue-collar worker who had parents who named him after their neighbor, and their favorite brand of automobile, Ford.
When someone would ask Gerald what he did for a living, he would shrug.
“It’s not really important. All the phone numbers in the offices aren’t verified, and instead of paying for the software that would auto check the numbers, I call each station manually, then type into the computer whether or not the number belongs to the office, who it belongs to, and what section of the buildings they operate from.”
He did this alphabetically, starting with section. Having started work almost half a year ago, Ford had just now passed “Autoerotic” and was slowly but steadily making his way to “Bar Polish.” The company that Ford worked for dabbled.
Ford worked under the gun most of the time, working towards a certain quota at the end of each day. The quota usually was never met, because the Big Boss of the company had decided back in the day that every employee should have Caller ID on their office phones, so they could avoid family calls. What the Big Boss didn’t foresee was that his employees might use the Caller ID to avoid calls from any other part of the office, which they did frequently. This was a pain in Ford’s ass.
Two weeks ago, Ford had ponied up and bought a headset, tired of holding the ear-piece to the side of his head. Because his hands were free, and he was on “hold” most of the time, he started to once again rekindle the old love of the internet.
And so his work continued, until it was evaluation time at the office.
His boss, McNeil, rounded the corner to the cubicle that day, bumping into Ford’s chair. Ford looked up, hung up the phone, and spun, facing his boss.
“Hey, McNeil.”
“Hey…” McNeil flipped through a folder, “Frod. Is that short for Frodo or something?”
“No. No, that’s part of my last name, which is Ford.”
“Oh. What’s your first name, then?”
“Gerald.”
“Like the President?”
“No. Like my neighbor and the car.”
McNeil grunted, folding the folder back and pulling a pen out. He sat on the edge of Ford’s desk, trying to fit himself under the desk lamp.
“McNeil, we could go to your office if you need the room?”
“What? No. Do you know why I’m here?”
“The yearly evaluation.”
“No, the yearly eval- Yes. How did you know?”
“Well, it happens once a year, and it’s marked on the corporate calendar.”
“I have to get someone to fix that… If every employee knows when the evaluation is, that paints an unfair picture. You have extra time to get ready.”
“Sir, I was under the impression that the yearly evaluation was… An evaluation that evaluated the work over the course of the entire year, not just the day of the evaluation.”
“Frod, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine.”
“It says in my folder here, Hobbit, that you –“
“Sir, it’s Gerald. If you’re going to insist on using my last name, please pronounce it right.”
McNeil scribbled something down on the evaluation form.
“Alright, Samwise, how do you think your job is coming along? Be honest, because I already know.”
“Wait, are you asking me how my job is coming along as a personal opinion, or a reflective number based upon the impossible quota that I’m assigned daily?”
“Moving right along. Do you optimize your time at work? Be honest, because I already know.”
“Uh… Yes. I’m connected on the phone almost from the time I get in to the time I leave. Some of the time I’m on hold, so I might play Tetris on the computer if there’s nothing else to do.”
McNeil made a sweeping hand motion with the pen across the paper.
“Final question, Gandalf. Do you think Casual Friday is too casual?”
“What does that have to do with my yearly evaluation?”
“Thank you for your time, Fordo.”
“You just butchered my name and the name of a Hobbit, sir.”
He quickly stood, knocking the lamp over.
“McNeil, sir, is that all? Isn’t there a little more to an employee evaluation than that?”
“Like I said, we already have the answer. I’m going to be e-mailing you your… status report within a few days, so make sure you have your e-mail set up at your workstation.”
It was days like these that Ford regretted putting the bottle down.
-
It was four weeks after the evaluation that Ford received the first e-mail from McNeil. The subject line was “Pass This Along Or You’ll Be Cursed.” Ford recognized many of the e-mail addresses in the “Sent” line to be his co-workers. He furrowed his brow, immediately deleting the e-mail and wondered when exactly McNeil would get around to giving him his evaluation.
The next day, Ford received another e-mail. “Guys, This One Is Real; Real Conspiracy Inside To Cover Up The Nations Tragedy.”
