Caution - Pointless Toilet Report Ahead.
After lunch breaks, the next most important break is the bathroom break. My boss noted that the day he learned to punch in first THEN pinch it, was the day his whole earning life changed. "You get paid to shit." I therefore, try to go as often as I can.
In a space where there was formerly one kitchen next to one toilet, the kitchen was removed and an additional toilet was built in its place. In the days before the twin poopers, life was simple. You turned on the light and fan, closed the door, quietly took care of business while exploring the world map, sprayed some Lysol or whatever the custodian left on the napkin dispenser, and you did your best to sneak out of there while no one was faxing on the other side of the door.
Things have become much too complicated lately. Both restrooms are unmarked, but one has a distinctly Wimmin vibration over the other. In fact, many a man has noted a feeling of silent scorn when seen exiting the unmarked Wimmin’s room. Both restroom doors now feature a door closer, that is actually a door ajar-er, hence my meeting with Child Molester. Poor guy. Instead of a simple light switch, the device in each has been replaced with something bearing a button marked delay, a button marked off, a linear timer, and a blue l.e.d., AND in the Wimmin’s restroom, we now have the choice of spring scented Lysol, Biodegradable Orange Mist, or hairspray.
It takes a while, but I can eventually close the door by leaning on it, but not too hard because I've actually pre-peed on myself a couple times. (I have a tendency to wait until the very last second to drop what I am doing, then bolt to the pee-hole) I am also able to turn the light on in only two, maybe three tries. All of this gets a little hairy though esepecially after a big blast of coffee, and all my body wants to do is open the gag can of snake peanut brittle. It’s the hairspray that’s been bothering me. I know what it's for, but why now after all these years? It makes the place seem like a burgeoning counrty club. So yes, I’ve been using it just to feel a little less weird about its presence. I liked it so much that I bought my own. The brand is Garnier Fructis Style. It contains fruit micro-wax technology, a concept so extraterrestrial, wikipedia has not yet figured it out. You should try it and let me know.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Office Bloopers #1
I thought this would be a good post to start coming back to and provide a little comic relief from Employee 835's finger drama. .. Okay, somebody just purified themselves with some teenage mist next store. .geeezzzz. WTF? It's not the girls bathroom during the 8th grade dance around here? Is it? Anyways, yes office bloopers. As we've read this is constantly happening to Employee 835 so here's just a quick one.
I'm in the bathroom doing #2. Pull on TP and it falls out of the thing and rolls out of the stall and across the bathroom! Hahahahahahaahhaaa. No other witnesses.
I'm in the bathroom doing #2. Pull on TP and it falls out of the thing and rolls out of the stall and across the bathroom! Hahahahahahaahhaaa. No other witnesses.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Spare Us the Cutter
“Yeah, I forgot about the ice. I should have iced it to numb it,” said Sam, talking eagerly and confidently, from the dirty end of the Stupid Bong.
It’s now a few days since I stabbed myself in the right pinky knuckle with my mechanical pencil and I can still barely move my left arm. And Sam is still thinking of ways to improve the procedure, in case the need arises again.
On Monday morning, as I confidently reached my right hand into my right pocket, my right pinky knuckle met with the tip of my mechanical pencil, which pointed upward in my pocket. The tip, with graphite engaged drove deep underneath my skin, leaving a fair amount of the graphite lead in the skin. It did not hurt, it just looked horrifically stupid.
The details of my mini-freakout, including the gulping of a snickers bar for comfort shall be excluded from this tale. This story is dedicated entirely to Sam, stalwart battlefield medic and all around, valiant quack.
Sam saw me struggling at my desk, under a pile of first aid supplies, peroxide, tweezers, and candy wrappers. He is the man you go to when you have a problem because he will cause the problem to be resolved, by his own hands, or he will nudge the problem into the right hands. He quickly assessed the situation and decided that his own hands could and would cause the solution.
He immediately began working at my knuckle using the sharp tweezers that Matt keeps in his pen cup, making sure to wash off the blood every so often with peroxide. When he realized, from my incessant bleating, that all of the progressively painful wriggling and clipping of the visible portion of the graphite was fruitless, he quickly drew up a very sober seeming, two-step approach to the problem. He enthusiastically explained the problem in figure one.
