Every day, after my first round of work, I take a break. I go to the restroom to fix my cowlick (that pops up once my hair has completely dried), refill my water bottle and head downstairs to get a muffin from the little store in our lobby. It is a pretty quick break – all things considered.
Apparently my subconscious thinks the break should be lengthened.
Once it has arrive at ground floor, the elevators lay at rest with doors open until a passenger boards and punches a button. So, post muffin purchase, I walked into the elevator…
A good 4 to 5 minutes later a radio-bro (those are the shmucks on the 10th floor) got on the elevator, looked at me quizzically and asked what floor I was headed to. Not only was I absent-mindedly standing on the elevator with the doors wide open, I hadn’t even selected a floor to try to go to. Make it worse? I almost missed getting off on 7. He said “Isn’t this your floor?” as the doors were re-closing, and caught the doors with his newspaper. I gave him the finger and said, “Mind your own dang business.” … Ok, not really. I sheepishly grinned and gave that throaty groan where your lips barely part and it can mean either “thanks” or it is an acceptable response to “how are you?” – and then slipped out of the elevator.
I might start taking the stairs, to avoid ever seeing him again – but those things get really repetitive.
12.04.2007
11.29.2007
How am I not myself?
I have fallen into someone else's routine.
I didn't realize it until today - but it is certainly true. Once again it is proven that no one is their own person, we are all mere puppets in the game of a chanceful life.
My alarm goes off at eight – and because the manufacturer of Casio’s travel clock made the decision to set a four minute snooze, I am forced to hit it twice.
The Core Reality Group decided in renovating to install water-heaters that take a while to heat up, so instead of doing the “cold-water tippy-toe” dance around the outside of the stream I brush my teeth. Because Philips set a two-minute timer on the Sonicare 9300 I am forced to do this for a full 120 seconds (occasionally I reclaim my independence by going for a second round).
The Philadelphia Enquirer – an odd paper in itself – refuses to throw the paper in front of my door. Instead they choose to make it more difficult on themselves and throw to the main entrance of the Becker Building. By someone else’s design my routine includes walking down my front steps and immediately back up the next set of steps to the lobby doors. Exception is this morning, a rare morning when they throw the paper on the complete opposite side of the building. Not only is it frustrating, but thoroughly confusing.
SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) somewhere along the way decided it was unnecessary to run the trolleys on an actual schedule. So they get there when they damn-well-please. Often after several minute of waiting I am forced into an alternative routine…walking. I do so according to the routine of the crossing signals and erratic drivers on Girard Avenue. SEPTA further controls my morning by running the EL every ten(ish) minutes.
Jeff – who gets to the desk at six a.m. – typically takes a smoke break just about the time I arrive. Part of my morning ritual, thanks to Jeff – and Marlboro, is to wait for him to return so I can say “good morning.” Yes, that is essential.
Once I get to work my day is controlled by doctors, managers and editors. Going home is just as bad.
I suppose it is true we are all controlled by the decisions of others to some degree. I guess the main reason I am thinking about it this morning is this:
Last night I watched the republican YouTube debates. If one of those guys gets to control my life, in any fashion more than being an Enquirer paper-boy, I might have to do more than just continually color my hair.
I didn't realize it until today - but it is certainly true. Once again it is proven that no one is their own person, we are all mere puppets in the game of a chanceful life.
My alarm goes off at eight – and because the manufacturer of Casio’s travel clock made the decision to set a four minute snooze, I am forced to hit it twice.
The Core Reality Group decided in renovating to install water-heaters that take a while to heat up, so instead of doing the “cold-water tippy-toe” dance around the outside of the stream I brush my teeth. Because Philips set a two-minute timer on the Sonicare 9300 I am forced to do this for a full 120 seconds (occasionally I reclaim my independence by going for a second round).
The Philadelphia Enquirer – an odd paper in itself – refuses to throw the paper in front of my door. Instead they choose to make it more difficult on themselves and throw to the main entrance of the Becker Building. By someone else’s design my routine includes walking down my front steps and immediately back up the next set of steps to the lobby doors. Exception is this morning, a rare morning when they throw the paper on the complete opposite side of the building. Not only is it frustrating, but thoroughly confusing.
SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) somewhere along the way decided it was unnecessary to run the trolleys on an actual schedule. So they get there when they damn-well-please. Often after several minute of waiting I am forced into an alternative routine…walking. I do so according to the routine of the crossing signals and erratic drivers on Girard Avenue. SEPTA further controls my morning by running the EL every ten(ish) minutes.
