Work is like that movie "Hostel"...

So I'm at work, right? And I'm sitting there, minding my own business, when BLAM, I'm hit with a string of projects so bizarre and laborious that I shudder to even relate to you, fair reader. It's not as though I was sitting there, scratching my behind and staring at the paint peeling off of the dull, brown walls of this place. Believe me, to contemplate the construction of this place is to walk the road to madness. Who knows what archaic diseases and outlawed materials this place is built upon? It boggles the mind...But I digress.

Back to the point at hand. So, basically this place, I have come to believe, is like the movie "Hostel". You know the one, right? The horror movie set in a European travel hostel, or cheap place to lay your head, where people with money can come, have a traveller abducted and torture them at their whim with crazy tools in a dank, dark, and horrible room. Pain is the name of this sadistic game, pain for other people's pleasure. It's frightening and horrible. That, my friend, is my job.

Sadly, comparisons are not hard to come by. Let's start with the setting. I do not work in a European hostel, but I DO work in the basement of an incredibly old building, so old that there are doors down here to which no one has keys, nor does anyone know what is behind them. Frankly, if my imagination is anywhere close to truth, I'd rather not know. Seriously. It's creepy. There is supposedly even a sub-basement below this one housing things that even the oldest worker here cannot recall. The lighting is horrible, at best, with broken and irregular track lighting being the norm. The ducts and pipework leak at varying intervals, mixing with the cool cave chillness to create a dark, dank area that comes to resemble the torture rooms of the movie. One look at this place and it's not hard to imagine people getting there teeth ripped out with rusty pliers. I know. Bad stuff.

Beyond the creepy-as-spit setting, the way this place is run is reminiscent of the film. Why? Well, this place is either run by crazed monkeys bent on world domination and failing miserably, or else it's actually an elaborate torture parlor, where sadists are paid to act as "managers" and "directors" to their delight and wreak unimaginable pain and anguish upon those poor souls fooled enough to believe this is an actual job. I mean, no one would make the decisions that are made here on a regular basis unless they derive some sick pleasure from seeing the mental scarring they are causing etched on the pinched, drained faces of the workers here. Many have worked here for so long, the life has been drained from them, one mental tooth pull at a time. So, instead of rich sadists, we have PAID sadists. Close enough, in my book.

Maybe I'm just having a bad day. Every time I step foot in this place. But it really does tell me something that I can successfully compare where I work to a sadistic torture fest of a movie. Time to move on, I guess. After all, the paycheck itself is enough to cause damage when you think about it. True story.