“See, half of the lead broke off and the part we’re seeing is all under the skin.”
And then he went on to explain the solution.
“So what we have to do is cut into the skin like so, and we may have to cut out these little pleats on either end of the cut, kind of like an episiotomy. Once we cut the skin, we’ll fold it back and just knock the remaining lead loose. See? Just like that.” Yes, just like folding back the sarcophagus and knocking the remaining mummy loose. Just like that.
After shooting a dirty, confused, incredulous look, I began looking through my wallet for my medical card and I started to dial for REAL HELP.
“Oh SEE how you are?” He said, using his index finger as conductor’s baton.
“What do you mean how 'I' am? Yes, I’m going to a doctor. I’m not letting you perform minor surgery on me at my desk with a razor blade and blue masking tape.”
“It’s not a big deal at all. It’s just under the surface. Look, you can see it, it’s just right there. It just needs a little nudging. People do it all the time. All we need is a brand new X-acto blade that's never been used, and we can do it right here. Why waste your day in urgent care, we can do it right now, come on.”
He held up the sketch. “See?”
I paused and imagined Blind Justice with her stupid scales and I borrowed them for a minute. I began piling thoughts on either side of the scale, in no particular order:
1. My day is really busy and I have no time to waste at the Urgent Care Facility that aslo doubles as a Pizza Hut.
2. On the other hand the other coworkers, Dawn in particular, seem pretty upset by what they have seen and heard so far, and I'm not sure they should handle any further civil war battlefield surgery at my desk.
3. But it would be nice to get this all out, and Sam has communicated what needs to occur more clearly and more concisely than any doctor has ever done for me. I know exactly what to expect.
4. And, I'm sure that with enough peroxide and alcohol, we can make a semi-sterile environent, and then we could just slather up a bunch of Neosporin on the cut once it was all over.
5. But, haven't I learned anything from how my parents mis-handled similar situations? Don't I remember the time I was 12 when they didn't send me to the hospital after I cut my eye open with a wrench? Don't I remember that my eye swelled shut for a week and that my grandma, during our week-long road trip pumped me full of non-FDA approved antibiotics that she got from a friend who went to Tijuana?
6. But I'm not really interested in forking over that $100 emergency room co-pay. Man, fuck Blue Cross.
7. Maybe this will be different.
Sam looked at me expectantly during the time freeze, while I played with the borrowed scales, moving things on and off, left to right, and back again. When I felt ready, I un-paused. I gathered myself and all of my blood, and I went in search of new blades.
To be continued.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Office Odors
So you might be like me right now and you’re sitting in your air conditioned office with you carpeted walls around and below you. The faint hum of the lights and this weird dentist like office chair which you feel the same pain in as if you were at the dentist, except at the office no hot nurse/doctor is sticking their hands in your mouth. So if you find yourself in this world of pain and suffering then here’s a new thing I’ve noticed.
Office Odors
In a modern day office as opposed to a tire repair shop, Home Depot, and a first grade class. The element of a “smell” is all but, eliminated in our high tech world. This mainly has to do with the fact the computers hardly give off a smell as opposed to a first grader and everything else is just walls, pens, and paper and they don’t really smell like anything. So where do the odors come from? Well, your co-workers of course. I’ve discovered three distinctive odors that I smell on a regular basis and I just smelled one of these recently until the air filtration system whisked it away.
Smokey
This is a smell that is becoming harder and harder to experience in these days of healthy and organic lifestyles, but every once in a while you’ll have the opportunity to interact with it. “Smokey” occurs when one of your co-workers takes a smoke break and on the way back to their cube a distinctive smell of cigarette smoke passes by with them. This could only occur in two ways. 1. “Smokey” has just finished chain smoking three cigarette’s in twenty seconds and the chemical reaction that is induced by the raise of nicotine in their body actually causes them to emit a cigarette like smell. 2. They are walking back to their cubicle with a half lit cigarette that they are snubbing out which they put back in the pack and finish smoking later. In my experiences I believe number two is responsible for the “Smokey” smell.
What the fuck is that? Nuked barf?
