This morning when I walked into my cube. I found a little pot full of half-withered pink African Violets. A gift for Secretary's Day.
Hm. I used to have another African violet, from another Secretary's Day years before, but just a few weeks ago, it finally died. Despite my attempts with food, water and a special place right under the florescent overhead light, the poor thing lost its original blooms to never bloom again-eventually wilting and then dying, its branches unable to hold the weight of this place. Each one drooping and then falling off.
I always wondered about that little plant. If it missed its home on the African rain forest floor. If it missed the soggy dampness and warmth and the other African violets. If it missed the way the soft rain must have felt on its leaves. It just couldn't thrive under these lights, this intense quiet punctuated by the cackling of The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube and the rattling of the air conditioning vents.
When I finally threw away my little plant's remains, instead of having a funeral, I celebrated, taking it as a sign that my tenure here would be coming to an end. I thought my ship was coming in.
But then this morning I received a replacement.
How much longer is this going to last? Why am I not content? What do I want?
I wish I knew.
Its all not so bad, this morning I picked up a set of mixing bowls I ordered from a secretary upstairs, a woman trying to start her own business, trying to get out. I'd of bought ten bowls from the saint. Looking at those gleaming white mixing bowls made me feel contented if just for a moment, reminding me that I would be home in eight or nine hours washing my new bowls in almond flavored dish soap. Then after that, I can start mixing! Perhaps I need to learn to delight in the little things. Yes!
But then I remember that for now I'm here, stuck in this isolation, this silence with nothing but a violet to keep me company. A violet and three white plastic bowls.
Maybe I should take my new friend home. With its little pink blooms. This violet deserves a chance.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Have I done anything
Its 5pm.
I get to leave this hell hole in half an hour...but right now, at this moment there is absolutely NOTHING to do.
I've spent the last two hours looking at Marthastewart.com.
My friend, Lazy Secretary Number Two and I went to the hot dog stand (after finding out that a hot dog only has 270 calories) to find that the hot dog vendor was gone. The pretzels, drinks, mustard and ketchup were all there, but no hot dog vendor. We just stood there waiting...and waiting...and nothing. I wonder where he went?
I feel a buzzing inside of my head from lack of stimulation.
So I decide to look up photographs of "adoptable dogs".
Oh God... my God. Why have I done such a thing?
I feel a bit like a barren woman must have during antiquity...my life has no meaning because I'm dogless. I'm a waste of space, basically a common criminal because my inability to produce a dog.
as if I wasn't depressed already...
I feel the lights above me sucking my brain bone dry. And I just want to go home.
Ten Minutes.
How should I fill it?
Silence, buzzing, silence.
Five Minutes.
The Woman Across the Cube is whispering to herself. Proud of her date with a 45 year old.
I nod in approval. My eyes glaze over.
Three Minutes.
Someone stops by the cube and says, "you look tired."
I'm exhausted and I've produced nothing.
One Minute.
I breathe. I get my jacket and leave.
I get to leave this hell hole in half an hour...but right now, at this moment there is absolutely NOTHING to do.
I've spent the last two hours looking at Marthastewart.com.
My friend, Lazy Secretary Number Two and I went to the hot dog stand (after finding out that a hot dog only has 270 calories) to find that the hot dog vendor was gone. The pretzels, drinks, mustard and ketchup were all there, but no hot dog vendor. We just stood there waiting...and waiting...and nothing. I wonder where he went?
I feel a buzzing inside of my head from lack of stimulation.
So I decide to look up photographs of "adoptable dogs".
Oh God... my God. Why have I done such a thing?
I feel a bit like a barren woman must have during antiquity...my life has no meaning because I'm dogless. I'm a waste of space, basically a common criminal because my inability to produce a dog.
as if I wasn't depressed already...
I feel the lights above me sucking my brain bone dry. And I just want to go home.
Ten Minutes.
How should I fill it?
Silence, buzzing, silence.
Five Minutes.
The Woman Across the Cube is whispering to herself. Proud of her date with a 45 year old.
I nod in approval. My eyes glaze over.
Three Minutes.
Someone stops by the cube and says, "you look tired."
I'm exhausted and I've produced nothing.
One Minute.
