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  • Writer's pictureMr. Jamoke

Primal Instincts

11:04 AM: Unexpectedly the lights go out in our office. A tree-rat bit into the power line. A working man’s hero. RIP squirrel. What happened next shocked me. As soon as the lights went out I got up from my desk and took four brisk steps towards the exit. A completely subconscious and primal move. My conscious mind hadn’t even really processed what had happened but, at a cellular level, I knew what to do. Luckily, my conscious mind kicked in after a few seconds to stop me in my tracks. Then I stood there, a bewildered idiot contemplating to myself: “Holy crap, was I really just about to go do that?”


The sad reality (trust me, I wish I was kidding you) is that prior to my brain turning on and stopping my body, I was on my way to vandalize the bathroom. Some juvenile, hooligan instinct had me physically up and walking to the bathroom to cause mayhem. For sure, this is what I would have done (and did do) in 8th grade. The lights are out, people are confused, the teachers are distracted…. a perfect opportunity to destroy something. Only difference is that it’s nearly 15 years later, I was in a suit and tie, a year removed from my master’s degree, standing in disbelief that my inner urging had me halfway to the bathroom. Everyone else is looking around trying to figure out what happened, determine if they are safe, rationalize their next step…. One of my colleagues gave me a weird look and asked me: “Where are you going?” How do you answer that? I told her that I was going to look around and see what happened. I suspect that her middle school instincts read right through me: This guy was off to do some unsavory shit. I’ve read and heard anecdotes before of people that are lost in life or in a rut actively trying to channel their subconscious through meditation; these people crave to understand what it is they truly want in life. Maybe they want to be an artist, a philanthropist, a schoolteacher. Forget that. After this pitiful display today I’m freaking terrified of my subconscious. Could you imagine, after months of meditation, freeing up you ‘inner voice’ only to have it say: “Graffiti the stall! Smash the toilet seat!”

At least I was able to control my id, my inner self. One of the senior partners at the firm called the fucking cops in his panic. No joke. What do you say when the 911 operator picks up: “We need emergency assistance; the lights are out!” What a fucking pussy. I learned about this when I saw him in the lobby getting chewed out by some cop about what the police assumed was a prank call.

Rest assured though boys, the bathroom did end up getting vandalized. The third Friday of every month my company holds a happy hour in the office. It’s actually nice of them to do that. The big shots buy a keg of light beer and maybe some chardonnay and we all chill out on the deck and play cornhole and shoot the shit. To my great surprise, when I went in to piss at around 645 P.M. I saw my “peer” Stephen ralphing his brains out in the bathroom. Stall door open, hugging the toilet, losing his guts in there. Unbelievable. I haven’t seen anybody that hurt since I introduced some of my late bloomer freshman year hallmates to Mad Dog 20/20. I ignored him at first, just whizzed in the urinal 2 feet from his face. But when he was still there 30 minutes later, I couldn’t resist: Mid-piss I looked toward the stall and said to him: “Damn bro, I didn’t know Rolling Rock could be so devastating.” The guy just grunted. I think he was trying to mouth off, but he couldn’t summon the strength. A complete and utter chump. Listen, if it turns out that Stephen has been sneaking in bottles of Orange Jubilee or Banana Red into the office and sipping them throughout the day because he has a massive, low-class alcohol problem, then I’ll apologize. But the way I see it, it’s my duty to call him out for this abhorrently amateur display. If this were college, I’d go fetch him another beer just to rub salt in the wound, but I suppose some civility is needed amongst “colleagues”. There’s also the possibility that the yellow-bellied senior partner slipped a mickey into Steve’s 4% beer in hopes that Steve’s disgrace would eclipse his own disgrace. Such cunning and underhanded moves are a prerequisite to climbing the corporate ladder. Anyway………. Just be aware: If you start seeing egged houses and broken side view mirrors all over your neighborhood, it means one of two things: Either the local teenagers have been drinking hard, or I’ve gotten into meditation.

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