You know you’ve experienced this one. Usually it hovers around the kitchen and is connected to something that was recently heated up in the microwave only rarely does “W.T.F.I.T.?N.B.?” make it’s way into the main office. Once this odor is detected in the regular office environment everyone usually has to get up and take their smoke breaks early or go out for lunch hoping that their appetite comes back. But, usually you just smell “W.T.F.I.T.?N.B.?” coming from the microwave and you feel discouraged to cook anything in it with fear of your own food becoming contaminated by the odor. One theory is that whatever was cooked in the microwave didn’t actually cause this order but, that every 100 times that something is nuked in a communal microwave it will spontaneously create this smell as the odor molecules are being mixed and heated to a million degrees once again. Think of all those different foods that have been heated up in the same oven: turkey pot pies, last night’s Chinese food, hot pockets, and cups of water for tea. Who heats water up in a microwave, gross?
Perfume Counter or Bleach Body Splash
When your eyes start burning or you get that itchy feeling in your nose and then in the back of your throat you know this odor has come along. I feel that it should be classified more as a chemical weapon but, odor will do. This smell is always found among the cubicles and can always be traced to its original creator. For some reason its unknown by the odor’s wearer that they have just doused themselves in a mix between pine smelling windex and baby lotion. At some point in this person’s life they felt compelled to routinely spray a mist of a fragrance chemical made primarily from alcohol and a mixture of colorizing ingredients all over their bodies. Sometimes it’s functional as in spray on suntan lotion or other times as a scented splash of watermelon and coconut for that bus ride home. Usually the later is what happens at a specific time and to ensure that they are fully coated they tend to spray enough that a “splash” floats over into your space and you’re wondering if second hand contact with body splash can cause you to begin smelling like an old woman’s handbag. One safety consideration I have is that isn’t our skin one of the most important and biggest organs on our body, I know some of you would beg to differ and have video proof, but, what I’m saying is that if our skin protects us from outside germs wouldn’t an airborne chemical that we can breathe in and have land on our bodies be deemed dangerous? I think we should put these people outside with the smokers but, that might be a problem when the alcohol mist comes in contact with an open flame. . .
Office Odors
In a modern day office as opposed to a tire repair shop, Home Depot, and a first grade class. The element of a “smell” is all but, eliminated in our high tech world. This mainly has to do with the fact the computers hardly give off a smell as opposed to a first grader and everything else is just walls, pens, and paper and they don’t really smell like anything. So where do the odors come from? Well, your co-workers of course. I’ve discovered three distinctive odors that I smell on a regular basis and I just smelled one of these recently until the air filtration system whisked it away.
Smokey
This is a smell that is becoming harder and harder to experience in these days of healthy and organic lifestyles, but every once in a while you’ll have the opportunity to interact with it. “Smokey” occurs when one of your co-workers takes a smoke break and on the way back to their cube a distinctive smell of cigarette smoke passes by with them. This could only occur in two ways. 1. “Smokey” has just finished chain smoking three cigarette’s in twenty seconds and the chemical reaction that is induced by the raise of nicotine in their body actually causes them to emit a cigarette like smell. 2. They are walking back to their cubicle with a half lit cigarette that they are snubbing out which they put back in the pack and finish smoking later. In my experiences I believe number two is responsible for the “Smokey” smell.
What the fuck is that? Nuked barf?
You know you’ve experienced this one. Usually it hovers around the kitchen and is connected to something that was recently heated up in the microwave only rarely does “W.T.F.I.T.?N.B.?” make it’s way into the main office. Once this odor is detected in the regular office environment everyone usually has to get up and take their smoke breaks early or go out for lunch hoping that their appetite comes back. But, usually you just smell “W.T.F.I.T.?N.B.?” coming from the microwave and you feel discouraged to cook anything in it with fear of your own food becoming contaminated by the odor. One theory is that whatever was cooked in the microwave didn’t actually cause this order but, that every 100 times that something is nuked in a communal microwave it will spontaneously create this smell as the odor molecules are being mixed and heated to a million degrees once again. Think of all those different foods that have been heated up in the same oven: turkey pot pies, last night’s Chinese food, hot pockets, and cups of water for tea. Who heats water up in a microwave, gross?
