the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
7.30.2004
My New Job Working For A Nice Old Chinese Dude Is Pretty Awesome.
**Alternate title:
Why I Am The Best Receptionist Ever, Even Though My Job Doesn't Start Until This Coming Monday (Thank you Sheila!).**
Hi, oh nice to meet you! We spoke on the phone earlier this week. Yeah, I'm the one who you asked if I was hyperventilating after I asked if we were allowed to wear capri pants as "office casual." I might have said "clam-diggers" or "cropped trousers." Do you remember that? Yes, Patricia. You got it! No, no, not Pa-TREE-sha, it's "Puh. Trih. Sha." God, you sound like one of my internet stalker cronies! -- Hahaha! -- ... What? Oh nevermind. No, no... I mean it. NEVERMIND. Forget it! Just call me Trisha or whatever. I don't care. Just not "PAT." Thanks.
Oh, a handshake? Okay, sure. I guess that's what professionals do, right? Not that I think I'm a professional yet or anything, but damn, don't I look good in this pantsuit and pantyhose? What? Yeah, that was a joke. .. Oh. Sorry. And sorry my hand is so sweaty. Must be my overactive kidneys getting all tingly and aroused about this new office job.
Oh hey, I really do appreciate the job offer. Oh. Oh really? You did -a lot- of interviews before you hired me? And I'm the one you picked? Awwwww. Well. That's weird, because, -- haha --, you know, I didn't even have an interview with you at all before I was hired. And also, I'm not sure why you think I have some kind of office experience, because I sure as hell do not.
Well, what I mean is, did you even read the resume that I sent you? My prior "office" work experience includes working the cash register at Lowes, and before that, working another cash register at CVS, and before that, working another cash register at Burger King (-- though at BK, my job was totally diversified. Yeah. Like, sometimes I put the giant colostomy bag of milkshake mix into that big milkshake machine, sometimes I dropped fries into a boiling vat of grease... You know, diversified.)...
So what I mean is, when you're throwing these crazy office-related words like "payments receivable" and "payments sendable" and "invoices" and "telephone" in my face, and give me this huge desk covered with cool, kick-ass rubber stamps that say things like "Paid," "Posted," and "Copy," I should probably let you know that by the end of the day, all these papers are going to be covered in all sorts of stampy shit. What? Oh yeah. I know I have "Void" stamped on my forehead. I did it on purpose, doi! Really ironic, huh? So ironic it's funny! I'm so clever, I crack myself up. Get it? "Void"? On my forehead? ... Come ON! Man, you old office working Chinese dudes need to get a sense of HUMOR! It's like working in a COFFIN! Work with me here! Get it? Haha, ... Get it? "Work with m--" oh nevermind!! Jesus Christ on a shishkabob!
You're concerned that I'm not going to take this job seriously? Oh come on! Believe me -- I get so intensely into paperwork and projects, that soon, you'll see me hunched over and mouth-breathing at my desk like the rest of you, my eyes half-lidded, leaning so heavily on my pink flourescent highlighter that the tip is as sharp as a dog turd. Oh excuse my French -- Did I just say "turd"? Well, Jesus fucking Christ, there I go, letting my foul potty mouth say something like T-U-R-D on the first day of my brand FUCKING new job. Can you believe that shit? What? What, is it something I said? I said I was sorry!
What? Do I feel like I'm under pressure at this job already? No-Oo! -- Oh shit! Did you hear my voice just crack like a young choirboy's? Yeah. That's just the excitement coming through, vocally. I do really well with deadlines and all of that. In fact, the only pressure I do well under is deadlines.
I don't do well under social pressure, though. Deadlines, yes; awkward situations, no. I refuse to dance down the middle of two rows of shiny, clapping people at DJ'ed dancefloor parties while an electro-house beat thumps in the back of my throat. I do not freestyle rap (at least, not in public, tee hee!). If you think I'm an idiot, I will not put on a variety performance, showcasing my wit, intelligence, charm, and the agility of my long, slender fingers as they sensually caress the keys of a sonorous, beautifully curved tuba. In fact, chances are, I'm just going to act like a goddamn idiot. A drunk, stupid, immature idiot. What? No, I didn't say drunk. I TOLD you, it's just apple juice! Fine, apple cider then. Oh stop that. "Don't judge me! You don't know me!" -- That's what all those ugly white teenagers say on Jenny Jones.
Do I have any questions? What, you wanna get rid of me already? Heh heh! Oh, I have some questions, alright. Oh boy! You might want to sit down. -- Not there! That's my chair, bitch! Oh, sorry. But I was just joki--okay.
Here we go: *Ahem.* Oooh, excuse me. Got some nasty phlegm. Oh, hey, wanna see it? No? Well... ...Okay, your loss, buddy.
Number one: Can I get a raise? Yeah, I know this isn't even officially my first day at work (-- I'm still getting paid for today though, right? ... Right?), but seriously -- The New York minimum wage is $7.50 now. Working for $0.50 cents above minimum wage is hardly an incentive to do more than sit at my computer, catch a nap in the ladies room, watch some internet porn videos, IM some idiots, and slowly pilfer office supplies until I bleed this company dry... ESPECIALLY if I have to wake up at 6:30 in the goddamn morning to take an hour long train ride (which is $13 fucking 75!), get on a subway with a broken air conditioner that's been pleasantly fragranced with a generous sackful of a homeless person's diarrhea, walk a few blocks south where construction workers thoughtfully romance me in various languages about what they want to do with their private parts moving inside my private parts in a pleasurably rhythmic, fluid motion, and walk a block west where the same homeless man with dreadlocks asks me for either a nickel or a condom every_single_time...! GOD!
Question number B: Okay. Yo. Old Chinese dude -- Seriously. Why was I hired? (Did you hear my voice crack again? It's the excitement!) I have no office experience to speak of, I sound like a sobbing, frightened autistic boy on the telephone, ... What? Because you like looking at miniskirts and heels around the office once in a while? Oh. Okay, cool. I guess it's time to bust out the stilettos and give the girls a nice polish. Guess I'd better pick out the toe lint, cover up my blisters, ... and scrape off them corns so I can feed Ma some fiber for dinner! God knows she needs some bulk in that colon of hers for a nice solid B.M.! Get it? Corns? B.M.?? I'm just kidding. OH come on. OH STOP MAKING THAT FACE AT ME.
Oh. And oh yeah -- Hey. Am I allowed to come out of this cave now?
Can I take off this blindfold and can you untie me now? My parents are probably getting worried (-- they're old! Old people love to worry and knit.), and my arms, well, they're getting pretty un-comfortably numb. ... What! Not a Pink Floyd fan then? Oh, oh yeah, I forgot. Yeah, you're right, I guess -- if I were an old Chinese dude, I suppose I wouldn't be to into Floyd that much either. It's cool.
... Wh-- ... Wait a minute. Hello?
... Hello...?
Howwabout a group hug now? Awww. That's nice.
See you Monday morning at 10!
Be there or be square! Or, be an old Chinese dude! ... Get it? .... GET IT???
[Peek-a-Foo]