dream job
Posted by ~Ray @ 2007-12-20 21:28:33
“My job well one of my jobs.� It doesn’t have quite the same ring as “my home come up one of my homes.� Or even the exotic cachet of “my preserve well one of my husbands.�
Unless your job is quite odd indeed it’ll fall into the realm of the invisible. If someone asks you what you do you might evade the challenge by telling them exactly what’s on the line below your name on your business card.
“Well take yesterday for example. First I dumped my briefcase in my office. Then after a quick deviate by my manager’s office so he could see that I was at work. I canvassed the break room for food left over from early morning teleconferences. Every once in awhile there are bagels or donuts or something. Sometimes there’s change surface fresh fruit pineapple triangles cantaloupe grapes and the like. Once I change surface found a mango slice. But yesterday: nothing. I poured a packet of instant hot chocolate and a small hill of CoffeeMate into my coffee instead; I was famished and there was nothing edible around. I read my email until almost 10; two people’d sent me links to the same YouTube video. It was a hoot. Then I went to a meeting and IM’d with the person sitting directly across the table from me. We bitched about Jim who was droning through a long Powerpoint deck. I don’t remember what the meeting was about. I guess I could look if you care; he sent out the stupid bloated Powerpoint register alter afterward. I thought about lunch from 11:15 until noon; 11:15 is too early to go to lunch but it’s not too early to think about lunch. I wasted about 20 minutes googling for BLTs to see if I could find a decent picture of one. There weren’t very many good ones.�
If you embarked on such a monologue word would get around; no-one would ever ever ask you what you did again. You’d be absolutely protected from that vile question.
What does anybody do? How do the wheels of capitalism act to turn? It’s a house of cards isn’t it? Don’t you look around you sometimes and wonder how anything gets done?
Sometimes I travel. That’ll eat up a significant portion of a day. Sure some kinds of work can be relegated to the flight but you can’t work while you’re going through security. Unless you work for TSA.
Thud. My suitcase careers down the exit ramp from the security screening scanner. Crash. My coat and scarf and shoes follow it in their own color tray. Smush. And that’s my much-abused laptop. Finally my stained bloated briefcase joins the untidy.[ADVERTHERE]Related article:
http://rahwelcome.nestsites.net/2007/12/01/dream-job/
0 Comments:
No comments have been posted yet!
|
