Thursday, October 1, 2009

key cards

Key cards were invented by lazy security professionals who got sick and tired of working. These delightful little devices help you access work buildings, pay for trains, and learn how to dance1.

Many companies now employ key cards in order to maintain security in their buildings. New employees are initiated by given a card, which makes them feel special because they can now sell out to the man in a restricted area. My own company provided me with a card the day I joined, and I gleefully went in and out of the building, merrily skipping my privileged way.

My building is especially secure, because not only do you need a card to get in, you need a card to get out. Should someone manage to sneak their way into the office, they'll be sorely disappointed when they find their escape route is cut off by someone's inane security policy. Ah ha!

Unfortunately, all is not bliss in the world of key cards. Should you lose your card, say, in a grocery store, the second day on the job, that pretty much makes you look like an idiot, and your skipping turns to shuffling, your merry mirth to fickle frowns. Though, if you're lucky, you'll find that someone turned it in to the lost and found. After you were ridiculed by the office.

Having lost said card by attaching it to your person via a nifty pull cord, you might be tempted to put it in your wallet, like the other cool people. That way, when you want to access a room, you can shake your wallet like a polaroid picture in front of the receiver.

Some days, however, people wear pants where the back pockets button up. It's a little bit too much work to unbutton said pants, so there's only one way to get in or out of work: approach the door, look both ways, make sure nobody is watching, turn around and point your bottom at the door, and shake your booty for the receiver. You might not be tall enough to reach it, but enough enlightened jumping and shaking should do the trick2.

And pray nobody was watching.

1. I once talked a girl into dating me by reminding her what a travesty my dancing ability was, and how the only way to remove this blight on humanity was to date me and fix it. Happily, she agreed. Sadly, she did not fix it3.
2. This is my morning exercise routine.
3. I likely can't dance because I'm emotionally scarred by the ninth grade dance where I was pushed into the middle of one of the circles o' embarrassment, and forced into a rabid dance of fury like the little jester I was.

5 comments:

Annette said...

Maybe with all the booty shaking, you'll start to improve your dance skills...

Jess said...

Is this replacing Frisbee? "You might not be tall enough to reach it, but enough enlightened jumping and shaking should do the trick"

spr said...

I've got a co-worker who has no shame. Every day butt to scanner. Which then goes into a roll to the handicap door open button. So at least you're not alone.

drfindley said...

I don't believe you. We need video evidence. Posted to the internet. With appropriate background music. (All the Single Ladies, Hey Ya or that Shakira song about her oh-so honest hips.)

chris said...

okay, that was ingenious, ms. berry. yes, the two are intimately related.