Maybe He Was Hitler in His Previous Life

Written by Lord Lansdowne

In the office I work at, the programming department has a new face every day. I take it the working environment in there is pure shit because they are only happy during the last two weeks, when they've handed in their resignations. People come and go so fast I don't even bother getting to know them anymore. I just start theorizing how long it will take for so-and-so to turn from happy (I have a job!) to pissed off (this job sucks!) to eventually that happy (I'm quitting!) stage again.

Occasionally there is some new guy that walks into the office and you don't even bother to acknowledge his presence. Mostly because by tomorrow he's probably gone, and besides, from where I am sitting I can't even see them, much less hear them.

But there is this one guy that for some reason, the moment I saw him, I developed strong feelings of hate for him. It's not just I don't like him because he's done something wrong. No, nothing silly like that. He's done nothing wrong. He's always well dressed. He's educated. He speaks with manners and is never rude. Yet I hate this guy's fucking guts.

At first I kept hearing that little inner voice inside of me that reminds me that I'm doing something bad. You know, you say to yourself how nice your fist would look on this guy's face, and that little voice says something your mother or your teacher would say: "That's horrible. How could you think that?" I don't know. How could I? Am I the only one with homicidal urges? Besides, I hate that little voice in my head. Some of the voices in my head I really like to listen to because they pump up both me and my ego, but that little voice, the voice of sanity as I like to call it, always reminds me that in our society certain things just can't be done. I listen to it mostly because I like to keep the paycheque coming to support my habits.

Unfortunately for me at the moment, and eventually for him, I keep bumping into buddy. He's always around. I always see that grin of his. Sometimes I see his face and I can see a little bit of myself in him, and I wonder, thanks to my great previous schooling as a psychologist, if that's the reason I hate him. Maybe, I think, it's that snotty grin on his face I want to wipe off with a 12 gauge. Or maybe it's because he sort of remotely looks like me.

But I think I'm slowly starting to figure out why I hate him. Every time I go to the lunch room, he's there. He is sitting in front of the TV playing a game on the Dreamcast. Every time. I could get up right now and go check, and I'm sure buddy would be there playing the game.

"Is this a valuable reason for me to shove that controller up his arse?" I ask, and I often hear all the little voices but one say "yes".

Out of random curiosity I asked a few other people that work here (and haven't quit yet), what they thought of the guy. Well, they hate him too. They don't know why. I felt much better about this, because it meant that I wasn't the only one with homicidal impulses screaming through my brain waiting for that one little last drop to go wild and take half of the office with me before the cops shoot me down like a rabid dog.

Me and my newly discovered friend in hate started questioning other people. To our surprise three more people reported their hate for him. Our group grew quite large. We happily determined that the guy must just have no charisma. Maybe he was Hitler in his previous life. Maybe we should do a support group for others that feel the same about him. Either way, he won't know what hit him when the time to strike arrives.