Perfume Counter or Bleach Body Splash
When your eyes start burning or you get that itchy feeling in your nose and then in the back of your throat you know this odor has come along. I feel that it should be classified more as a chemical weapon but, odor will do. This smell is always found among the cubicles and can always be traced to its original creator. For some reason its unknown by the odor’s wearer that they have just doused themselves in a mix between pine smelling windex and baby lotion. At some point in this person’s life they felt compelled to routinely spray a mist of a fragrance chemical made primarily from alcohol and a mixture of colorizing ingredients all over their bodies. Sometimes it’s functional as in spray on suntan lotion or other times as a scented splash of watermelon and coconut for that bus ride home. Usually the later is what happens at a specific time and to ensure that they are fully coated they tend to spray enough that a “splash” floats over into your space and you’re wondering if second hand contact with body splash can cause you to begin smelling like an old woman’s handbag. One safety consideration I have is that isn’t our skin one of the most important and biggest organs on our body, I know some of you would beg to differ and have video proof, but, what I’m saying is that if our skin protects us from outside germs wouldn’t an airborne chemical that we can breathe in and have land on our bodies be deemed dangerous? I think we should put these people outside with the smokers but, that might be a problem when the alcohol mist comes in contact with an open flame. . .
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Papi Got a Brand New Gag
In a workplace where you regularly cross paths with the same individuals, after a very short while, you develop and share a very special greeting with certain co-workers. They come in the form of elaborate hand shake and slap-me-some-skin combos, fist knocking, forearm/body check, thumbs up in passing, Dokken Rock Lock, what have you.
Rodrigo Marquez usually greets me with a middle finger or with some form of metal rod or bar as mock weapon. After four years, I find it funny because I have to. It’s a choice in the same way naked pyramid with a bag on your head is a choice. Another greeting I "choose" to find funny after four years is Karate Kid Hello from Jesus Jimenez. I made the mistake in September 2003 of doing Danielsan’s signature Crane Pose while passing Jesus. Jesus held on to this tighter than Clear Channel’s death grip of the FCC.
I get the Crane about two or three times a day and by my estimate, I've received it a total of 2400 times to date. If I had to, I could carve a perfect marble replica of Jesus doing Crane, from memory. Not even his family would know the difference. All four boys would be screaming "Papi! Papi! Papi!" all day until I gave them the bad news. Kids, this is marble, your father is at the racetrack.
Yesterday morning, Terrence in shipping walked in on me studying the world map, in the office bathroom, on the toilet, with my pants down. I locked the door, but it did not completely engage the strike plate. It looked closed enough. So just as I was following my regular post-coffee load lightening, the door swung slowly open. I could do nothing but smile and wave, much to Terrence’s surprise.
Not a big deal. We laughed about it later.
Today, as I entered the shop, Jesus stood with Terrence and others, namely Rodrigo at the double doors. Through the glass, Jesus began pointing frantically at my eyes, his eyes, Terrence’s eyes, and he could not control his excitement. I opened the door to the energy of eighteen border collie pups that hadn’t been beaten in five months, all screaming, "Child Molester! That's his new name. Maybe you should have him check his glasses. I hope you are okay my friend! You should be careful next time."
I'm not sure how I walked away without participating in the scat party that followed. I'm also not sure how Child Molester is going to be elegantly incorporated as Terrence's new moniker. What is my new name? They used to call me Monica, after the person I replaced. It took seven months for me to earn back my everyday name. What I do know is that the Crane may soon be retired and a new, more unforgettable greeting is in the works.
Rodrigo Marquez usually greets me with a middle finger or with some form of metal rod or bar as mock weapon. After four years, I find it funny because I have to. It’s a choice in the same way naked pyramid with a bag on your head is a choice. Another greeting I "choose" to find funny after four years is Karate Kid Hello from Jesus Jimenez. I made the mistake in September 2003 of doing Danielsan’s signature Crane Pose while passing Jesus. Jesus held on to this tighter than Clear Channel’s death grip of the FCC.
I get the Crane about two or three times a day and by my estimate, I've received it a total of 2400 times to date. If I had to, I could carve a perfect marble replica of Jesus doing Crane, from memory. Not even his family would know the difference. All four boys would be screaming "Papi! Papi! Papi!" all day until I gave them the bad news. Kids, this is marble, your father is at the racetrack.
Yesterday morning, Terrence in shipping walked in on me studying the world map, in the office bathroom, on the toilet, with my pants down. I locked the door, but it did not completely engage the strike plate. It looked closed enough. So just as I was following my regular post-coffee load lightening, the door swung slowly open. I could do nothing but smile and wave, much to Terrence’s surprise.
Not a big deal. We laughed about it later.
Today, as I entered the shop, Jesus stood with Terrence and others, namely Rodrigo at the double doors. Through the glass, Jesus began pointing frantically at my eyes, his eyes, Terrence’s eyes, and he could not control his excitement. I opened the door to the energy of eighteen border collie pups that hadn’t been beaten in five months, all screaming, "Child Molester! That's his new name. Maybe you should have him check his glasses. I hope you are okay my friend! You should be careful next time."
I'm not sure how I walked away without participating in the scat party that followed. I'm also not sure how Child Molester is going to be elegantly incorporated as Terrence's new moniker. What is my new name? They used to call me Monica, after the person I replaced. It took seven months for me to earn back my everyday name. What I do know is that the Crane may soon be retired and a new, more unforgettable greeting is in the works.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Pig 3
Melanie, a woman in another department, I think she falls into the category of BS-er, as defined by foreverever, she told me about how they crammed her and another person in a half-sized cube until Phase 34 of the office renovation was complete.
She explained that she would need a mirror in her new location, better than the wide angle rear view job that’s currently taped onto her computer. I offered her the Pig. Her eyes lit up.
She explained that she would need a mirror in her new location, better than the wide angle rear view job that’s currently taped onto her computer. I offered her the Pig. Her eyes lit up.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Office vibes, dude.
I think three types of people exist in my office and here they are with their Google image search comparison.
Workaholic
These people love to work, duh. We all know one and our bosses are usually one. Especially in the arts because, you have to love what you're doing to be able to have it as your career. They usually have a routine schedule, they don't take lunches and they just seem to be doing three times as much work as everyone else. They maybe doing more work and they probably are but, what makes them unique is that they really care. They have this mixture of a Friends cast member/Darth Vaderesque style to them in the work place that makes you feel comfortable to ask them questions but, then sometimes scared when they say your name in the copy room. These people are also sugar freaks and chain smokers. It's a really powerful office personality to have. Like a really awesome deck of MAGIC cards. . .
BSers
These office peps are very laid back but, surprisingly get a lot of their work done. They tend to not freak out about things and seem to always be at their desk doing lots of work and constantly getting up and going to the copier. They tend to always show up and leave on time. In actuality they probably work about 2 hrs. a day and spend the rest of the time on the internet. They always get things done and only occasionally forget about an important item or do something in error. Because, of their tremendous ability to get things organized and completed in a timely manner they usually receive praise for their undervalued contribution. This furthers the BSers cause in the work place and you will find that a majority of office employees are BSers. If you're reading this then you must be a BSer. The Google image search connecting with these individuals with a business/party lifestyle is "Keytar" or "Mullet" This images contains both.
Cows
These are the most annoying people to work with ever. They are a hybrid of the two other office personality types. They have tendencies to slack off and also become over involved in their job. Here are two examples to distinguish them. Will often take 2 hour lunch breaks but, not tell anyone. Instead they leave their desk in a state that it looks like they're in the office somewhere. Shuffled papers, Excel document open, and other assorted details. They will be gone for what feels like forever and then finally show back up to work. What then happens which is very mysterious is that these people become really dedicated to their jobs and emotionally invested. After hanging out at "The Grove" they'll begin to go off on someone who has forgotten to fill in some calendar correctly or asks for some help. You will usually hear two cows speaking together in either very low whispers or high pitched squealing with lots of "I knows .. ." and "Can you believe it?" Sometimes it becomes so heated the cows need to hide out in the closet to continue the discussion.
These people remind me of the participants in those stupid theme days from middle and high school. These days usually occurred during "Sprit Week." Each day would be a different themed day to come to school dressed up like an idiot. Days included: Twin day, Pajama Day, Hippie Day. . . You can just Goggle any day you can think of to find images of these lame followers before they make their way to the workforce. Below "Nerd Day"
These people remind me of the participants in those stupid theme days from middle and high school. These days usually occurred during "Sprit Week." Each day would be a different themed day to come to school dressed up like an idiot. Days included: Twin day, Pajama Day, Hippie Day. . . You can just Goggle any day you can think of to find images of these lame followers before they make their way to the workforce. Below "Nerd Day"
Pig 2
Paul, my boss took matters into his own hands today and retired the Pig in an undisclosed location.
Two guys peered over my screen early this morning to re-install the Pig in its new location. Dawn's notes on the work order instructed the technician to place the Pig somewhere on the wall above my desk return. The two men who came to install the Pig pointed out that that location was slated for certain future phase 3 upgrades. One man asked, "Where else would you want it?"
This caused my team to stare dazedly at each other, as if the man queried, "which one of you wants to eat this ball of hair and duck shit?" This non-committal look-around is what prompted Paul to remove the Pig from the office altogether.
Two guys peered over my screen early this morning to re-install the Pig in its new location. Dawn's notes on the work order instructed the technician to place the Pig somewhere on the wall above my desk return. The two men who came to install the Pig pointed out that that location was slated for certain future phase 3 upgrades. One man asked, "Where else would you want it?"
This caused my team to stare dazedly at each other, as if the man queried, "which one of you wants to eat this ball of hair and duck shit?" This non-committal look-around is what prompted Paul to remove the Pig from the office altogether.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Piggy in the Mirror
Matt informed Paul, our leader today that one of the partners, Dave, the more sober of the two, ambled into our bullpen last week, just before the weekend and engaged us in a rather lengthy stroll into esoterica surrounding the Pig. Matt suggested that it was the end of the week, and that Dave may have been drunk, but the greater surprise was that I was the main contributor to Dave’s dialogue about the current placement of the Pig.
This is true.
The Office is the experience where small is big, big is negligible, lame is funny, funny is inappropriate. The receptionist just peeked over the screen and whispered, “I got a new name for you – it’s Poindexter.” Nothing to do with anything. I’m not wearing glasses, don’t have a funny sweater on, and when last I checked, I still don’t look like the Japanese guy, Toshiro Takashi on Revenge of the Nerds.
If this statement were made to me at a cocktail party, I would smile and note it silently to myself, remembering never to make the mistake of befriending that person, ever. Since this happened at work, while at my desk, I mustered a very generous laugh, displaying my gorgeous uvula to the receptionist. Another fine example of how the Office can convert lame to funny.
Recently, the team that brought me my privacy screen decided to adorn the screen with the Pig - the sculpture that has watched over me for the last four years in my previous location. It is a stainless steel mirror cut in the shape of Piglet of Winnie the Pooh. In the old space, many years ago, it was mounted over my desk as a quick method for viewing similar sculptures. This sculpture was rejected for several reasons and had been allowed to stand guard at my desk.
Over the years, it has sustained many injuries. It's most significant defacing occurred when it was used as a test to see the effects of nickel-plating on stainless steel. It now looks like a burn victim, with a deeply etched chemical scar running the length of its face. One side is stainless, the other side is sad. And since it takes an hour to clean, I have allowed years of fingerprints on its surface to accumulate and further degrade its luster.
This Pig is the perfect friend - always soldiering on despite your lack of concern.
On Thursday, Dave swaggered into our corral to talk specifically about its haphazard placement not befitting of the venerable Pig. In an office, the daytime inmates are starved for any conversation so this single statement led to a very long conversation involving all members of the team, with me at the head.
Dave: Don’t you think that it seems rather sad how it’s perched on the screen there?
Employee 835: What’s worse is that I only see the top of its little head.
Dave: And I’m not so sure that I like it reflecting back on Ben.
And this conversation, which made the News Hour with Jim Lehrer look like Springer, carried us almost into the end of the day. It gave me numerous opportunities to showcase my part in office history, pointing, gesticulating, and telling story after story of the Pig’s heroic moves from one office to another, starting with Dave’s desk, back before he was Partner and it’s ultimate role as my adoptive guardian.
The miracle of offices is that the most self-indulgent of conversations can be so fascinating to others who would otherwise give half a rat shit in the outside world. Because members of my team can stay on YouTube for very short bursts, this reciprocal phone book recitation that occurred between Dave and myself provided them with much more excitement than that overweight black guy who raps about the Indoor Flea Market.
