Contrary to popular belief, I have a job. Not that I necessarily work per se, but there is a job. A soul-sucker with fluorescent lighting and carpet squares. Faux mixed media "art" on the walls. Women of a certain age with dimpled butts pressed against neutral slacks. Men in cheap button ups. I've considered wearing loafers, but pulled myself back and thought better of it.
In the kitchen-warning signs.
The fridge: "The contents of the refrigerator will be dumped every Friday, NO exceptions, MGMT." "Do not throw away Will's cookie dough." "Don't even think about storing a jug of creamer and expect it to be there when you need it".
The microwave: "Do not use paper towels in the microwave, they will spark. MGMT." (The fuck?) "But feel free to cook a kitten in it because it looks like we've been doing that for years."
The coffee maker: "Do not use hot water nozzle while coffee is brewing." "Do not drink tea or eat ramen in the office. We will all know it was you who broke the coffee maker, and will have no use for the jug of creamer in the fridge."
On the wall, a wordless warning and perhaps the most telling of all: a booger like crust on the paint at the counter. It's been there for months. I like to give people the benefit of doubt-even illiterate ones-so I sit and stare and try to make out what it is. What is that? Oatmeal? Spittle drenched pizza crust?
And the bathroom: a coat hanger abortion in a Guatemalan sewer ditch. A sewer ditch where women cry and pray and call their childrens' counselors while just missing the metal box specifically marked for feminine hygiene waste.
I was even stalked here once. Full-fledged, waiting for me in the parking lot, breaking and entering into a fingerprint secured area, protective order stalked. When my car was vandalized and disabled building management refused to take responsibility. But they did want to keep me safe so they suggested I park in the visitor's lot, then gave me a parking ticket. And I write this as I sit in a meeting run by a higher up who lost custody of their child due to a corporal punishment incident. NSFW has an entirely different meaning for me-for my own protection-but mostly for the safety of others. Because one day I will Walter White.
My business hours are basically every unused scene from Office Space. The scenes that had to be deleted to prevent movie goers from thinking they'd accidentally wandered into a Lars von Trier film. This is my life now. Lanyards and Tupperware salad. Audits and practical tote bags. And tomorrow is only Wednesday. But I do still have that booger...
This is my life...
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