Despite this slump in the economy, the TMT offices are alive and well, and any rumor to the contrary is heresy. Now, has our water been turned off? Yes. Have we cut a few corners by canceling our internet and jerry-rigging a giant antenna to snatch the neighbors' Wi-Fi signals? Yes. But these are wise managerial strategies to be employed in any financial case.
Also unwavering is TMT's commitment to high workplace morale and productivity. Inside, we've all crowded into the same corner, where the only unsecure wireless signal is strongest, setting our laptops up on empty paper boxes and toner crates. Mr P sits across from me in one of the two -- count ‘em two -- luxurious office beanbags that we picked up on citywide trash day. "You ever heard that uh..." P says, browsing stuffonmycat.com, "...that, uh -- OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THIS STUFF ON THIS CAT!" but few lookup from their dutiful YouTubing. Next to me, an unpaid intern tensely attempts to delete "amateur XXX" from the cached history of his Google searches, as a pale kid near the wall sits feverishly formatting tourdates, as he is commanded to do day in and day out.
"Hey, tourdate kid -- you got those UK Twilight Sad dates for me yet?"
Like a well-oiled machine: