I wanted to try this, to give people a glimpse into what a day "on the job" feels like. Now, I've written about a normal day here, but no one has really seen it in real time format. Following the format of play by play sports and pornographic webcams, here is what is happening...right now. I feel like Jack Bauer, just without the intelligence, ability, or lung capacity (my father once actually said "24" is basically 60 minutes of screaming). Cue the clock on the bottom of your screen. It's go time.
8:17 am: Rode elevator up with a woman wearing velcro shoes. I'd like to be able to say that she is the exception to the laced shoe rule, and no one else does this. Alas, it'd be an outright lie, because she in fact is the third person I know that wears these shoes that, when Googled, bring up hits on hip injuries and customer service for children. How lazy do you have to be to not be willing to take the five seconds to do this? I have a sneaking suspicion that she, in fact, doesn't know how to do this, so that's why she resorts to the old velcro method. She's also the same woman who nags people (specifically me) about not turning the copier back to its default paper size when I'm done. I guess she just doesn't have the time to do some of life's simpler tasks. Great way to start the day.
8:23 am: The annoying guy who sits behind me is on the phone with his wife again. Now, let me give you a little backstory behind him: He used to be a person I looked up to (eek) at this dump, thinking he was someone who didn't take all of this too seriously and I could look to them for guidance and help when most people would be more willing to online shop or use their hotplate at their desk for early cooking (both true stories). But after awhile, the curtain was pulled away, and I saw him for what he really was: a pathetic joke of a foreigner who thought he was impressive because he was a "Senior Manager." Honestly, what does that even mean? That's like one of those titles you give children when you bring them into a police station and let them get fingerprinted. Yet, he still made a ton of money for doing literally nothing but making calls to his wife, mother, grandmother, barber, etc. And I wouldn't care so much if I didn't hear it, but the man speaks as if he's talking through two cans and a straw and there's no reception. It's not so much a chat as a scream. In another language. I'm all for equality and no discrimination, I mean this is the United States. But when the guy is doing it while I'm trying to read my blogs, for instance (as I'm not doing work, obviously) it becomes a problem. The worst part of it all was that he actually disciplined me for doing the exact same thing last summer. I didn't have an answer to some question, and he became incredibly peeved (this was one of the few times he was at his desk; he typically goes to the prayer room they've constructed within the building for the other Muslims on the sixth floor frequently) and told me he wanted to see me in the conference room, which is typically where they have boring and unnecessary meetings, as well as God-awful cringe inducing parties (that's for another post). Anyway, he took me into it and immediately began to tell me how I was on the phone too much and not getting my work done and that I basically needed to clean up my act. Initially I was taken aback and saw it as a sign to start changing my ways and putting more effort in, a wake-up call so to speak. But after that day, our relationship changed. I saw his corporate side and I didn't like it. How dare him to chastize me when he was doing essentially the same thing! He would call or receive calls from his wife (I assume) daily, and they'd talk at lengths for 20-30 minutes, likely about her not taking better care of their four kids (he is also not even 35 yet, by the way) or how dinner better be served as soon as he got home or else she may get the switch. But I'm just assuming. He also had this grating habit of constantly coughing and clearing his throat, it was like he was chronically sick all year long. The stupid British/Middle Eastern accent wasn't helping either. I'm sure this makes me come off as Rush Limbaugh, but it's all the truth.
But after the verbal brow beating, I stopped reaching out to him or being friendly. No more hellos, goodbyes, God bless yous. He was completely cut off from my verbal interactions. It made work somewhat tenuous, as I had to constantly appear to be working, as a year later he would Henry Hill me and tell my actual boss (he now was promoted, again, and I no longer worked with him) basically the same thing he told me the summer before. It was incredibly angering to the point where I should have spoke up and said what I knew about him, but again, I took it on the chin and kept moving. But now, it's officially over. I haven't spoken to him in months and I want to keep it that way. If he does one more low class thing, then I'm screaming from the rooftops about what he is and does. I'm done with this double standard nonsense that exists here. Also, as a last little stab, his breath reeks of God knows what, so if you ever encounter this pathetic excuse for a human, make sure to wear your gas mask or at least be 100 feet back, like they say on those fireman t-shirts. Thankfully he's at a meeting right now. No wait, he keeps coming back, secretly taking notes and sending them over the wire like Morse code to my boss. Seriously, every one leaves this place between 3:30 (New Jersey residents actually sprint across the lobby as soon as the half past 3 hits on the dial; it's like being Simba in the Lion King; you're not surviving if you get caught in that stampede) and 4:30. No one is left in this building. Except for me, and him sitting behind me. I constantly feel like I'm being spied on. Little unnerving, and probably contributing to my ever growing resentment of all humankind. Thank god for places like this.
