I Work So Much I Miss the Sunshine Away

Long long ago [six weeks ago] in a place far far away [my room], I said "I need to do my Sunday Top Ten," and Carly laughed and said "You mean your Tuesday Top Eight?" And I was like, "Ha ha ha!"-Slash-"Obvs." The main barrier to timely Top Tens right now is South of Nowhere, P.S., recap here, and honestly ... HONESTLY ... check it out. There's girls kissing, funny jokes, Smirnoff Ice, and a solid Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reference.

So remember how last week I like, spilled about 10% of my guts all over your computer screen? This isn't like that. I still feel a little excavated, like metaphorically half-naked, but I know the timing was actually perfect and the content necessary, and mostly: there's sooooo much I didn't say that I don't feel nearly as hollowed out as I could.

So, switching gears from totes emotional catharsis to frivolity ... writing this post feels kinda like we just had sex and now I'm pretending like we've never seen each other naked. D'you know what I mean? Anyhow this isn't a Sunday Top Ten either. Later this week, fo' reals.

Photo: to the left, to the left: Riese's first day of school [No clue which year, either Kindergarten, 1st or 2nd grade]. As you can see, I look hopeful and optimistic, eager to take another step forward in my education and grip the reins of my future, like they do at ITT Tech. Somehow I've emerged from said education with no marketable skills whatsoever. I suppose reading's been useful, but I taught myself how to read before I started kindergarten. Oh! There was that class where we learned to put condoms on bananas. Not so useful anymore, but whatevs. Anyhow, um ... right.

Oh! Speaking of not putting condoms on things; on Sunday Carly, Haviland, Heather, Matt, Roy and I went to an UH HUH HER concert at the Mercury Lounge in New York City. Also, FYI, Leisha Hailey is even cuter in person than she is on the teevee. And I don't say that about lot of people. I defo did not say that when I met um ... uhh ... I don't know. Whatever. The point is that I was like "HAY! Blablabla" and she was all sweet and then she was like "Who's this?" to Carly and Carly was like, "HAAAAY!" and then we were like, ::haayyyyy:: That's that. Carly has photos so I need to wait for those to really say more. Not of us with Leisha, as we obvs did not wanna seem like starfuckers [I actually remember saying "I'm a Guestbian," which is like, so super gross, what's wrong with me?] [Vodka], but just photos from the concert itself. But seriously; their music is super good. And I'm not saying that because L.H. is between my legs right now. Because let's be honest here: she totally IS NOT.

**

Last week, stuck in Dante's Inferno/work sans internet, I had the genius idea to live blog this momentous occasion, and by that I mean "write down a record of events in order of their occurrence in my notebook." Nothing about that place actually resembled the Inferno, P.S., besides the lack of internet. Also I've never read that book.

I had lots of elevated fantasies about this experience because I've worked about every job on earth except "tedious office job." Babysitter, agent assistant, waitress, retail salesperson, bartender, promotions, model, writer, housecleaner, sandwich artist, deli clerk, literary assistant, photgrapher, videographer, personal assistant, tutor, receptionist, teacher, hooker, crack/smack dealer and rock star. [Kidding about the last three.]

But not this. I've worked in offices, even as an Office Manager, but these weren't the terrible kind; I talked about books and music all day, earned $12/hour, considered my co-workers my buddies and usually spent my entire daily income on lunch.

I think you get on a track as a pre-adolescent – you either go food service, retail, or office. I went food service, since I enjoy eating food and being treated like shit by stupid assholes, which cemented my post-college crap-job fate--as in: why hire me for a random crap office job when you could hire someone with years of actual office experience? I cannot answer that question. There is no reason whatsoever to hire me, unless you need a fast typist. I can type pretty much as fast as is humanly possible. Seriously, if you saw me type, you'd want me to fuck you. JK. Only if you're a girl. JK again. Kinda. I polished my own nails tonight.

Also I know Quickbooks! And I somehow kicked ass on all the tests at the temp agency. Seriously, I was as surprised as you are about that. It was misleading.

OH! Also! So last week I said I thought I was developing the most loser-ish injury ever which I cited to be a bruise on my right wrist from typing too much, and actually, I was wrong. This is the most loser-ish injury ever:
That's from writing a lot of emails on my Dash while at "work" last week. Yes, that'd be a popped blister on my thumb.