I breathe. I get my jacket and leave.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Office Aesthetics
10:10 - Arrive at the office 40 minutes late and I am greeted in the elevator by The Laughing Accountant, obviously laughing, he says "HE HE HEY! You! Look at you, you missed it! There was a fire drill this morning and you missed it, we're all coming up from it now! Guess it pays to get in late. HAH!" He then nudges me and laughs even more. He means nothing. He's a kind person, the "Mayor of the Office" of you will. He sets up the office sports pools and collects money when someone gets married or has a baby. He even looks like a Buddha, with a shiny, shaved head and unfaltering grin.
How can he be so happy working in this shithole?
Our offices have the aesthetics of a DMV or worse. A clinic for the poor. The cubes were purchased second hand and are scratched and stained. Some try and make their cubes cheery by adding photographs, knick knacks, mirrors and lamps. My favorites are those who sell products via network marketing and leave catalogues on the edge of their cubes. I've flipped through many an Avon catalogue that way. The ancient, stained carpet is forest green and the walls are papered with something that looks like rice paper, but again is stained and frayed throughout. Perhaps it was purchased in New Jersey at a discount an d someone's cousin installed it.
Shall I mention the toilets?
There is a lock on the door, with a pass code. Just in case someone would be inclined to steal the industrial black toilet seat from the toilet bowl. Three sinks, three toilets and a mirror...and fluorescent lights of the worst caliber. These are the lights that make a 19 year old look 30 and a thirty year old...well, according to the 4th floor toilet, I'm ready for retirement.
The cliche of florescent lighting in an office is ancient, the worst of all of the offenses: in a windowless office, with no plants, artwork, or any nod to modern aesthetics, one would hope for a tiny bit of light, real light, to make this place less of a shithole. But alas, it is too much for one to hope for.
This brings me back to my original question...what makes The Laughing Accountant keep laughing?
What lucky stars does he thank for this job? I suppose we are paid well, and treated fairly, which is why we all stay, but I don't, no I can't laugh about it.
How can he be so happy working in this shithole?
Our offices have the aesthetics of a DMV or worse. A clinic for the poor. The cubes were purchased second hand and are scratched and stained. Some try and make their cubes cheery by adding photographs, knick knacks, mirrors and lamps. My favorites are those who sell products via network marketing and leave catalogues on the edge of their cubes. I've flipped through many an Avon catalogue that way. The ancient, stained carpet is forest green and the walls are papered with something that looks like rice paper, but again is stained and frayed throughout. Perhaps it was purchased in New Jersey at a discount an d someone's cousin installed it.
Shall I mention the toilets?
There is a lock on the door, with a pass code. Just in case someone would be inclined to steal the industrial black toilet seat from the toilet bowl. Three sinks, three toilets and a mirror...and fluorescent lights of the worst caliber. These are the lights that make a 19 year old look 30 and a thirty year old...well, according to the 4th floor toilet, I'm ready for retirement.
The cliche of florescent lighting in an office is ancient, the worst of all of the offenses: in a windowless office, with no plants, artwork, or any nod to modern aesthetics, one would hope for a tiny bit of light, real light, to make this place less of a shithole. But alas, it is too much for one to hope for.
This brings me back to my original question...what makes The Laughing Accountant keep laughing?
What lucky stars does he thank for this job? I suppose we are paid well, and treated fairly, which is why we all stay, but I don't, no I can't laugh about it.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Minor Executive
10:00 - Arrive in the office (half an hour late). My boss isn't here. No harm no foul.
No voicemail to answer.
No email to respond to.
Proceed to www.brocantehome.com and relax...my mind takes me far away from this hole. I'm drifting along, daydreaming about being at home....doing anything really, petting the cat, lighting candles, knitting, embroidering. My mind locks in on something really important: the vintage fabric that my cousin gave me on Easter Sunday. Pondering that project, I navigate to www.craftster.org and my mind begins to spin with possibility. Should I make picture frames with it? Maybe I should frame some of the fabric pieces and give the "framed fabric" to my cousin as a gift.
The phone doesn't ring, no work email comes in, so...
I send email back and forth with the other lazy secretaries.
