So I figured I'd show everyone (or more like the few, the proud...nope, just the few), a day in the life of what I do, everyday. It's a struggle, yes, but somehow, like Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "We shall overcome." Totally in poor taste, but you get the idea.
7:15 a.m. Like Kesha, I wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. No, scratch that. I usually wake up thinking "Goddamnit, Frank Sinatra (alarm clock sound) is up already!" I don't sleep well in general, dating back to my glory years of college (it was probably all those late night pigouts and wild parties...nope, just the pigouts), so for me to get like 5 hours of quality Z's is a huge win. Lately, however, the bum that lives in the basement of my building (long story, but I think he owes my landlord money or has dirt on him) has not been around blasting his loud obnoxious radio or playing "Muzzy" on some mystery computer, so I am sleeping a lot better (his "room", which is no bigger than a large bathroom, is directly beneath my bedroom, so I hear this crap filtering through the baseboard). I grab my glasses and iPod touch (because my stupid 30 gb video broke...don't scroll too fast past songs if they've only played for two seconds; I learned that the hard way) and hit the living room, which is about 5 feet from my bed. I usually also think to myself, "Wow, another day and I still have to go into that shithole called work. Damn." Very rare I'm in a good mood or not tired during the week. Maybe after I eat chicken wings or something. But, it sure as hell beats 5am wakeups when I lived in the Garden State (I also recently changed my workshift to a more workable 8:30, giving me an additional hour on top of when I was waking up. This was one of the best work related decisions I've ever made since realizing I could get onto Gchat at work by doing some clever HTML rejiggering.
7:20 a.m. Grab some breakfast, whether it's cereal or English muffins, and sit down on the couch to watch breaking news...in sports. "Sports Center" is always on in the morning, because I want to see Siena vs. Fairfield highlights in NCAA basketball as much as the next guy. I usually check Facebook and my depleted bank account statement on the Touch only. Maybe the Times (because cool New Yorkers call the NY Times just the "Times" and people know what that is) on a good day. I know that I have roughly 25 minutes until it's game time.
7:30 a.m. Breakfast is over (always consumed unless I went to bed drunk or am eating a bagel purchased through this Coffee Club at work when I get in; though it's a huge rip-off and I really should get out, but I fear that the religious zealot who runs it will stab me with a wooden cross). I retreat to my bedroom to change into the work attire. All my pants are too small unfortunately, because I made the rookie mistake of washing them frequently since they were too big, then tailoring them when it was too late, leaving me with short almost capri-like pants. Moral of the story: get thee to a tailor first, everytime. It's worth the effort. Then it's off to gel the hair (another five minute process), brush the teeth, and get ready to catch the trusty 7:58 bus to the subway, to limit my entire walking distance. Lazy? You bet. Headphones in (usually something upbeat, like Lady Gaga or that Chris Brown song from "The Office") and I'm on.
7:58 a.m. I see the same people on the bus everyday. The overbearing Jamaican mother who choreographs her daughter and son's every move, the mother with two young kids who lights up a cigarette moments before the bus is leaving, an attractive younger woman I've never had the courage to strike a conversation with, and the loud kids who occasionally don't pay their fare, meriting a visit from the large African-American bus driver, who said "I don't care if you don't pay, but you have to show me something," with menace in his eyes. No one ever fare evaded again. This ride only takes roughly 4 minutes, and the bus driver always drops us off right outside the subway, even though it's before the scheduled stop. He is the man.
8:06 a.m. I always miss the train that leaves a few minutes before that, but it's never a big deal. That one is always more crowded anyway. As I descend down the stairs, and have to juke and jive like an NFL running back to escape the crowd that is rushing up past me, and avoiding the Bible thumpers that stand near the entrance holding up some ludicrous flyer saying "Jesus Saves" or some nonsense like that, I finally catch the train. Before I get on (and I know exactly where I have to stand so it exits me right outside the turnstile...every commuter knows things like this), I always do a quick sweep to make sure there's no "subway preachers" getting on or already boarded. If you have never had the pleasure of being around these glorious people, consider yourself lucky. These are typically West Indian or Haitian men and women that speak and sing about Jesus for your entire subway ride. They don't shut up, even after they are told to (as I made that mistake once, leading to an unintentional screaming fight between two other commuters while the preacher kept on singing). In fact, any people that make any type of noise on a train is pretty obnoxious, whether it's playing their music at an unreasonable level (if I can sing along to Rick Ross in your headphones, you're playing it WAY too loud), talking to someone else as if they're on the other side of the car, or the always lovable homeless outreach workers, who my friend once boldly told, "No one wants to hear this that early in the morning; we're all on to you." So after I internalize all of this, and see the coast is clear, I hop on, and off we go.