***

Wednesday, August 22nd: Riese Goes To Work

HOME

6:18 A.M.: It must be so early. It's still dark out. It's probably 4 A.M. I'm tired. It's probably 9 A.M. Oh fuck. I've slept through my alarm! OMG. Neither of those things. Ew, it's 6:18 A.M. I have to wake up in 12 minutes. This is not the life for me.


6:30 AM: I wonder if Ryan notices that I'm awake so early! He must wonder if I have a job and I'm going to work today. Doo-dee-doo—look at me! I'm in such a hurry! I better make some coffee! I have to be at woooorrrrk at 8:30 A.M.!!

7:30 AM: I just got dressed in like, five minutes. Probs because my "clothes suited for an office" wardrobe is pretty minimal and I need to do laundry. Wow. I'm so good at budgeting time, I should put that on my resume.

7:35 AM: I should probably check my email before I go. Even though obvs I'll be online all da-yay. Unless maybe they have like, soooooo much work for me to do.

WALKING TO THE SUBWAY

8:10 AM: Leaving the apartment. It's still remotely possible that I could make it to Park Ave by 8:30 AM. It's not likely, but it's possible, because it's not 8:30 yet.

ON THE SUBWAY

8:20 AM: On the A-train. It's still not eight-thirteeee! Look at all the other grown-ups on the train with me. Hello! I'm going to work too! What smart shoes you're wearing. How are you? I don't think I like the book I brought for myself to read (Mysterious Skin). It was a good movie. I wonder if people are looking over my shoulder and seeing that I'm reading about cocksucking.

WALKING TO WORK

8:40 AM: Never-Eat-Sour-Wheat—a-HA! Park Avenue. My shoes go clop-clop-clop like horseshoes. I hate it. Oh well, the life of a working woman.

IN THE BUILDING

8:43 AM: There is no one here. Oh! Hello!

8:50 AM: I'm meeting my supervisor. I forget her name so I'll just call her Cherie. She's telling me all about my JOB, which apparently involves doing absolutely nothing all day. Answering phones (luckily, that's my area of expertise) (Kidding, I am so bad on the phone, it's ridic). Perfect. I don't mind having nothing to do because I'll be online all dayyy! I can finish my blog! Hm. Why won't this turn on?

I'll ask Cherie: "How do I turn on the computer?"

[I cannot transcribe her response as it was too shocking for me to really register her exact words.]

Wait—WHAT?!!!! NO INTERNET? NO COMPUTER???!!!

[Fighting back tears]
[This can't be real. This can't be real!]

9:05 AM: I bet I could kill myself with that irrelevant mouse cord.

9:10 AM: I'll just post from my Dash. Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough when I tried to do this before. Publish. PUBLISH. Fuck. Impossible. It's like G-d is laughing at me.

9:15 AM: I'm sitting in a semi-cubicle in a poorly lit room; about four other women are here--not temps. The woman directly next to me looks like she woulda been super-fly in high school and now's a little worse for wear, like it's possible she's got a grown son [update: she does.], but I like her 'cause she seems Sassy. You know, like the magazine, Sassy, where I'd be working if it still existed, Sylvia Plath/Mary McCarthy/Joan Didion - style. I'm going to refer to my cubicle-neighbor as "Molly," 'cause she's Irish. Also, she's got an incredible Brooklyn accent.

Molly [to Cherie]: "It is freezing in here." [to me] "Isn't it freezing in here?"
Me: "Eh, not really."
[Molly shoots me look of death.]
Me: "I mean, OMG, it is so cold in here, brrrr, I'm getting delirious, I think I have frostbite, I can't move."
Molly [to Cherie]: "See? How ridiculous is this? I mean, for Christ's sake, it's not like they're doing anything down there, they can't just come up and turn off the air conditioner? I'm not a mechanic, I'm not gonna get down on my hands and knees and tinker around with that thing."

9:20 AM: Better email Carly to tell her how miserable I am ASAP. Writing emails on the Dash is like being a morbidly obese middle-aged man eating a Tasti-D sample with a teaspoon. Can I get a contraction up in this bitch? Jesus.

9:25 AM: I'll write a letter to my Grandma! What a fantastic idea.

Dear Grandma,
I'm here at a temp office job, clawing my eyes out with boredom. Send money.
Love, Marie.

9:30 AM: There're so many things I could finish today if I had internet, I should make a list of those things. Wish there was an envelope I could steal to mail this letter to my Grandma.

