The Share-Care Movement

I consider it my obligation as a human being to help people.  I care.  I found a good way for you to care, too.  My telling you is my way to share-care.  In fact, I was at a production meeting when I was demeaned and given the churl's task of finding the correct spelling of 'share-care' itself.  I was choking with lust for revenge when my spiritual nature asserted itself and transformed my brutal mental imagery into something positive, of value: I could use the casual use of a colleague's lap top into an opportunity for gas lighting. My knowledge of the procedure was gained in the following manner:

There were three people in the room.  The court holder, his bimbo, and poor me, the victim.  They tell you lies about workplace work conditions in Ontario.  It is the worst on the planet.  The writers of Star Trek based their vision of Klingon forced labor on workplace work conditions in Ontario. The psycho-pathological equivalents of the whip, branding, and, the butt plug, are in widespread evidence in the Ontario work place.  I could tell what the court holder was thinking when he asked me to look up the correct spelling of 'share-care'.  

He did not even look up at me.  I could read his mind and tell you what he was thinking:  Go away, low-status scum, I want the wench to myself. The curvy bimbo is mine.  

I was being emotionally abused. Still, I am a legendary professional and stopped myself from crying.  This request was vague.  This was just an excuse to criticize my performance.  Nothing I could do would be right. Who cares what the spelling of 'share-care' really is but some prune addicts in Leslieville?  We were making the thing up, anyway.  

I was sitting at his lap top.  I typed in I need Insurance.  I have never seen a lap top internet bounce back with a happy screen of results so fast!  I opened the first few entries into separate tabs, then worked through the tabs, agreeing to everything.  Share your location, mister?  Sure.  How about our mailing list, to keep you informed of hot deals and peripheral seduction? Yup. 

I sat at his lap top two more times that meeting.  I shared his address book with the League of Car Dealers.  I clicked agree. My lust for revenge was being slaked.  The last time I was sent like the dismissed lackey with dog poop on his shoes, to explore something on wikipedia.  Of course. I deregistered him from the Do Not Call Registry.   

I, I, I, when is it ever going to be me, me, me, I wondered to myself. 

That evening, as I decompressed from the work day, I felt smug and superior.  I like feeling smug.  Not only had I been the paragon of professional office protocol, but I had ignored the cruel and penis driven agenda of the primate in a suit that was the excuse of a co-worker that was my co-worker that day.  I had been true to the spiritual values that many in Toronto hold dear.  My prayers for revenge had been answered!

Let me share with you the good news.  You can share-care, too.  In different ways, with what is handy, at any time.  When they are awake, when they are asleep.  This is the Share-Care Movement.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.