Friday Haiku

Limping towards arms

Outstretched, open, ready to

Hand me a cold beer

Emergency Button

I wish I’d had one of those today.

Instead, what I had (and really indulged in) was the snooze button.

6:05AM – snooze

6:10AM – snooze

6:15AM – contemplate moving; realize hair is clean; reset the alarm with flagrant disregard for any sort of schedule

7:15AM – wake up in the sweet spot, with covers perfectly tucked.  snooze.

7:30AM – snooze.  what could five more minutes hurt?  my hair is really, really clean.

Wake up with a sickening in the pit of my stomach.  Turn to alarm…

8:06AM

I didn’t even have time to swear.

I was a flurry of soap, toothpaste, and moisturizer this morning.  I rinsed with mouthwash while ripping a brush through my hair.  I hopped around putting slacks on while tossing flats into my backpack.  I sprinted to my closet, promising the grab the first top I saw.

And I did.

And it had buttons.

Not only did this top have buttons, it had material hiding the buttons.  Just to be clear: I didn’t choose a sweater I could just pull over my head.  I didn’t choose a blouse that regular, nicely exposed buttons.  Looking back, I didn’t even choose a god-damned dress so I could just be, well, dressed.  (I’ve made a silent resolution to always have freshly shaven legs after this morning, btw.)

I chose a blouse with lots of hidden buttons.  F me.

 

The Bathroom Situation

Three months ago, building management decided to remodel the lobby on our floor.  Shortly before the remodel commenced, we were told our bathrooms would be out of order.

For three months.

I sit just a few feet away from the office.  The first week of construction involved some sort of procedure that allowed the smell of raw sewage to permeate the entire floor.  Not only did I have to endure the stench of the fecal matter of at least 60 other people, I had to put up with this crap (hah):

Coworker:  (walking passed my desk) OMG THAT AWFUL SMELL!  Can you smell that?

Me:  (chained to my desk)  Yes.  I’ve been smelling it since 8:30 this morning.

The next sensory onslaught came in the form of primer and paint fumes.  I got to have the same conversation about THAT AWFUL SMELL again.  And again, when floors were being ripped up and primed.

Aside from smells, I’ve had a front row seat to a concert of construction noises: hammers, drills, sanders, supplies being dropped.  There have even been the usual concert attendees, like The Guy Who Has Just Been Paroled And Comes In To Ask You Questions When You Are Alone; The Guy Who Continues To Speak Spanish To You When You Say “No Habla”; and The Crew Chief That Thinks Business Hours Are An Appropriate Time To Set Up Ladders Right In Front of Elevators.

But that will all be over soon.

Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything crazy.  I’m not even doing anything, really (no, I mean it).  I’m just sitting here, waiting patiently for next Friday to roll around.  Next Friday is the projected Grand Re-Opening of The Bathrooms.

I am sure this event will be met with much fanfare, and I’m considering decorating the doors with streamers made of toilet paper.  Or sending this office wide email:

“It’s Friday, yo’ at yo’ job, and you can shit here, too!”

 

Vacation Hangover

I went on vacation during the second week of January.

I’m having a tough time getting back into the swing of things.

By “things” I mean “blogging”.

I’m still alive.  I still have a job.  I’m still just the receptionist.

Really, I’m just the receptionist

Today a man called in asking to speak to a divorce attorney.  I informed him the attorney was out of town and that the best I could do would be to transfer him to the attorney’s voice-mail.  This seemed to satisfy the man.  I made the transfer and went back to perusing J.Crew online.

Until the man called back.

Don’t get me wrong– I don’t mind doing my job and putting my internet window shopping on hold.  What I do mind is when a potential client calls back to ask me questions.  Really, you think I’m an attorney who just answers the phone all day?

“Hi.  I was the man that just called.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Hi, uh, yeah.  Um, I really just have a few quick questions.  Maybe you can help.”

“I see.  You know, I probably can’t help.  I’m just the receptionist.”