9:40 AM:

Molly: "Pretty fun, huh?"
Me: "Yeah, I just wish I had a computer."
Molly: "They won't let you on the computer? They didn't give you a password?"
Me: "No."
Molly: "Jesus Christ. What are you supposed to do all day? Just sit there?"
Me: (sitting here) "I guess so."
Molly: "Jesus. Are these maintenance guys coming up or what? I mean, if I need to go out and get a pair of gloves, they should just say so, alright?"
Me: "Totally."

10 AM: It is freezing in here. I've never been so cold before in my entire life. Molly's planning a vacation online. ONLINE. My jealousy of her internet access and her vacation is a burning bitter kind of jeaousy, but it's not burning hot enough obvs, otherwise I wouldn't be freezing my ass off. Maybe I'll go check out the break room and get some coffee.

10:05 AM: Seriously, does no one drink actual cream anymore? They have hot apple cider, for Chrissakes, but no half-and-half. Oh! Here it is. Hm. I'll just open a new container. No one cares, I'm only here for three days. Little floaties at the top of my coffee. That indicates sour. Oh well. Maybe I'll get stomach flu and be sent home on sick pay.

10:20 AM – BATHROOM

Randomized Woman: "Pretty boring around here."
Me: "Yeah, I just wish I had internet. Then it'd be like, dream job!"
[awkward laughter]

10:30 AM: It's so cold in here. How early's too early for lunch? 11 AM? I think I used to eat lunch at 11 AM. When I was ... 11.

10:45 AM: Better email Carly again and let her know that I'm both cold and w/o internet. I should roll down my sleeves. Oh, they're too short. Like all my sleeves. Because I have monkey arms. WHY IS LIFE SO HARDDD?!!

10:50 AM: Major action: the temp supervisor just called to check in. She advised: "Pick up as much as you can today!" Hm. How about my SPIRIT? How about my WILL TO LIVE? Who's gonna pick THAT UP?

11 AM: Durrrrrrrr. What's cooler than cool? Anyone? Anyone? ICE COLD, y'all!!

11:05 AM: I should write a webisode for "Living it Out." Hm.

Morgan and Sam are in their dorm room.

Durrr.
How many times have I written that line?

11:07 AM: DURRRRRRRRR. My stomach is growling like whoa.

11: 10 AM: Molly's trying on her new glasses. Cherie is planning a vacation to Las Vegas, she's leaving tomorrow. I wonder if I can use her computer when she leaves. I hate her and her internet and her vacation.

Molly: "Do you like my lesbian glasses?"
Me: "Yeah, they're hot."
Molly: "I can call them lesbian glasses beause my sister is gay. She's gonna love 'em. Her and her girlfriend will hang out with me. I think they make me look smart. My boyfriend doesn't like 'em. 'Cause he doesn't listen."
Me: "Why doesn't he like them? I think they're hot."
Molly: "Oh whatever, you know, men. They don't like anything. I like my lesbo glasses. He doesn't have to like them."
Me: "I like them."

Coincidentally, her glasses look just like Carly's new glasses, which I am wearing in this photograph:
Also, Carly is a lesbian.

11:15 AM: Okay I am freezing to death. Gonna go get some hot tea. Then I'll hold it to my face so everyone can see my misery. God, I could be writing so much email right now! WAAA!

11:17 AM: I'm gonna use like, every single kind of tea they have. That'll show 'em. Lipton-check. Green Tea-GOT IT! Peppermint-DONE. English Breakfast-YES PLEASE. This's gonna be a flavor explosion.

11:30 AM: Lunch. Fo'real.

LUNCH BREAK

11:35 AM: Hello, workers of midtown! Here I am! On my lunch break! I'm going to Barnes & Noble ASAP. Luckily I know the exact location of every B&N in Manhattan. These are the kinds of things you learn when you don't usually go to work every single day in the morning in an office. I refer to this kind of information as "useful information."

11:45 AM: Barnes & Noble
Why does this "going to work in a terrible office thing" feel so weird? I've been working between 20-60 hours a week in office-y environments for years. I think it's two things: location, and well, it's so – JOB. Like, the lit agency always felt like play-time. So did nerve, and--well--every job I've had since moving here. I mean, it was serious work, but I could be still drunk from the night before/wearing jeans/wearing yoga pants. But now I have real authentic misery job. I guess that's why those other jobs didn't exactly "pay a living wage."

NOON: I'm getting The Bell Jar.

