I found this YouTube video, taken from a security camera, of an office drone working in a cubicle maze. Some guy comes along and accidentally knocks a bunch of papers off his desk. The drone notices, and he makes the guy pick up the papers. And then, for reasons unknown, the drone takes his computer keyboard and smashes it on the guy’s head. Thus emboldened, the drone throws his computer monitor across the room. And then he really cuts loose. He leaps from desk to desk, wreaking mayhem on various pieces of office equipment for three minutes, until someone finally tasers his ass, and down he goes. And the whole time I was watching it, I kept picturing the drone, sitting at his desk thinking, “If Glen knocks those profit and loss statements off my desk one more time, I’m gonna go fucking psycho.”Then Glen knocked the papers off, one last time. The tipping point. I’ll bet it was a really freeing moment for the drone.
I watched it again and again, following the individual reactions of the drone’s co-workers during the flipout. Some made a run for the door, but a large number stayed. With their camera phones. They didn’t intervene; they just… documented. The drone’s breakdown became more explicable- He worked with assholes. It’s the little things that really define your day, you know? Then you hit the tipping point.
“I’ve figured out what causes a nervous breakdown,” I tell my sister Shannon on the phone.
“That’s a hell of an opening statement,” she says. “Go on.”
“Everywhere I turn, people tell me I’m not doing enough. No matter how hard I work, something gets left out or overlooked, and then people say I’m letting them down. Preppy says I don’t clean the house enough, my boss keeps finding things I didn’t do, I gotta raise money for Cotillion… last night I decided to stay in to get some sleep, and two people called me from the bar all pissed off. Even drinking is an obligation now. And I really want a miniature cow! And the batteries in the TV remote are dead, but every single time I go to CVS I forget to buy new ones. For three months!”
“And that’s what causes a nervous breakdown?”
“I think a breakdown is just your brain saying fuck it all,” I say. “Forget work, cleaning, batteries, just go to the nut hut, sit in a padded room and play Connect Four.”
“They wouldn’t let you play Connect Four in a psych ward. Choking hazard.”
“Oh, great, Shannon. Way to ruin my breakdown.”
“I don’t like all this conversation. Are you planning on having a breakdown?”
“It’d be too much work for Preppy. And I could never schedule a psychotic break.”
“Good for you,” says Shannon. “You figured out two things. Breakdowns are caused by constant nagging, and prevented by schedule conflicts. Now, if you really think you’re about to go on some sort of Tatum O’Neal downward spiral, say so. Otherwise, I gotta wake up my kid or he’ll nap all day.”
“Go. I’m fine.”
So she does. I’m not fine.
For the rest of the day, I wonder if the little things just add up, the demands and e-mails and voicemails under the general heading of “Not good enough”, until one cannot help but throw a fax machine for a little release. I wonder what you’re supposed to do keep that from happening.
That night, Preppy and I go out for drinks, and he tries to make me laugh, but I’m too close to my tipping point to let go and have fun. So on the drive home, he removes his shoes. Followed by all of his clothing.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’ve been trying to make you smile all night, but nothing’s worked. So when we get home, I’m going to jump out of the car and run around naked until you get the front door open. And if that doesn’t make you laugh, there’s no hope for you.”
He’s as good as his word, and I try to unlock the door, but I can’t stop laughing long enough to get the key. As I cackle, I feel myself tipping back in the right direction. Like I said, it’s the little things that define your day, and this day is no longer defined by everyone barking demands at me. It’s defined by the image of my fiancée’s ass in the moonlight, and me wondering if the neighbors are up.
That night, Preppy and I go out for drinks, and he tries to make me laugh, but I’m too close to my tipping point to let go and have fun. So on the drive home, he removes his shoes. Followed by all of his clothing.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’ve been trying to make you smile all night, but nothing’s worked. So when we get home, I’m going to jump out of the car and run around naked until you get the front door open. And if that doesn’t make you laugh, there’s no hope for you.”
He’s as good as his word, and I try to unlock the door, but I can’t stop laughing long enough to get the key. As I cackle, I feel myself tipping back in the right direction. Like I said, it’s the little things that define your day, and this day is no longer defined by everyone barking demands at me. It’s defined by the image of my fiancée’s ass in the moonlight, and me wondering if the neighbors are up.