Ford opened the e-mail and inside was a link to a video full of fallacies about a terrorist attack on the United States. The attack had happened some time ago, but the date had been immortalized through media, internet, and memory. The event was 9/11, and the video was easily debunked. Unfortunately, it seemed to Ford that McNeil took a lot of stock in the video.
For deleted the e-mail, watched the video, and began compiling a lost of facts to debunk the major points when he got home from work. When he went in the next day, his chair squeaking, he sent an e-mail back to everyone on the list, including McNeil, with the new facts inside. It was a matter of minutes before Ford was e-mailed back by McNeil.
Subject Line: “That’s What They Want You To Think”
Body Text: None.
Ford sighed, picked up the phone, and dialed the number for the “Cat Food Deodorant Branch.”
-
Another month passed, with no word about his employee evaluation, but many, many new e-mails about the “spectacular” video. Ford deleted each e-mail, but it wasn’t until an employee error Ford began to get upset at the prospect that so many people were buying into something that could have been so easily debunked.
Someone in the “French Cooking” department had sent a list of e-mails back. Most of them read along the lines of, “Amazing video; that completely changed my mind.” There were few that doubted the authenticity in the building where he worked. People refused to do their own research, and soon, e-mails came pouring in from the different offices, singing the praises of the presentation.
Steamed at the idiocy of the office, Ford decided one day after his morning coffee, that he would fight fire with biting cynicism
He sat down at his desk, forwarding an e-mail to everyone in the office.
Subject Line: The Real Culprit
Body Text: “Hey guys, this is Ford with the automated service. Most of you know who I am, most of you all have put me on hold before.
I’m here to offer you the truth, though it may blow your mind. I recommend a helmet before you read on any further, lest you suffer an aneurysm when you’re floored.
During my tenure at McNeil Holding’s, I’ve spent some time perusing the internet. I’ve seen the controversial video, “Pennies and Sense,” and I’m just here to tell you that that video? Complete bull****. No, I have the real answer.
“Pennies and Sense” was put out by the government to throw us all off the trail of the real culprit. The real culprit behind the hideous attacks that day was not the government, though that’s what they’d want you to think. The answer is far more sinister than any one person could ever envision. Using a network of 100,000 reliable sources, I’ve come to the conclusion that the driving force behind the attacks…
“United We Stand Flag Union.”
I would include a chart with sales numbers, but we all know the Flag Union has complete control over every pie-graph made, ever. Instead, I’m just going to give you some facts and let you make up your own mind about it.
Fact 1: People buy flags.
Fact 2: They hang them.
Fact 3: After 9/11, there wasn’t a single person without an American Flag.
Fact 4: Prior to 9/11, one in every twelve person had an American Flag.
I’m asking you to use your brain here. Who profited from the tragedy the most? The media? The government?
No. The Number 1 Flag conglomerate in the United States. United We Stand Flag Union is the Number 1 producer of American Flags, and they stood to make a fortune off of the attacks. I don’t know how they did it, but I know why. All you need to do is fill in the blanks and you’ll have your answer.
Trust me. This is 100 certain. If you don’t believe me, you’re just a sheep.
Gerald Ford.”
He sent off the e-mail early Friday, and was fired before lunch.
-
McNeil had called him into the office, and asked two questions.
“Hey, there, Frodo. One does not simply MARCH into Mordor, right? Actually, did you send this e-mail out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, okay. Well, here’s the thing. You’re being very unpatriotic, and the office is no place for this kind of conspiracy behavior. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“What?”
“You’re fired. You’ve failed. The age of man? It’s over.”
The only thing Ford took from the office was his head-set. The rest belonged to McNeil Holdings.
-
Ford walked back to his house to find the back door slightly ajar. He didn’t think anything of it; it hadn’t been closing all the way all week. No, what was more strange was the slew of e-mails he had received at his home computer. Six from someone who called themselves “Poster.”
“Poster” wrote, “Bravo on uncovering what is the greatest cover-up of the century. After doing some legwork, I’ve began production of a video that will blow the lid off of United We Stand Flag Union… You’re an amazing man, Ford. On behalf of America, I want to thank you.”
The rest of the e-mails were of a similar nature, praising his brilliance in finding something that would define a generation.
Ford went to bed that night puzzled, as his e-mail inbox slowly filled.
