February 18, 2004 - 11:04 am
Eleven days since my birthday and still no call from my best friend.
But who's counting?
I'm at work (and I use the word work very loosely because I am, by no means, paid for the hours I put in and would much rather type/say the word "work" than the word "internship" though, in retrospect, I see now that simply typing the word "internship" would have been much quicker) and, lo and behold, actually have something to do! Nothing fancy. Nothing too over-the-top. You know, just a little somethin' something' that's much better than the little nothin' nothin' I've been doing the past couple of weeks here. I come to this place and I wonder if this is what "the real world" is like. Or, at least, "the real world" that I want to work in. My shift is only from 9-3, but no one is ever here by 9 so I don't even leave my house until 9. Sometimes 9:06. I've noted that for the past two mornings in a row I have left at precisely 9:06. That's the sort of thing I would never do intentionally because I'm a much more even-minded person and would much prefer to leave to 9 or even 9:05 but, like I said, this has not been a conscious effort. So I get to work around 9:15 (give or take 3 minutes) and I really don't even start doing anything until 10. The rest of the office (consisting of roughly an additional 10-12 people on any given day) has usually finishsed filtering in by 10.
At this point I ask for an assignment (because Lord knows they're not going to give me one unless I ask for it). Sometimes I can tell they have nothing for me to do so they make things up.
"Does Tom have anything for you to do? No? Have you asked Rebecca? Oh, she told you to go see Luke? And Luke told you to come see me? Hm. Well, I suppose you could polish the fooz ball table and collect all the empty beer bottles."
So maybe I don't really have to do that. But that's not to say that the fooz ball table doesn't need polishing or that the empty beer bottles don't need collecting because it does and they do.
Now I'm sure you're thinking that I work in some guy's garage. I don't. I work for a highly-respected locally based interactive media company. The office is on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings in my town. This top floor also used to be a ballroom. So it is, in a word, gorgeous. They have done nothing to alter its original state beyond making it a workable area. My desk is up here in the balcony. Sometimes I stop whatever it is that I'm doing and just look down and imagine what might have been going on in this very room all those years ago. I see men and women dancing in their finest attire and food piled high and drink flowing freely.
(I actually don't do that, but it sounds like something I should be doing, so maybe I'll do it some day when I'm not busy staring at/fantasizing about the very cute rear side of one of my balcony mates.)
The people I work with are all very nice. The project manager makes me laugh. She thinks porno music is okay! The guys in the design department are all very kind and accomodating. Sometimes they like to do Humphrey Bogart impressions and call the clients ass holes! I haven't had a chance to really get to know the programmers but I can tell you that one half of the programming team has a nice behind.
Okay, it's 11 and I should get back to work because now I only have 4 hours left and even I would feel guilty if I didn't finish what is on my plate for the day. Also, I'm getting my hair cut at 3 and can't stay here any later than I have to.
PS...pardon any and all typos because I am too lazy to spell check right now.
Ta da