11:25
The Minor Executive enters. She is wearing a turtleneck, jacket, short pleated skirt and tights--her voice is especially high and reminds me of a nursery school teacher. In fact, everything about her reminds me of a person who makes their living working with autistic children. She's not quite as old as The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube, but she is round and warm with dark little teeth.
The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube cackles and screams, "HELLO, YOU!!!"
The Minor Executive asks with great warmth and wonderment, "Guess who helped me get a deal last week? Guess who is going to get rewarded for it?"
TWOTOSOTC, jumps up and says, "Me?"
TME responds as if speaking to an imbecile, "Uhhh huhhh! Thank you so much for your help with the mailing!"
They share an embrace. This embrace involves hugs, cheek kisses and mutual flopping up and down. This is what happens when old secretaries hug.
Will I be an old, lazy secretary someday?
Chills run up and down my spine.
I return to my daydreams and sigh. And try to not talk to myself.
No voicemail to answer.
No email to respond to.
Proceed to www.brocantehome.com and relax...my mind takes me far away from this hole. I'm drifting along, daydreaming about being at home....doing anything really, petting the cat, lighting candles, knitting, embroidering. My mind locks in on something really important: the vintage fabric that my cousin gave me on Easter Sunday. Pondering that project, I navigate to www.craftster.org and my mind begins to spin with possibility. Should I make picture frames with it? Maybe I should frame some of the fabric pieces and give the "framed fabric" to my cousin as a gift.
The phone doesn't ring, no work email comes in, so...
I send email back and forth with the other lazy secretaries.
11:25
The Minor Executive enters. She is wearing a turtleneck, jacket, short pleated skirt and tights--her voice is especially high and reminds me of a nursery school teacher. In fact, everything about her reminds me of a person who makes their living working with autistic children. She's not quite as old as The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube, but she is round and warm with dark little teeth.
The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube cackles and screams, "HELLO, YOU!!!"
The Minor Executive asks with great warmth and wonderment, "Guess who helped me get a deal last week? Guess who is going to get rewarded for it?"
TWOTOSOTC, jumps up and says, "Me?"
TME responds as if speaking to an imbecile, "Uhhh huhhh! Thank you so much for your help with the mailing!"
They share an embrace. This embrace involves hugs, cheek kisses and mutual flopping up and down. This is what happens when old secretaries hug.
Will I be an old, lazy secretary someday?
Chills run up and down my spine.
I return to my daydreams and sigh. And try to not talk to myself.
Monday, April 9, 2007
The Lazy Secretary
Welcome to the Lazy Secretary Blog.
I am the executive assistant to a "BIG EXECUTIVE" in Manhattan.
9:45 - Arrive at the office (late)
9:46 - Check voicemail. I have 1 message.
9:48 - Resolve issue.
9:49 - Check my work email. 2 messages.
9:53 - Resolve those issues.
10:00 - The woman on the other side of my cube cackles. And everyday she screams the same line : MURDER.
10:01 - Check Ebay. Why? No reason. What am I looking for? Nothing.
10:28 - Personal Email. No real messages yet. Only spam. Click and clear.
10:37- My boss whizzes past me with an iced coffee and a paper under his arm. He slams the door, locks it and says "I need ten minutes". My cube starts to smell like cigarette smoke.
11:15 - The first phone call of the day! Frantically I come out of my daze..."Big Executive's Office!" I chirp. Sadly, The Big Executive picks up the line before I can take a message. I sigh and go back to my holding position. My mind numbed like a pencil that's been worn down to the nub...almost rendered useless due to a lack of sharpening. I'm so tired. I want to lay my head on the desk. I wish I lived in Spain, so that I could have a Siesta to look forward too.