“Oh, okay.  Well, you know, I really just wanted to know if –.”

“Sir, I really am just the receptionist.  I’m not qualified to give you legal advice.”

“Oh… Are you sure?”

“…Yes.  Yes I am sure.”  It took all  my will power not to say, “Sir, I feel like you never listen to what I say!  I can see why you’re getting divorced.”

He hung up.  I went back to J.Crew.  I’m not sure which of us was more disappointed: him, with an alimony bill likely in his future, or me, with no one paying me alimony to fund a J.Crew shopping spree.

 

Aspirations

Have you ever noticed that the words “aspiration” and “aspirate” are very similar?

Each word has several different meanings, but for my purposes the former means something akin to having goals and dreams, and the latter means something horrific, like choking on your own vomit and dying.

The life of the Receptionist is a tough one.  There is an abundance of free time, which results in me doing things like eating through the free supply of Swedish Fish and exploring my Dreams and Goals Aspirations (DAGA).  I’ve come up with many DAGA’s, lately.  A lot of them involve not sitting at a desk.

Midwifery: I think being a midwife would be awesome.  I could catch babies all day and I wouldn’t be sitting.  I could totally deal with staring down another woman’s birth canal.  The idea speaks to my primal-girl-power-using-my-body-for-its-God-given-purpose hippy side.  I’m not wild about the placenta, though.  Can the apprentice deal with that?

Nursing, generally: I have mixed feelings about this, but nursing could be cool.  I envision a lot of standing, walking, talking, and meeting many new people.  Also, getting to wear scrubs to work and spend money on nice looking cross-trainers sounds really clutch.  I’m not wild about bodily fluids, but maybe I could get over that or somehow only be a nurse to healthy people getting yearly check-ups.

Social Work: This could sort of be like nursing without bodily fluids and police work without guns.  I have been told before that I am “impatient” when people make poor life decisions, but I feel like the people I really do get impatient with don’t have horrible life stories or addiction problems.  I’d probably want to work with kids, too.  The down side is that I’d see all the horribleness in the world and probably never want to have my own babies because I’d know what sort of crazies lurk in the shadows.  Upshot: lots of non-profit employment and great benefit packages.

Those are currently the big DAGAs.  They all need degrees and money and time.  It’s frustrating to only have one degree, little money, but lots of time.  It’s like, “DAGAm, can’t a girl just catch a break, get a full scholarship somewhere, and go into a field that pays lots of money and doesn’t involve fecal matter and mental illness?”

So, until I can pursue a real DAGA, I have mini-DAGAs.  dagas, if you will.  They are things like: Remembering to Wipe Down the Phone Receiver Every Day to Prevent Acne; Creating an RSS Feed So Blog Reading Is Easier, and Blogging More Than Once a Week. An ongoing daga is Prevent the Receptionist Spread by Not Gaining a Billion Pounds.  That last one is tough.  We have a whole snack closet here. Depending on the day, the daga is Do Not Aspirate While Binging on Free Candy.

DAGAs and dagas definitely have different results (one gets me more money and one gets me more fat), but they do have one thing in common: they make the day go by faster.  Whether I am exploring a DAGA or daga, minutes keep clicking by.  Sometimes I spend whole hours unaware to the passage of time, and some days I’m busy enough to just to prevent drool from pouring out of my mouth.  Either way, each day is a win.

 

It’s the little things

When your only job is to answer the phone, sometimes you have to appreciate the little things that bring fulfillment to your work day.  I appreciate when I:

1.  Spell check an e-mail and see no red squiggle lines in the text.

2.  Remember to greet with “Good Morning” or “Good Afternoon” during the appropriate part of the day.

3.  Clock in and out at the exact right moment, instead of a minute before or a minute after the correct time.

 

Number 3 is proving to be difficult, as the computer clock, desk phone clock, cell phone clock, and wrist watch all show a different time.  I have lots of time to work on it though, and I’m confident I’ll get better.