Hash

Finn would need to figure out who’s who in the zoo to figure out what was worth reading and what was just passive aggressive follow up emails from people who wasted their university education becoming something called a communications manager. Apparently getting pregnant in your 20s had consequences, and you could hear every lost opportunity and life mistake in the curt and well placed punctuation. Finn liked to delete these when ever he got in to cause a little chaos. Sorry Debby, you’re screaming into the void, It’s not IT’s fault your husband doesn’t love you and you piss yourself when you cough, consider opening a ticket. He opened another tab and pulled up the company structure. Hash corp, the worlds largest manufacturer of plastic crap. Pens, lighters, razors, if you could imagine it, hash corp was filling the oceans with billions of them per day. He scrolled through the management structure, scoffing at the picture the CEO had posted of himself out the front of one of their factories wearing a hard hat. Simon Rathers. Finn doubted he’d ever done a day of work in his life. By the look of the linkedin posts he’d gone straight from MBA to conference salesman and stock pumper. Finn wasn’t even sure this Simon guy could read but at least his assistant would be sending interesting emails from his account. These corporate shit heads where always up to something, they couldn’t help themselves. Blackmail wasn’t Finn’s style. He liked to dump things anonymously for catharsis. So the private school to corporate tool types would have a little thorn in their side, no matter how much money they paid politicians and in out of court settlements.