He awoke the next day to the friendly sound of suppressed gunfire.
When someone would ask Gerald what he did for a living, he would shrug.
“It’s not really important. All the phone numbers in the offices aren’t verified, and instead of paying for the software that would auto check the numbers, I call each station manually, then type into the computer whether or not the number belongs to the office, who it belongs to, and what section of the buildings they operate from.”
He did this alphabetically, starting with section. Having started work almost half a year ago, Ford had just now passed “Autoerotic” and was slowly but steadily making his way to “Bar Polish.” The company that Ford worked for dabbled.
Ford worked under the gun most of the time, working towards a certain quota at the end of each day. The quota usually was never met, because the Big Boss of the company had decided back in the day that every employee should have Caller ID on their office phones, so they could avoid family calls. What the Big Boss didn’t foresee was that his employees might use the Caller ID to avoid calls from any other part of the office, which they did frequently. This was a pain in Ford’s ass.
Two weeks ago, Ford had ponied up and bought a headset, tired of holding the ear-piece to the side of his head. Because his hands were free, and he was on “hold” most of the time, he started to once again rekindle the old love of the internet.
And so his work continued, until it was evaluation time at the office.
His boss, McNeil, rounded the corner to the cubicle that day, bumping into Ford’s chair. Ford looked up, hung up the phone, and spun, facing his boss.
“Hey, McNeil.”
“Hey…” McNeil flipped through a folder, “Frod. Is that short for Frodo or something?”
“No. No, that’s part of my last name, which is Ford.”
“Oh. What’s your first name, then?”
“Gerald.”
“Like the President?”
“No. Like my neighbor and the car.”
McNeil grunted, folding the folder back and pulling a pen out. He sat on the edge of Ford’s desk, trying to fit himself under the desk lamp.
“McNeil, we could go to your office if you need the room?”
“What? No. Do you know why I’m here?”
“The yearly evaluation.”
“No, the yearly eval- Yes. How did you know?”
“Well, it happens once a year, and it’s marked on the corporate calendar.”
“I have to get someone to fix that… If every employee knows when the evaluation is, that paints an unfair picture. You have extra time to get ready.”
“Sir, I was under the impression that the yearly evaluation was… An evaluation that evaluated the work over the course of the entire year, not just the day of the evaluation.”
“Frod, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine.”
“It says in my folder here, Hobbit, that you –“
“Sir, it’s Gerald. If you’re going to insist on using my last name, please pronounce it right.”
McNeil scribbled something down on the evaluation form.
“Alright, Samwise, how do you think your job is coming along? Be honest, because I already know.”
“Wait, are you asking me how my job is coming along as a personal opinion, or a reflective number based upon the impossible quota that I’m assigned daily?”
“Moving right along. Do you optimize your time at work? Be honest, because I already know.”
“Uh… Yes. I’m connected on the phone almost from the time I get in to the time I leave. Some of the time I’m on hold, so I might play Tetris on the computer if there’s nothing else to do.”
McNeil made a sweeping hand motion with the pen across the paper.
“Final question, Gandalf. Do you think Casual Friday is too casual?”
“What does that have to do with my yearly evaluation?”
“Thank you for your time, Fordo.”
“You just butchered my name and the name of a Hobbit, sir.”
He quickly stood, knocking the lamp over.
“McNeil, sir, is that all? Isn’t there a little more to an employee evaluation than that?”
“Like I said, we already have the answer. I’m going to be e-mailing you your… status report within a few days, so make sure you have your e-mail set up at your workstation.”
It was days like these that Ford regretted putting the bottle down.
-
It was four weeks after the evaluation that Ford received the first e-mail from McNeil. The subject line was “Pass This Along Or You’ll Be Cursed.” Ford recognized many of the e-mail addresses in the “Sent” line to be his co-workers. He furrowed his brow, immediately deleting the e-mail and wondered when exactly McNeil would get around to giving him his evaluation.
The next day, Ford received another e-mail. “Guys, This One Is Real; Real Conspiracy Inside To Cover Up The Nations Tragedy.”
Ford opened the e-mail and inside was a link to a video full of fallacies about a terrorist attack on the United States. The attack had happened some time ago, but the date had been immortalized through media, internet, and memory. The event was 9/11, and the video was easily debunked. Unfortunately, it seemed to Ford that McNeil took a lot of stock in the video.
