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Many years ago, I had a job I hated. Granted, I have had many jobs that I have hated. I majored in English in college which outfits you for specifically NOTHING. Also, pretty much everything’s a bit of a comedown after you’ve studied metaphysical poetry about morning-wood. I’m just sayin’.

Anyway, I had a joyless job with a company the management of which appeared to be the inspiration of Office Space, The Office, and the entire Dilbert back catalogue. Every day there seemed to be a fresh snowfall of managerial flakiness sprinkled over the hordes of khaki-clad office serfdom. One day, management sprung upon us the news that we were to undergo mandatory Myers-Briggs psychological profiling. My suspicions were that this was to mark out potential troublemakers. I also suspected that I’d test out as mentally dodgy, and really didn’t want to submit myself to the whole ethically dubious process.

Those of us who dared to question the necessity or indeed the legality of the testing were informed that it was compulsory and that our employment was at-will. HR told us to get stuffed. There was a system of informal disgrace that we all called “imaginary demerits.” It was when you pissed off a superior, but it wasn’t anything that merited a write-up or could reasonably be addressed by an actual reprimand. One’s conduct was unofficially noted for future reference.

So under duress and in bad odour with the authorities, I took the stupid personality test. Given the state of barely-suppressed rebellion I was in at the time, I’m sure they had me clocked as a homicidal maniac.

Anyway, eventually, they churned up the results of our supposed psychological profiles and the whole thing blew over. It went in my official HR records, and to be totally honest, I don’t even remember, after all that drama and foot-dragging, what my stupid Myers-Briggs code was.

Which is a pity now, because The Myers-Briggs Asshole Index has come to my attention, and I wouldn’t mind knowing what kind of an asshole they think I am, though I am not bothered enough to dredge up the attention span to re-Myers myself.

Now realistically, I don’t believe there’s much actual value to the Myers-Briggs test, or indeed any of the rest of that psychobabble. It’s about as useful as your horoscope, an Ouija board, or that thing where people think their blood-type is a predictor of their personality. If you are so inclined, you can take the test to intentionally skew the results. Or, if you are like I was some dozen years ago, you can take the test in such a foul state of mind that you unintentionally skew the results.

I’ve seen a number of people take their Myers-Briggs type to heart and think that it really means something. Much in the same way that a dedicated astrology-addict will tell you that you shouldn’t date a Taurus rising on the cusp of the full moon when your sanguine humours are in the House or the Rising Sun. Except people who really cherish their Myers-Briggs score, I have noticed, are usually the type who also are very interested in what their IQ number is, also. I distrust people who believe their personalities can and should be quantified by Scantron.

Anyway, I suppose I already know what sort of asshole I am. Suspicious, impatient, hard-headed, and prone to injudicious flippancy. Also, grandiloquent as all fuck.

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