The ride is pretty uneventful usually, aside from the aforementioned distractions. I usually have to stand and always see someone I work with on this. I tend to keep my head down or lately, turning my entire back to someone. I have to see these people everyday for seven hours, no need to see them this early in the morning. Eventually, I get out, make another spin move to get away from the Metro/AM NY newspaper guys (used to always get one, but now I just read blogs, and I get all the information I need...also, when I worked at 7:30 am, no one was there, so I could enjoy the silence. At 8:30, since people here work ridiculous hours, there's already an entire office there). I use the side entrance, never the revolving doors, since they weigh about 10 metric tons to push through. Seriously, why is everything about this place heavy handed and tough? Every other door I've ever rotated through is easy to maneuver. These doors--even this guy would have a hard time pushing through them.
I get through that first obstacle, and then have to swipe through another checkpoint to get to the elevators. This place is like Fort Knox; my mother and sister came into the city once to visit (bad idea--I actually exposed them to the people upstairs...I think they still haven't fully recovered from whatever airborne disease they encountered up there) and it took over 5 minutes to get them a pass just to come upstairs to see exactly what I did (they still don't know, by the way). They had to show their driver's licenses, social security cards, voter registration, submit a blood sample. You get the idea. It's a joke. It's not like this place is that important. The security guards are pretty incompetent too. They always make you go back and swipe through the checkpoint, even if they have seen you for the last three years and you swiped a card through. After awhile, I got sick of it, and if it didn't swipe, I just kept walking through, as they called out "Sir" to no response. They can't leave their post, so I just kept going. I agree I could have been the Unibomber or something, and they'd have been powerless to stop it. Once I'm through the sentries at the gate, I keep my head down and try to avoid further human contact as I ascend to the 19th floor, or as I call it, "the point of no return." I always have to deal with some woman blasting Rihanna/Michael Jackson also. I get it, "Rude Boy" and "Thriller" are great songs, but I really don't want to hear them too. I have them on my iPod already. Turn the music off in the elevator or turn it down, simple as that. Hard to believe simple common sense concepts like this are so difficult for these people to grasp.
8:20 a.m.-12:15 p.m. So this is the bulk of my day. Pushing paper, faxing paper, printing paper...my God, a small village of paper could have been created with all the trees I'm killing. I tend to zone out for most of the day, doing what I have to do, nothing more, mostly less. I do a lot to keep myself occupied for this crucial part of the workday: Gchat, blog trolling (recently been converted to the whole "foodie" thing; not one myself, but enjoy other people enjoy cheap cart food as much as I do), bank statement checking (never good). I can't get on Facebook, but they don't block Gothamist? I have to constantly be on my toes during this shift, from prying eyes of the guy who sits behind me (who I'm convinced is out to destroy me, and that's all I'll say for fear of retribution) to my boss, who I can see out of the corner of my eye coming down the hall. She is short to the ground so I can hear when she is approaching, causing me to either close out of what I'm doing, or perfecting the miniature pop-up window in the lower corner of my desk. I feel people do a lot worse than I do, it's not like I'm searching for beastiality or something, I'm just trying to pass the time. I tend to talk with my friends who also seem to be killing time as well on Gchat. I tend to talk to another co-worker frequently in this short timeframe, mostly to keep our own sanity, but also to just joke about the absurdity of all of it. We also frequently discuss another co-worker and if she is wearing jeans (which technically you're not supposed to do in a business casual environment, but at this place, who's really counting?) or even at work. Most of the time it's either or. We also discuss what the other is having for lunch, as that will be the toughest decision we make all day, if we didn't bring it initially.
12:15 p.m.-1:40 p.m. Best part of my day. I tend to wait until this time, as I usually eat before taking my mandatory one hour break. It's cheating the system, yes, but if people can yell at their boss and wear Black Dog t-shirts (actually the same person), then I can take that extra half hour. Like mentioned earlier, I always feel as if the guy who sits behind me, who is higher in rank than me, is always spying on me and reporting back to my boss, I have basically ceased caring, since I know you must commit short of a murder to face any disciplinary action there.
