I Am A Number

709, that's me. I have forsaken name and identity and become another figure in the corporate world. All that is important about me is written on a yellow time card which I have to remember to slip into a machine every morning and every night.

I am beginning to forget everything about the outside world. All day I type words and figures into the database, recording the results of a survey of workers from a large Australian company:

You people are a joke

I included a personal phone number in the last survey and you didn't call me. Why didn't you call me?

No one ever acts on these surveys anyway.

A. is a good place to work...

I hate my supervisor

Don't worry. All the results filled out on the survey will either by ignored or fed into the paper-shredder. And I will soon have forgotten the English language and speak in a new, clean, corporate language consisting solely of numbers.

43843754867329?

4643865923939439456838456932486874349636....

Actually, just between you and me, I do have a thing for the cute little office worker a few desks behind me. Her name is 467.

467, I just met a girl called 467,
And suddenly a name
Will never be the same to me,
467, 467, 467.

See you later. Er, I mean, 38745879549.57.