12:30 PM: Hale & Hearty Soups is PACKED! Probs 'cause of the cold weather. I used to call Lo from Veronica's, when I worked for her, and moan: "All morning is anticipation of Tuscan White Bean Soup. Then I get my Tuscan White Bean Soup. Then I eat it. From there on out, it's all downhill."

12:45 PM: Guess I should check my voicemail before I return to the office. Oh. God. Whoa! Voicemail from ex. Isn't it weird how you can get so used to hearing someone's voice for hours and hours and hours and hours every single day and then you hear it again after not hearing it for a while and you're like, oh, you. She read my blog? HOW?! Awesome. Waa. Wish I still could get on blogger and delete everything like a totes reactionary weirdo.

BACK IN THE OFFICE

1 PM: Not screaming or showing emotion. I am totally fine. I bet Carly's wondering if I'm still miserable. I should email her. Done and DONE.

1:10 PM: I might cry. Not crying. Man, I could go for a good two or three extra hours of sleep one of these nights.

1:15 PM:

Molly: "No calls?"
Me: "Nope!"
Molly: "At least it's not too much work."
Me: "I think I'm addicted to the internet."
[silence.]

1:30 PM: OMG the phone is ringing. What do I do? What do I doooo?
Okay. It's for Vivian. I'll just put them on hold and figure this out.

1:32 PM: Who is Vivian?

1:35 PM: Vivian is not on any of these spreadsheets ... Vivian. Vivian. Hm. I wonder if she's here. She must have an extension, this mysterious woman.

1:37 PM: Maybe if I just sit here, it'll go away.

1:40 PM: Is he still on hold? Was he ever on hold?

1:45 PM: If he's still on hold now, he's clearly got some issues. He and Vivian should try to work their shit out.

2 PM: So cold. OMG, unexpected loaded text message, waaa. How do people do this? I'm at work, hello!!! Phone is dying. I've never seen my phone die before. I guess that's 'cause I don't talk on it.

2:30 PM: It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs ...

2:35 PM: Just LOLed remembering how Lo and I had a friend who was always depressed about something and so we called her "The Bell Jar." Ha. Oh, life. You and your jokes.

2:45 PM: It is FREEZING IN HERE. I am shaking. I keep thinking I could somehow get wireless somehow if I just tried hard enough. But with what? How? My teeth? Like that Daniel Pinkwater novel?

3 PM: What if my phone dies while I'm emailing Carly about how miserable I am? Fuck.

3:10 PM: I'll write my ex a letter. That would be therapeutic I think. "Dear Ex, I hate you. Love, Marie." Good. [JK!]

3:15 PM: Going to read this Writers Digest. I feel very good reading this at a job instead of at home, like I can take it or leave it [re: their advice]. This is the longest day of my entire life.

3:20 PM:

Molly: "I want chocolate. It just never ends, you know? It never ends."
[WORD.]

3:30 PM: notthinking about blog

3:35 PM: I would kill to update my blog right now. This is all my worst nightmares about work coming true:
1. My clothes are uncomfortable.
2. I cannot get on the internet.
3. Emotional issues are infringing with work. [Not that I have any, but whatevs.] [I should specify: I have no work, also I have no emotions.]
4. I had only one simple task and I could not accomplish it.
5. My phone is dead.

Just overheard the tail end of a conversation between two women down the hall, and I've got no clue what started it, but I mean, just, yeah:

Random Office Lady: "He should take the blood from the dog and wipe it on every single one of those guy's faces. Maybe they get turned on by that. Pigs. It just amazes me what people do for sport."

Seriously, I couldn't have made that up even if I'd really wanted to make some shit up.

4 PM: I'm so excited because the end's in sight. Also, I love Molly. She's talking about how her boss is single and lonely and her birthday is coming up and she's gotta get her something good.

Molly: "I'm gonna get my boss an edible creation. Ohhh! Juicy pineapple daisies! I mean, I gotta, you know? She's not married. She just works all the time, if she could be working 24/7 she would be. Who's gonna get her something nice? It's not like the dog's gonna get her something ... well, you never know."

.
She's talking about her lesbian sister now because she just used the word "lesbo" again and wants me to know that she can say that because her sister is a lesbian, and a cop.

I just nod absently, like someone who is not a lesbian or related to any lesbians. It's like, where do I begin?

Wow, I didn't even realise there's all these awkward conversations I haven't even figured out how to have yet. I mean, I've only recently figured out how to slip in a casual: He's dead when people ask "What does your Dad do?" and: She's gay when people ask if my Mom is re-married or anything. Or both of those, when asked about my home life in a seemingly innocuous way by a total stranger.

