I usually don’t write about my lame ass part-time office job because it is lame and doesn’t occupy too much of my mental capacity or require me to do much. I go in, answer the phone, do some office stuff, occasionally type a label (on a typewriter no less), and spend the rest of the time working on my great American novel (also known on bad days as that giant piece of crap weighing down on my brain).
The other people in the office go about their little melodramas and think their little melodramas are the stuff of great cinema or opera. But their little melodramas are just borderline farce and not even worthy of a sitcom. As you can see, I don’t think very highly of the people in the office, but I can ignore them. In the meantime, the people in the office leave me alone especially when I give the appearance of typing frantically on a MS word document.
I don’t really like working in offices even though that’s where I have spent the majority of my working adulthood. However, being around the pens and paper and word processing programs brings me a great deal of comfort. I think I’m like a junkie working in a pharmacy.
Still, I’m sick of being the phone answerer (even though I have a very pleasant phone manner) and file filer and I am looking around for some other way to make some cash while maintaining my novel-writing lifestyle. However, at the ripe old age of 36 (or 34, my Hollywood age), I feel like a dinosaur and not hip enough to work in new media. I can do mixology and bartending, but I can’t stand obnoxious drunk people. Maybe I should just go back and do construction labor. I liked doing construction labor. I had no dry cleaning bills.
So all these thoughts were floating through my head when I arrived in the office this morning, and there was a huge gift basket full of chocolates from the boss on my desk. This was my Holiday present. Great. Thanks. God damn chocolate. I studied the plastic wrapped basket. It was full of Italian and Swiss chocolates. Then another thought floated through my head. I had spent the last few days signing for gift basket deliveries. The asshole had regifted.
Now, I cannot prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the regifting had occurred, but I have a very high suspicion that I have been regifted.
The fighter part of me wanted to tell the boss to regift this, and another part of me (the practical zen part) said to take deep breaths and let it go. The passive aggressive part of me wanted to take it to the dumpster. The humanitarian part of me wanted to give it to the homeless guy I sometimes see outside. The writer part of me (the largest part) told me to sit my ass down in front of MS Word and write it up. Guess which part won out?
And now I rant . . .
Fuckin’ chocolates. I mean can you get more tacky? If any bosses out there are reading, don’t give your employees god damn chocolates for Christmas. Just don’t do it. Cash is a perfectly fine gift.
I need to just get out of this job. I need to just leave this job. I would be a lot happier. The great American novel would probably go better too. So yes, I need job suggestions.
I’m just sick of this one. I’ve worked here for nearly three years, and all I got was a regifted chocolate. Does anyone want some chocolate by the way? I think there are some cookies in there too.