Tagged: office

Story Time Saturday, featuring an excerpt from A Million Little Boxes – a work story. 

I had no real idea what I was doing.  I mean, I had a loose grasp of the general concepts, but the  actual execution was a different beast entirely.  The company tinkered with their methods and procedures so often that it was nearly impossible to keep up.  True proficiency was a fucking pipe dream.  Just when you got used to doing things one way, BOOM, they decided to change it up again…and for no good reason.  Their feeble and half-handed attempts at ‘training’, if that’s what you want to call it, were just a ridiculous ruse.  I literally had no idea what I was doing, and spent the bulk of every day winging it…and I did it for years.  Talk about disheartening; it’s the most depleted feeling inching your way to five o’clock blindly, in the dark, not knowing what the hell you’re doing.  For years.  Even after it’s been explained, because their explanations amounted to a fresh pile of zebra shit.

  There’s a great line at the end of the movie ‘The Usual Suspects’, where Kevin Spacey’s character states “the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn’t exist.”  I’ve gotta say, convincing this joint that I knew what I was doing, that I was a stand up, functioning employee, ranks up there with the greatest. 

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Library Lusting.

Something about this room stuck with me.  Though highly ornate, some comforting, inviting undertones reign supreme. High, breezy ceilings and a flood of natural light help add to the fresh ambiance, and the plush couch speaks relaxation.  Tuck a neat little desk in the back?  Perfect for writing.  And the gang of books would keep a reader occupied for eons.  Oh yes, this is most definitely a book lover’s room. 

Monotony – A Story – Part 6

A sharp shudder awoke me from those old thoughts, and the quintessential office cacophony of keyboard clicks, ringing phones, and light chatter swirled around my ears like bad porn music. I’d only dozed off for a scant few minutes, and traded a (quite pleasant) humorous dream for a very real corporate prison cell. Not a good swap; those dreams and daydreams were the fuel that propelled me through the persistent tedium of the day. My screen stared back at me with rows upon rows of untouched work, a dull mishmash of numbers and letters, reports and spreadsheets that I’d scarcely mastered after all the years being there. Those rows and worksheets stared at me with dead, drab, critical eyes, and I stared back at it with equal scorn. It was abnormally cold in the cubicle that morning, and the fluorescent lights above shone down as coldly as a winter star. In the office, it was always either too hot or too cold…as if working in a state of discomfort was somehow great for productivity. I was dreaming of zombies again that day, and those raggedy bastards managed to grab hold of me and tear the hell out of my jugular. Again. I deftly flicked a bit of morning crust from the corner of my eyes and squinted hard in an attempt to refocus them on the computer screen that I’d been staring at for hours; a gang of work needed to be done, and it was only 9 a.m.