There was a time when I felt that it was my job to care about all the things that I could pile onto my caring wheel barrow. My efforts now seem to be concerned with not hurting anyone, or maybe even just showing up on time. I had been making more of an effort lately across the board, but not on Pig day. I chose not to get out of bed at 5:30 am as usual. Instead I got out of bed at 9:20 am. I arrived at 10:15. I listened to the NPR affiliate music program. I could barely hear a thing because the windows were fully opened, and my focus was on making the guy in the 2003 Lexus IS300 fall in love with me. My throat was scratchy because I had a gyro the night before, with tzatziki. The dairy really clogged up my nasal passages and gave me a good helping of post-nasal drip. I played up my concern for my health. Although I came in more than three hours late, the day just dragged, and I couldn’t even find the enthusiasm to spank it on the internet.
This Pig talk came at a perfect time in my desire to be better. I don't really care where the Pig goes, but it's the office where small becomes huge. One of my more subtle talents is the ability to commit to any conversation re The Vapid in the way Meryl Streep can commit to the role of a Rabbi in Queens. You should see her play a rabbi. I showed caring that afternoon. I showed commitment. I spoke as if narrating a documentary on the History Channel of the Pig's provenance. As Dave dismissed me in his usual way, I matched his notes with perfect, gentlemanly one-up-manship. This was one of our best tête-à-tête’s in the years I’d been here. I sensed Dave preparing for his final words - and as the visitor to our pen, he was entitled to the last word – and I wound up my lungs.
What Dave said as he exited the room was tremendously forgettable, as was the content of our entire conversation, but in the spirit of commitment, to showing my caring teeth, I gave it my best, most humor-inappropriate belly laugh, allowing this most enthralling volley of office humor to expose my beautiful, howling tonsils.
Today, Dawn cc’d me on an email. She issued a work order to have the Pig moved above my desk, per Dave.
This is true.
The Office is the experience where small is big, big is negligible, lame is funny, funny is inappropriate. The receptionist just peeked over the screen and whispered, “I got a new name for you – it’s Poindexter.” Nothing to do with anything. I’m not wearing glasses, don’t have a funny sweater on, and when last I checked, I still don’t look like the Japanese guy, Toshiro Takashi on Revenge of the Nerds.
If this statement were made to me at a cocktail party, I would smile and note it silently to myself, remembering never to make the mistake of befriending that person, ever. Since this happened at work, while at my desk, I mustered a very generous laugh, displaying my gorgeous uvula to the receptionist. Another fine example of how the Office can convert lame to funny.
Recently, the team that brought me my privacy screen decided to adorn the screen with the Pig - the sculpture that has watched over me for the last four years in my previous location. It is a stainless steel mirror cut in the shape of Piglet of Winnie the Pooh. In the old space, many years ago, it was mounted over my desk as a quick method for viewing similar sculptures. This sculpture was rejected for several reasons and had been allowed to stand guard at my desk.
Over the years, it has sustained many injuries. It's most significant defacing occurred when it was used as a test to see the effects of nickel-plating on stainless steel. It now looks like a burn victim, with a deeply etched chemical scar running the length of its face. One side is stainless, the other side is sad. And since it takes an hour to clean, I have allowed years of fingerprints on its surface to accumulate and further degrade its luster.
This Pig is the perfect friend - always soldiering on despite your lack of concern.
On Thursday, Dave swaggered into our corral to talk specifically about its haphazard placement not befitting of the venerable Pig. In an office, the daytime inmates are starved for any conversation so this single statement led to a very long conversation involving all members of the team, with me at the head.
Dave: Don’t you think that it seems rather sad how it’s perched on the screen there?
Employee 835: What’s worse is that I only see the top of its little head.
Dave: And I’m not so sure that I like it reflecting back on Ben.
And this conversation, which made the News Hour with Jim Lehrer look like Springer, carried us almost into the end of the day. It gave me numerous opportunities to showcase my part in office history, pointing, gesticulating, and telling story after story of the Pig’s heroic moves from one office to another, starting with Dave’s desk, back before he was Partner and it’s ultimate role as my adoptive guardian.