9:00 am: My boss came by earlier to ask about some stupid contract I'm working on. She didn't come in yesterday due to not feeling well. Now, typically that's an acceptable reason for not coming into work, but for me, I feel like I need to call in the Mayo Clinic to have them do a complete dissertation as to why I couldn't come in one day. If I'm not sick and I just call out (which is typical), I have to come up with an elaborate reason as to why I can't come in, so I resort to illnesses that were borne out of pioneer days, or maybe just the Oregon Trail: dysentery, cholera, starvation. And even then, I still feel like I'll have someone come by like a truant officer and ask for a stool sample. It's like being a prisoner of your own home. But since she's a manager, and if the glove don't fit you must acquit, then she can do what she pleases. She also has left work early to make sports bets on World Cup games because she had free time, and also gets ashes on Ash Wednesday during work.
10:20am: Just spoke with a co-worker and another manager who works in the field about the Mets. They are actually two guys I like. While one is the typical Long Island Guido (but more lapsed; though he does wear the St. Anthony's cross or whatever), he's a nice guy who appears be grounded and not eternally single or bitter towards the opposite sex like most people here. The other manager is equally as helpful. I really don't have anything bad to say about them, but I will say the Mets suck. This isn't a sports blog, but dear God are they bad. They make routine easy out plays into Cirque Soleil theatrics, and they find new ways to lose. But at least they're not the Yankees.
10:32am: Going to scan some documents from my other proctoring job. It's a great side job, as I get paid (slave wages, unfortunately) to sit around and watch kids take tests. And by "watch," I mean go on the Internet, listen to my iPod, and walk around the building. Unfortunately, I am the resident "scan bitch" at my full-time job. Apparently me taking a document, feeding it into the machine, and e-mailing it is like man inventing fire and it's a crazy concept no one can grasp. I think it's more laziness than anything, personally. And since I lack the stones to make this an issue, I just do it. I need to get this timesheet in by 12 or I don't get my $40, so time is of the essence.
10:47am: Finally got the timesheet scanned and sent off. While there, I had a nice conversation with George (at least, I think that's his name), the college intern who works here. I think I'm just about the only one who gives him any type of acknowledgment, so I always make sure to be nice to him. He doesn't need to be exposed to the cruel world that is the job yet. He probably already knows about it. He just asked if I had read any good books lately, so I told him about one I'm reading about the NCAA and a few others I read about blackjack (not that I'm turning into some type of card counter; I barely know basic rules of the games, that's why I stick to roulette: color or number, that's it). While there, I saw what appeared to be an attractive girl (shocking for this place) in a suit taking her writing test for working here. I wanted to yell out to her to turn back, it's not worth it, but alas, I couldn't. I remember that test too: they wanted you to formulate a response letter to someone who didn't pay you or something on time, something that has no relevance to this place at all. They really should be giving psychological background tests here at the interview; that'd eliminate probably about 1000 of the people currently working here right off the bat. I then saw this girl I'm "creeping" on (my new favorite word) walking back from the water cooler. Now, this girl and I have a sordid history (not really; she had a boyfriend, we flirted a bit, but nothing materialized). But lately, I had been getting really good vibes from her and thought maybe I had a chance. I have yet to strike while the iron's hot (or as one woman said, "beat the iron while it’s hot") I have this setup where all the co-workers go out to Happy Hour, we end up alone, and the rest is history. The only problem is, I work here, so the people are socially awkward, requiring months and months of advance notice on even the simplest of events, so I may be out of luck. But, I remain steadfast in the belief I can make this happen.
11:20am: I already start the lunch countdown clock in my head around 10am. Today is lasagna (homemade, actually). It's no street meat, but it'll save me $5 today (I refuse to pay over $7.00 and change for lunch, I'm no Wall Street tycoon like everyone else down here). I also just exited the bathroom, which has been discussed before. It's gotten so bad my friend actually will get out from another stall if someone sits next to him, and applies ample rolls of toilet paper into his nostrils to avoid any type of stench that may emanate from said urination chamber (the "urination room" has obviously upgraded). Me, I just use it for urination only like I was supposed to, and outsource my longer sessions for the downstairs floor one or home. I've also slept on the toilet before, just so I wasn't sleeping at my desk. This involves a lot of maneuvering mostly in terms of where to place your head. My friend does the "head in hands, elbows on knees" method, (I believe this was invented in the Renaissance period, but I'm not sure). I prefer the head-lean, but that means putting your head on a wall and hoping you don't get a severe neck cramp from the angle you're resting it at. This is usually good for about one 5-10 cat nap to get a little more energy. I'll be heating up Garfield's favorite food soon, and will then go outside to do my next favorite thing while here: staring at girls. (Sidenote: Just saw a guy walk out of the building wearing running attire: good for him, but you always get such weird reactions from people when you appear to be in something other than pants. Like it's disturbing that people do other things in their free time besides sleeping before work starts the next day). I promise that's not as creepy as it sounds.