Jeff – who gets to the desk at six a.m. – typically takes a smoke break just about the time I arrive. Part of my morning ritual, thanks to Jeff – and Marlboro, is to wait for him to return so I can say “good morning.” Yes, that is essential.
Once I get to work my day is controlled by doctors, managers and editors. Going home is just as bad.
I suppose it is true we are all controlled by the decisions of others to some degree. I guess the main reason I am thinking about it this morning is this:
Last night I watched the republican YouTube debates. If one of those guys gets to control my life, in any fashion more than being an Enquirer paper-boy, I might have to do more than just continually color my hair.
11.13.2007
When the bough breaks...for real
I realize I have a post entitled "When the bough breaks." I also realize if you read the post you may have no idea why.
Contrary to the proof (my blog) I have tons of post ideas popping into my head at any point during my day. Sometimes I will write them down on my hand, of course, they never actually make it to the page.
Last post, I had intended to make a double-subject post. Part one being what it turned out to be, and part 2 being what this one is.
--- *** ---
My building shakes.
I mean, it really shakes back and forth. Sways to and fro.
During our orientation Cathy mentioned that the building shakes - but even after our first half-hour we knew better than to take Cathy too seriously. I assumed when she said the building would shake, she meant the jack hammers were loud (which they are, very).
What she really meant was the first 3 days I thought the guys across the partition from my quadricle were wrestling on their desks and bumping my wall. Then I thought my desk-mate (it's a wrap-around desk) did that really annoying foot shaking thing that moves the whole table at a restaurant (the worst is when you know it is that one guy that came with your friend, but you don't really know him well enough to ask him to stop. Typically I end up subtly kicking his shin).
But no, it's the whole building.
Normally it isn't too bad. A slight headache from the shaking monitor. The occasional belch from my stomach being rumbled for me. But every once in a while I am positive the whole building is coming down...and I scream.
They are tearing down the building attached to ours. It used to be a radio station, they are building a Jewish-American museum in its place. I am fairly certain the entire art department will soon be wiped out with a stray wrecking ball. Who needs 'em anyway.
But until that day, I will just get my sea legs and continue to press on.
Contrary to the proof (my blog) I have tons of post ideas popping into my head at any point during my day. Sometimes I will write them down on my hand, of course, they never actually make it to the page.
Last post, I had intended to make a double-subject post. Part one being what it turned out to be, and part 2 being what this one is.
--- *** ---
My building shakes.
I mean, it really shakes back and forth. Sways to and fro.
During our orientation Cathy mentioned that the building shakes - but even after our first half-hour we knew better than to take Cathy too seriously. I assumed when she said the building would shake, she meant the jack hammers were loud (which they are, very).
What she really meant was the first 3 days I thought the guys across the partition from my quadricle were wrestling on their desks and bumping my wall. Then I thought my desk-mate (it's a wrap-around desk) did that really annoying foot shaking thing that moves the whole table at a restaurant (the worst is when you know it is that one guy that came with your friend, but you don't really know him well enough to ask him to stop. Typically I end up subtly kicking his shin).
But no, it's the whole building.
Normally it isn't too bad. A slight headache from the shaking monitor. The occasional belch from my stomach being rumbled for me. But every once in a while I am positive the whole building is coming down...and I scream.
They are tearing down the building attached to ours. It used to be a radio station, they are building a Jewish-American museum in its place. I am fairly certain the entire art department will soon be wiped out with a stray wrecking ball. Who needs 'em anyway.
But until that day, I will just get my sea legs and continue to press on.
10.28.2007
When the bough breaks
I am pretty open about not being madly in love with my job. I do like the people I work with, and feel at least competent when it comes to my tasks - but it is not exactly what I thought I would be doing with my life at this point.
However.
I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.
Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."
After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.
In short, going home makes it worth getting up.
However.
I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.
Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."
After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.
In short, going home makes it worth getting up.
10.23.2007
The week in review
See how busy my job is?
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
10.12.2007
Just another day
Today begins the last weekend I am allowed to take for granted. Though I have, for the past two weeks, been temping at a clever little non-profit...the job is so menial I feel like I am expending more energy watching a fast-paced episode of Ally Mcbeal (which I have been doing a lot lately).
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
10.08.2007
I've got no strings
I have a job. Yeah, employment. A 9 to 5 (well, actually it is on flex-time, so it might be a 6:30 to 3).
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
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