For deleted the e-mail, watched the video, and began compiling a lost of facts to debunk the major points when he got home from work. When he went in the next day, his chair squeaking, he sent an e-mail back to everyone on the list, including McNeil, with the new facts inside. It was a matter of minutes before Ford was e-mailed back by McNeil.
Subject Line: “That’s What They Want You To Think”
Body Text: None.
Ford sighed, picked up the phone, and dialed the number for the “Cat Food Deodorant Branch.”
-
Another month passed, with no word about his employee evaluation, but many, many new e-mails about the “spectacular” video. Ford deleted each e-mail, but it wasn’t until an employee error Ford began to get upset at the prospect that so many people were buying into something that could have been so easily debunked.
Someone in the “French Cooking” department had sent a list of e-mails back. Most of them read along the lines of, “Amazing video; that completely changed my mind.” There were few that doubted the authenticity in the building where he worked. People refused to do their own research, and soon, e-mails came pouring in from the different offices, singing the praises of the presentation.
Steamed at the idiocy of the office, Ford decided one day after his morning coffee, that he would fight fire with biting cynicism
He sat down at his desk, forwarding an e-mail to everyone in the office.
Subject Line: The Real Culprit
Body Text: “Hey guys, this is Ford with the automated service. Most of you know who I am, most of you all have put me on hold before.
I’m here to offer you the truth, though it may blow your mind. I recommend a helmet before you read on any further, lest you suffer an aneurysm when you’re floored.
During my tenure at McNeil Holding’s, I’ve spent some time perusing the internet. I’ve seen the controversial video, “Pennies and Sense,” and I’m just here to tell you that that video? Complete bull****. No, I have the real answer.
“Pennies and Sense” was put out by the government to throw us all off the trail of the real culprit. The real culprit behind the hideous attacks that day was not the government, though that’s what they’d want you to think. The answer is far more sinister than any one person could ever envision. Using a network of 100,000 reliable sources, I’ve come to the conclusion that the driving force behind the attacks…
“United We Stand Flag Union.”
I would include a chart with sales numbers, but we all know the Flag Union has complete control over every pie-graph made, ever. Instead, I’m just going to give you some facts and let you make up your own mind about it.
Fact 1: People buy flags.
Fact 2: They hang them.
Fact 3: After 9/11, there wasn’t a single person without an American Flag.
Fact 4: Prior to 9/11, one in every twelve person had an American Flag.
I’m asking you to use your brain here. Who profited from the tragedy the most? The media? The government?
No. The Number 1 Flag conglomerate in the United States. United We Stand Flag Union is the Number 1 producer of American Flags, and they stood to make a fortune off of the attacks. I don’t know how they did it, but I know why. All you need to do is fill in the blanks and you’ll have your answer.
Trust me. This is 100 certain. If you don’t believe me, you’re just a sheep.
Gerald Ford.”
He sent off the e-mail early Friday, and was fired before lunch.
-
McNeil had called him into the office, and asked two questions.
“Hey, there, Frodo. One does not simply MARCH into Mordor, right? Actually, did you send this e-mail out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, okay. Well, here’s the thing. You’re being very unpatriotic, and the office is no place for this kind of conspiracy behavior. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“What?”
“You’re fired. You’ve failed. The age of man? It’s over.”
The only thing Ford took from the office was his head-set. The rest belonged to McNeil Holdings.
-
Ford walked back to his house to find the back door slightly ajar. He didn’t think anything of it; it hadn’t been closing all the way all week. No, what was more strange was the slew of e-mails he had received at his home computer. Six from someone who called themselves “Poster.”
“Poster” wrote, “Bravo on uncovering what is the greatest cover-up of the century. After doing some legwork, I’ve began production of a video that will blow the lid off of United We Stand Flag Union… You’re an amazing man, Ford. On behalf of America, I want to thank you.”
The rest of the e-mails were of a similar nature, praising his brilliance in finding something that would define a generation.
Ford went to bed that night puzzled, as his e-mail inbox slowly filled.
He awoke the next day to the friendly sound of suppressed gunfire.
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