Ping Pong

In every office space there are the inevitable irritations and aggravations. I’ve written on this before.

In my current employment my pet peeve is the ping pong table.

The sound of that little white ball pinging and ponging gets under my skin and creates an itchy, scratchy, I want to kill someone feeling.

Last week there was one table.

This week there are two.

I think they split like unholy amoeba and spawn more and more of them.

In a few months we’ll be overrun by ping pong tables.

I can hear it right now.

The sound not unlike Japanese water torture.

Drip, drip, drip until you crack and confess every stupid thing you’ve done in your life just to make the agony stop.

I can handle earphone karaoke.

I can deal with the whistling refrain of “Don’t Worry Be Happy”.

I am having serious trouble convincing myself not to go Bruce Lee on the next ping pong artiste.

The good use for a ping pong ball is that demonstrated by Thai ladyboy cabarets and as a ball gag.

 

 

 

 

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