God, I'm like – I should be on Montel, what am I doing here? I should be on the g-dforsaken internet.

4:10 PM: I miss Tegan & Sara, the internet, oxygen, my bed, my iPod Sparky McNanostien and my Macbook Sparky McMacbookenstien.

4:45 PM: DURRRRRR.

Molly: "See, my son doesn't want clothes. I said I'll take him shopping for back to school – what am I, like he's six years old or something? He doesn't want to go shopping. He'd go to school barefoot, I swear to God. Mom, I don't want clothes. Mom, I don't need to get up, it only takes me five minutes to get ready, I'm not a girl. And you know what, he's always late. But he's growing up now. Mom, my phone doesn't work anymore. He says his phone doesn't work anymore!"
Me: "It doesn't work?"
Molly: "It can only take incoming calls. He can't make outgoing calls. Well, maybe you shouldn't've taken it swimming with you, like, what am I, a freakin' genius or something? God, I hate Algebra, but I've gotta do it for this online course on Phoenix Online to get my associates? Why do I have to do algebra? You know? I'm almost 41, I don't need to know this stuff. It's just cause I smoked so much pot in high school. I ask my son to help me, he's like, Mom, I don't know algebra. Oh, he knows algebra."
Me: "I like solving for x."

4:50 PM:

Molly: "I can't believe these people with the air conditioning. Did they come up there already? she says. I don't know, why don't you get a like, a system or something, where you write down when people want service calls and then you follow up and put a little check mark when they've come up I don't know, Diane. I love how this morning I was like Hi, it's a little chilly up here, and now it's like, five o'clock, and I'm like Diane, don't make me have to smack you. I know those guys are just downstairs, talking about what they're gonna do this weekend. I see 'em when I come in and out. I tease 'em about how they don't do any work. My boss is gonna flip out if she comes back and the air is still on. Flip out."

5:00 PM: OMG, now I just have another "boring day at the office blog." I'm supposed to be the anti-office! You are at your office, and I'm reporting live from the center of the dream! From the middle of the world! From New York City!

5:05 PM: The phone's only rung once all day and I fucked it up, which is a pretty solid track record. I love big corporations who pay people to do nothing.

5:10 PM: DURR. I need a new job. This one sucks. Also, I need internet ASAP. Better call Pam for job next week before she finds out I'm incompetent.

Pam: "Oh, that job was cancelled. So-rrry!"

Excellent. See, this is exactly what I hate about my life. Huh. What can I do with Liberal Arts? I wish I had the trust fund to go along with this attitude.

**

Day Two and Day Three I brought my laptop with me to work so I could get something done and on the pipe dream of wireless [obvs not] but I clearly I did not get anything done at all whatsoever. Howevs, I was able to use Photobooth to document my misery:




(By Day Three, I was clearly attempting to communicate my sexual preferences without having to actually vocalize them.)

In contrast, this is what I looked like on my first morning:

Though that photograph suggests otherwise, I was not on my way to work at a banana stand or anyplace else requiring massive amounts of joy. On Day Two, I typed some stuff on a typewriter and answered the phone twice. Day Three required two photocopying-related tasks and a few more answer-phones, and helping Molly with her algebra.

It was, howevs, surreal: I had this little gadget--the Dash--with it's limited access to the world I'd grown so accustomed to accessing constantly in a wider screen with full interactivity and an actual keyboard-- so accustomed to this that I'd in fact counted on it when I'd conceptualized the blog I wrote last week -- also, I suppose, counted on my ability to delete things as I receded, changed my mind about what I wanted to say forevs and evs.

I could read comments, I could fantasize about impailing myself with staples every time I spotted a typo I couldn't fix 'til hours later ("hart"! "on"! an accidental name-drop!), but I couldn't interact. Maybe it was good for me to be like that; to step back, concede control over this, too. Ultimately that was almost part of the unfolding: my daily web-impotence, knowing I'd have to simmer, wait, observe, feel. Wallow in reverb.

Also, I clearly started losing my mind from no sleep. I got super good at typing on my Dash though. I sent a few relatively long emails.

For some reason on the last day when Molly asked me what I 'do,' I started laughing and said I was a writer. She asked me why I was laughing. I didn't know what to tell her. It just seemed hilarious, saying "I'm a writer." It just made me laugh at myself.