I just moved into my brandy-new corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Delaware River. I can't stop looking outside.
When I was in second grade, Miss Ammerman sent a note home to my parents telling them that I spent too much time daydreaming and looking out the window. Old habits die hard, I guess. It's raining today, and the raindrops hitting the parking lot blacktop are hypnotizing.
This guy Paul used to have this office, but now he sits in the dungeon with the mismatched walls (think Milton). I like Paul a lot. Paul also hates it here very much, and his soul has been beaten to a pulp by the immeasurable suck of this place... so he and I are little happy beacons of goodness and cheer for each other. He's one of the good ones. Anyway, Paul called me the other day and this was the conversation:
Jill: Hi, Paul.
Paul: What's it doing outside?
Jill: Um, it's kinda drizzly.
Paul: How's my car look?
Jill: Which one is it?
Paul: The silver Passat.
Jill: Um, it looks OK. A bit wet.
Paul: Can you see birds?
Jill: Yep, we've got birds.
Paul: I miss my window.
Jill: I'll set up a window webcam for you, then.
Paul: Open up a severity-one ticket on that, would you?
Jill: I'll get right on it.
I've got all this room in my office, it feels so empty. I want to put a table or something in here, but I know it'll just accumulate crap. I've also got huge walls that desperately need decorating. I hung up some Hubble prints I have, but they're 8 x 10 landscape, and they're just dwarfed on the wall. The wall is that soft cushy stuff, so I can't hang anything framed; whatever I hang has to be able to have stickpins through it. I need something, though. This place sucks the very life force out of me; it'd be nice to turn around and get a nice jolt of joy. K- was cool and bought me Star Wars action figures as an officewarming gift, so at least I have Jango Fett (with Firing Gauntlet!) and a young Obi-Wan Kenobi (SLASHING ATTACK!) to keep me company. Eeee. :-)
At work, chairs are at a premium. If you're a new employee, your initiation to the Land of Suck is to scour the bowels of the building for some byzantine-era chair to use. The chairs have holes in the padding with 15-year-old semi-sticky nicotine stains from when you could smoke in this place. Casters are missing and if you're lucky, you have packing tape around the armrests. Ergonomic Comfort at the bank. Yeah.
Anyway, my new help desk rep Mike is a big teddybear of a guy; one of the sweetest people you'd wanna know. After much searching on his first day, he found a chair that actually looked pretty decent. He carefully wheeled it back to his desk and sat down. We were impressed with what he'd unearthed. No tape! Functioning wheels! Non-squoobly backrest! Only 25% stained!
Now, hold that thought.
Think about the blattiest fart sound you could make with your mouth as a kid. Perhaps you'd require the assistance of your inner elbow, or maybe the heels of your hands as your moist cheeks plapped against your palms. Every time Mike shifts his weight in this chair, our quiet side of the building reverberates with the wettest, most fricative fart sound I have ever heard. It does not sound like a chair. It sounds like a lactose-intolerant giant after enjoying the four-course goat cheese fondue at The Melting Pot... with the poutine chaser.
I am snickering and snarfing 8 hours a day. The ponk-novelty has worn off for the people around him, but not for 34-year-old elegant Jill.
In other news, I'm calling out of choir this Sunday because I want to spend time with my folks. My dad's birthday was last weekend and I couldn't get up to see him, so it's important to me to get up there Saturday and Sunday. On Monday I'm doing something with Mosk, Alisa, Boutell, Mary and whomever else is around. I hope the choir peeps wanna hang out tonight after choir; I'm jonesing for a caprese salad and they have a surprisingly decent one at Galluccio's.
OK, Knapp over and ooot.