11:20 - The woman on the other side of the cube begins her daily running commentary. She cackles again and starts talking. I wish to be excruciatingly clear: The Woman On the Other Side of the Cube has NO INTEREST in talking to me or anyone in particular. She just talks to make sounds. She laughs to fill the space. She's been a Lazy Secretary much longer than me, so maybe there is some reasoning behind her jabbering. But I couldn't say for certain. Here's what it sounds like:
"Where. Okay lets take care of this...where...hmmm...the Rolodex...maybe the girl upstairs has it....I wonder what she did with...oh for God's sake...here it is. Welcome to the lunatic asylum. I suppose I should just call. No...that's what I need. Its for the present. Hmmm.... (pause. silence.) HA HA HA HA HA HA (cackling). No he wants the other....I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Well....the English isn't too great lets see what happens"
I begin to get annoyed. My fingers tense up. I slip my "noise blocker" headphones on (purchased primarily for this purpose) and direct myself to Etsy.com. Then all of a sudden I hear a whistle and then a faint "yoohoo". And the chunks begin to rise in my already tightened throat. Its her. I take the headphones out.
11:35
Lazy Secretary: Yes?
The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube: Yoo Hoo? Hello? Can I have access to your computah (note: she has a Staten Island accent) after hours?
LS: What?
TWOTOSOTC: Your computah? I have some work to do for THE MINOR EXECUTIVE so I need to get on your computah after hours. I don't have the same programs that you do on my computah.
LS: I don't know.
TWOTOSOTC: She doesn't know. Well do you have "THE SEMI RELEVANT PROGRAM?"
LS: No.
TWOTOSOTC: Oh. Well never mind. Forget it.
One of these days I'm going to scream at her. I've been on the other side of the cube from her for almost 3 years and I never have. But one of these days....
I am the executive assistant to a "BIG EXECUTIVE" in Manhattan.
9:45 - Arrive at the office (late)
9:46 - Check voicemail. I have 1 message.
9:48 - Resolve issue.
9:49 - Check my work email. 2 messages.
9:53 - Resolve those issues.
10:00 - The woman on the other side of my cube cackles. And everyday she screams the same line : MURDER.
10:01 - Check Ebay. Why? No reason. What am I looking for? Nothing.
10:28 - Personal Email. No real messages yet. Only spam. Click and clear.
10:37- My boss whizzes past me with an iced coffee and a paper under his arm. He slams the door, locks it and says "I need ten minutes". My cube starts to smell like cigarette smoke.
11:15 - The first phone call of the day! Frantically I come out of my daze..."Big Executive's Office!" I chirp. Sadly, The Big Executive picks up the line before I can take a message. I sigh and go back to my holding position. My mind numbed like a pencil that's been worn down to the nub...almost rendered useless due to a lack of sharpening. I'm so tired. I want to lay my head on the desk. I wish I lived in Spain, so that I could have a Siesta to look forward too.
11:20 - The woman on the other side of the cube begins her daily running commentary. She cackles again and starts talking. I wish to be excruciatingly clear: The Woman On the Other Side of the Cube has NO INTEREST in talking to me or anyone in particular. She just talks to make sounds. She laughs to fill the space. She's been a Lazy Secretary much longer than me, so maybe there is some reasoning behind her jabbering. But I couldn't say for certain. Here's what it sounds like:
"Where. Okay lets take care of this...where...hmmm...the Rolodex...maybe the girl upstairs has it....I wonder what she did with...oh for God's sake...here it is. Welcome to the lunatic asylum. I suppose I should just call. No...that's what I need. Its for the present. Hmmm.... (pause. silence.) HA HA HA HA HA HA (cackling). No he wants the other....I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Well....the English isn't too great lets see what happens"
I begin to get annoyed. My fingers tense up. I slip my "noise blocker" headphones on (purchased primarily for this purpose) and direct myself to Etsy.com. Then all of a sudden I hear a whistle and then a faint "yoohoo". And the chunks begin to rise in my already tightened throat. Its her. I take the headphones out.
11:35
Lazy Secretary: Yes?
The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube: Yoo Hoo? Hello? Can I have access to your computah (note: she has a Staten Island accent) after hours?
LS: What?
TWOTOSOTC: Your computah? I have some work to do for THE MINOR EXECUTIVE so I need to get on your computah after hours. I don't have the same programs that you do on my computah.
LS: I don't know.
TWOTOSOTC: She doesn't know. Well do you have "THE SEMI RELEVANT PROGRAM?"
LS: No.
TWOTOSOTC: Oh. Well never mind. Forget it.
One of these days I'm going to scream at her. I've been on the other side of the cube from her for almost 3 years and I never have. But one of these days....
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