Anyway, I tend to eat microwavable food, so I go into the kitchen around this time, when I know the initial 12:00 rush has subsided. Usually I am in there alone, but occasionally I run into this girl who I kind of had a thing for, which always makes for interesting conversation. I tend to not like to give some of these women any attention anymore, as they are used to getting it all the time from the hound dogs and pathetic creatures around them. I used to be one of these people, literally drooling at the sight of them. This went on for awhile until I realized a)they weren't that hot, and b)I was never going to get anywhere with them. It also didn't help that most of them, since they worked where I did, were damaged in some way, either physically or mentally. For instance, a girl that actually revealed her same sex tendencies to me in a moment of weakness or drunken truth telling, asked where I lived. It turned out we didn't live that far from each other, as she was moving near me. After talking briefly, she then lovingly said, "Well, we'll probably see each other on the train or something." And there went that relationship. Really, do you think I'm going to go to your apartment and attack you? Really ridiculous. And from that point on, I stopped interacting with not just women, but most people there in general. I really only socialize with about four people there, and only two regularly. It's that bad. You'd think that the people you worked with would be fun, or at least people you could hang out with after work, as you see them more than your own real friends. Not here. People were abused or something in their past lives and now are more guarded than Fort Knox. So much for that. Anyhoo, back to the girl in the kitchen. For awhile I was just saying hi, but lately I have engaged her briefly. She actually initiates with me. I don't know, maybe to reaffirm her hotness. I'm not falling for that anymore. I have enough things going on in my life, the last thing I need is some tease. I don't have time to be "that guy" anymore, counting my lucky stars and writing in my diary that the hot girl talked to me. Maybe last year, but not anymore. We usually talk for a few minutes, then we go our separate ways. I heat up what I need to heat up (usually some chicken dish or something similarly easy to cook; I'm no Mario Batali, at least not yet). It tends to be a long line around this time, but if you time everything correctly, you can get in and out like a cat burglar relatively fast. I take this back to my desk and then troll more blogs, while I eat until I get my rec time. I then wait for the other guy (of 2) I talk to, and we go outside, usually to get a small walk in (gotta get those calories off somehow) or stare at the business women outside. Usually it's the latter. What else is there to do? Sit at my desk? I don't think so. We tend to play the "Wow, I'd do her" or "Ew, that girl is gross, she has huge calves" game. We use the Jeans Girl (and her massive calves) as our starting point for any unattractive woman. Usually Calves is still worst. Yes, I'm an asshole. You try working there for seven hours and then tell me you don't share my general malaise.
1:30-4:30 p.m. The last leg of the day. Also the hardest part. It's only three hours, but they sure go slow. This portion of our televised program consists of me trying everything in my power not to dose off after I consumed that huge lunch. The guy behind me talks to his wife in some dead sea language for hours around this time. Very annoying. I may talk on the phone but I keep my voice down and leave the conversation typically under 5 minutes. This guy tells the entire phonebook to his wife or whoever at least five times a day! Of course I can never say anything to him, since people live and breath by their titles there, but if I had the chance...it'd be messy. He was a cool guy I thought at the beginning, but once he got promoted, that layer of coolness devolved into a pile of crap. I really despise him now, more than maybe anyone I've ever met (aside from the vagrant living in my building's basement...for another time). He thinks he is the smartest person ever because he got promoted. Give me a break, having some title here is being like the smartest retard. Not really something to be proud of. And I can say that honestly, coming from an "analyst" as my job title in Outlook says.
My boss tends to kick it into overdrive around this time, consistently bothering me like a shrew or something. I understand things need to get done, but she takes it a little too serious. It's not as if she will rise any higher. That place makes the PGA look like the ACLU. You will only be promoted if you kiss a lot of ass and are a man. Other than that, you will do a lot of work to get ahead, get no credit, and be made fun of constantly. Pretty sad, but if you are going to pretend this is some high pressure position, you tend to deserve it. I can deflect that annoyance pretty well at this point. I haven't been stressed or felt stressed in years there. I really stopped caring a long time ago. I always tell people if you let this place get you down or depress you, you are caring too much. You honestly think if this thing doesn't get done you will get fired, or people will die? Hardly! I know that half of the people there sit on projects until the last minute (me occasionally too). I know how it works there. Kind of like a grizzled veteran, I am always calm and collected. I'm not the best, but I know enough to get by. And for there, that's just fine. I don't know what I'll do when I move on, because when I'm asked to do work, I'll probably spontaneously combust. I start packing my things up around 4:25, and always punch out at 4:30 on the dot. They take enough from me.
From here, it's usually going to the local watering hole a subway stop away (continue to feed my addiction to buffalo wings), or the one with the women serving you in bikinis, or visiting a fine gentleman's establishment (thank god for daddy issues!) or working out at the fitness center in the local college. While it's smelly and full of people who don't speak English, it's cheap, and that is the name of the game. Which tends to apply to everything I do after work, but I guess it's better than being at work, right?
7:30 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. The end of another day. This is where cooking and preparing lunch comes in, though I haven't been doing much of either lately. I have such a small window of free time during the week, that I don't like spending it doing this type of work. Lately I've been getting into video games, and wanting to do stuff like this. Work really gets in the way of this, unfortunately. I always go to bed too late since I can with the 8:30 start time, so I'm constantly trying to fit everything in before that. Job hunting has taken the back burner lately, because I always think, "it can't get much worse." Than a man shits himself, or a guy asks you to feel his biceps, or a woman humps you in an elevator, and you stand corrected, every time. Boy, I need to get a hobby.