The miracle of offices is that the most self-indulgent of conversations can be so fascinating to others who would otherwise give half a rat shit in the outside world. Because members of my team can stay on YouTube for very short bursts, this reciprocal phone book recitation that occurred between Dave and myself provided them with much more excitement than that overweight black guy who raps about the Indoor Flea Market.
There was a time when I felt that it was my job to care about all the things that I could pile onto my caring wheel barrow. My efforts now seem to be concerned with not hurting anyone, or maybe even just showing up on time. I had been making more of an effort lately across the board, but not on Pig day. I chose not to get out of bed at 5:30 am as usual. Instead I got out of bed at 9:20 am. I arrived at 10:15. I listened to the NPR affiliate music program. I could barely hear a thing because the windows were fully opened, and my focus was on making the guy in the 2003 Lexus IS300 fall in love with me. My throat was scratchy because I had a gyro the night before, with tzatziki. The dairy really clogged up my nasal passages and gave me a good helping of post-nasal drip. I played up my concern for my health. Although I came in more than three hours late, the day just dragged, and I couldn’t even find the enthusiasm to spank it on the internet.
This Pig talk came at a perfect time in my desire to be better. I don't really care where the Pig goes, but it's the office where small becomes huge. One of my more subtle talents is the ability to commit to any conversation re The Vapid in the way Meryl Streep can commit to the role of a Rabbi in Queens. You should see her play a rabbi. I showed caring that afternoon. I showed commitment. I spoke as if narrating a documentary on the History Channel of the Pig's provenance. As Dave dismissed me in his usual way, I matched his notes with perfect, gentlemanly one-up-manship. This was one of our best tête-à-tête’s in the years I’d been here. I sensed Dave preparing for his final words - and as the visitor to our pen, he was entitled to the last word – and I wound up my lungs.
What Dave said as he exited the room was tremendously forgettable, as was the content of our entire conversation, but in the spirit of commitment, to showing my caring teeth, I gave it my best, most humor-inappropriate belly laugh, allowing this most enthralling volley of office humor to expose my beautiful, howling tonsils.
Today, Dawn cc’d me on an email. She issued a work order to have the Pig moved above my desk, per Dave.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
WHACK DAY!
Me and a friend have come up with a new nickname for Wednesday which is usually referred to as Hump Day. I used Hump Day in a greeting today and then just afterwards I got an email that was this:
Subject: H.D.I.A.S.N.
Hump Day Is A Stupid Nickname
I immediately felt the same way. Why did I say Happy Hump Day! That's so stupid. Why do have to use those words to describe one of the most diabolical of all the days of the week. Equal distant from Monday and Friday. A strange limbo day that seems to leave us hanging there waiting to get closer to the much loved weekend and further from the much revered Monday.
The emails went back and forth. Other nicknames were thrown out there: Slope Day, Ditch Day, Halfway up the Mountain Day, Play Day, and then Whack Day.
Once Whack Day was mentioned it was all over. We had found a new nickname for Wednesday. It truly feels like Whack Day. I hope that now we can all celebrate together and begin using the term Whack Day with our friends and enemies in describing Wednesday. Maybe hip hop Dj's will start spinning Whack Day mixes, advertisers will start using it: "Get whacked on Whack Day at Godfather's Pizza with two for one pizza deals" and our whole country can begin to truly embrace it's Whackness. . .
Subject: H.D.I.A.S.N.
Hump Day Is A Stupid Nickname
I immediately felt the same way. Why did I say Happy Hump Day! That's so stupid. Why do have to use those words to describe one of the most diabolical of all the days of the week. Equal distant from Monday and Friday. A strange limbo day that seems to leave us hanging there waiting to get closer to the much loved weekend and further from the much revered Monday.
The emails went back and forth. Other nicknames were thrown out there: Slope Day, Ditch Day, Halfway up the Mountain Day, Play Day, and then Whack Day.
Once Whack Day was mentioned it was all over. We had found a new nickname for Wednesday. It truly feels like Whack Day. I hope that now we can all celebrate together and begin using the term Whack Day with our friends and enemies in describing Wednesday. Maybe hip hop Dj's will start spinning Whack Day mixes, advertisers will start using it: "Get whacked on Whack Day at Godfather's Pizza with two for one pizza deals" and our whole country can begin to truly embrace it's Whackness. . .
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