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Friday, April 07, 2006


After 11 years of working in a variety of corporate-ish jobs, I finally have an office. Granted I'm currently sharing it with two other people but it's still a much better situation than sharing every breath, every word, every coming, every going, every motion, every bodily function, every click, every email, every phone call, every thing with every body the way you do when you work in a cubicle. Apparently, it's taken me all of two weeks to become a snob about "those people in their cubes." Go ahead. Call me a cubist. Just don't forget to close MY OFFICE DOOR on your way out.

No, that's not true. I'll never lose sight of my cubicle roots. It's where I come from. It's who I am. You can take the peon out of the cubicle but you can't take the cubicle out of the peon.

I am basking, though. The quiet is broken only occasionally by phone calls to or from my officemates, Rajneesh and Kathy. You may recall an entry here featuring a textile-enamored Rajneesh fondling my shirt. Though I have yet to broach the subject, I'm certain that "thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's apparel" is not among Rajneesh's tenets. And Kathy, she of last month's bathroom exposure incident, is surprisingly easy to deal with. My repertoire of carefully apportioned, polite acknowledgments, a smile, a nod, a "heh heh heh...ri-i-i-ght," coupled with a strong foundation of pretending she's not talking has so far kept her, me, and Rajneesh happy. I actually like the two of them. I mess with them and they mess with me. It keeps things interesting.

Just keep your mitts off the threads, pal, and your eyes off my twigs and berries, missy and we'll get along just fine.



At 4/07/2006 8:38 AM, jackie said...

If I were watching a movie of your life and the movie had introduced Rajneesh and Kathy in the way that they were introduced here, and then the movie was scripted so that the three of you were sharing an office, I would, at that point in the movie, turn to my husband and say, "Oh, a little FAR-FETCHED, wouldn't you say?" This comment would be accompanied by highly arched eyebrows. FYI: We say "far-fetched" in this instance with a grossly exaggerated New England accent, in imitation of someone we both know, so that it sounds like this: "fah-fetched."

Being as this is your real life--OR SO YOU PURPORT IT TO BE--all I can say is that your life seems to have taken a serious twist into the surreal. But, hey, you seem to be handling it well. Via con dios, my brother!

At 4/07/2006 9:09 AM, Tom in L.A. said...

Surreal? Yes. But it is being accurately reported here, I assure you. The surreal is commonplace in Los Angeles.

Last night I found myself with Cindy and friends along with a couple hundred others seated at rows of long plastic-tableclothed dinner tables eating lamb and lemon chicken in a Greek catering company while a beautiful, fake-boobed belly dancer worked the room for singles. When a small girl in a blond afro, velour pants and sparkly shoes got up to dance with her, I offered a single of my own - to the girl not the belly dancer. All this on a Thursday night in a neighborhood called Koreatown.

Surreal? Yes. But in Los Angeles, it's just one more thing that happened.


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