12-12:58pm: Just got back from lunch. The halftime show basically consists of walking around trying to burn off whatever you just ate (lasagna was ok, need to use more sauce next time) and checking out the ladies. My friend and I have found the new perfect spot: before it was outside Goldman Sachs (because women who work there deserve to be objectified) and now it's outside Starbucks, thee of the free wi-fi and overpriced food and beverage products. This appears to be the Five Points of where we work: women trickle down from all corners and all pass this Starbucks. It's a great place to be standing outside of: typically I like to keep my sunglasses on so I can't be seen staring, but today I decided to just go all natural. It also happens to be full of tourists, unfortunately. But I'm not a complainer. That wasn't even the highlight of today's session. That award goes to Faceplant woman, who walked down the street today and got real affectionate with the sidewalk. It all happened so fast, but the best part was seeing four or five people stopping to stare at her and then walking away. Either stop and pick her remains up (no teeth/blood on ground, however, I did check) or don't break your gait. I was of the latter group. I should probably do some work at this point too, though I haven't worked this hard since the last entry...I sense a pattern here...
2:23pm: Actually doing work, unfortunately. Made a bunch of calls to Project Managers. One of them is a nice man, but a loose cannon unwilling to play ball like a good bureaucrat, which some find refreshing, others find annoying. I liked him. He apparently once told some guy not to mess with his cousin who got beat up, that he "knew people." People here don't mess around, for real. The other is a real old school Italian who has no idea what a computer is and used to be a valet for someone who works out there. At least they are willing to listen and help, unlike many other neanderthals who get a hefty paycheck from here.
2:33pm: Just picked up monster contract from the file room. I have over 10 binders full of paper on my desk as we speak. Easily 2000 pages currently engulfing me. If I threw a piece of tinder on here with a small spark my cubicle would light up like a fireworks display. A little scary to think about, actually. It's so unnecessary to keep piling these things up. You answer one question and yet you have to keep this monstrosity in your very small cell for months, even years after the fact. I have this nightmare where I stack them up in a pile then all of a sudden I sneeze, and they all come crashing down on me like a house of cards. Then I'd die at work, in my desk. I can't think of a worse way to go. Well, maybe cancer.
3:25pm: This is the time where I have an internal (and sometimes not so internal) battle with staying awake to fight off the boredom. The post lunch time swing is the hardest part of the day, as you just ate some calorie-laden food full of carbs (read: lasagna) and have no real work left to do (or don't want to do). You sit around, read some websites, listen to some music (I prefer the upbeat sounds of Pulse NY), but it all is futile to fighting off that exhaustion. I tend to walk around or talk to someone verbally, just to keep myself moving. Today will be me trying to not think of anything sleep related, like a hammock, warm milk, or a bed. It's all psychological but sometimes it works. I tend to stop doing work at this point also. Things can always be put off until tomorrow is my motto.
4:01pm: After searching on various websites for some last minute end of summer buys (I don't even know if it's even worth it to buy new sunglasses, for example, but oh well), we have hit the home stretch...4:00. Thirty more minutes to freedom. This is also the time when the great e-mails from the job come out: the retirement and the bereavement flyers. There seems to be a lot more bereavement than retirement. These gems usually include a horrible looking photo of said retiree or dead person, along with some inspirational quote or poem attached to it (the worst offender being about someone who died recently and someone writing a poem about it, saying "you wore khakis everyday, and now you don't"; not a direct quote but pretty close). The party is usually overpriced at some terrible restaurant in Queens or Brooklyn, some place every other person who retired from this place goes to. You can expect everyone to act completely awkward and uncomfortable at these events, and you'll not want to be caught dead at them. That's why I haven't attended any type of party since early 2009, probably. I couldn't physically afford them anymore, and it was physically difficult to see these people in social environments outside of this zoo. It's like Jurassic Park; the T-Rex was meant to hunt, not be fed the goat on the crane. Same concept here. These at least give me a couple minutes to kill before I fill up my water bottle from their odd tasting water coolers, rinse out my tupperware container, and prepare the arduous journey back home and prepare myself to do this all over again tomorrow. So that's my day in a very complicated and frustrating nutshell. It's basically time wasting, eating, and checking out women. If only I could actually put that on my resume, it'd answer a lot of questions. Anyhow, thanks for playing. This entry will self-destruct in 30 seconds...
