(Woop! There goes Oscar, the Short Accountant. Looks like he’s off to make copies. That's usually my territory.)

that everything

(Woop! There he goes back to his office, where he evidently retrieved something from his desk to bring to Anne.)

will be written entirely in present tense, no reflections on the past, no stories, no nostalgia. Perhaps some associations with what is going on right in front of my face, but other than that, it will be just a view from my desk, out the glass door of the office suite, and down the long hallway to the closed door of the abandoned office of our Senior Accountant, Sue, who is on maternity leave.

It is now 4:01 PM, according to the digital clock on my phone.

La di da di da …

Woop! A meeting (that I arranged, thankyouverymuch) just got out. Out toddle the Directors from the conference room. Hands-shaking, some friendly hugs, exchanging of business cards, various other corporate mating rituals. My, how I wish I could have sat in on that meeting, like Jane Goodall among the apes.

Now, I’m calling a cab for the meeting invitee, Mr. Superimportant, who came here aaaallll the way from Springfield, and now has to go aallll the way back downtown for another meeting, and apparently doesn’t want to take the bus, even though the bus will take about half as much time.

Taxis, you see, do not live in this unsavory neck of the woods, and are not terribly prompt about driving here. Not even for Mr. Superimportant from Springfield. Not even for a naked supermodel with a million bucks shoved in her hoo-ha. And definitely not during rush hour.

My boss seems to think that my “impeccable phone manners” will be able to snag a cab in a jiffy, especially if I mention it’s for Mr. Superimportant. Something tells me that my boss has never been volleyed around the taxi company’s switchboard for 20 minutes while trying to rustle up a cab to drive all the way out to the west side during rush hour.

Phone tells me it’s now 4:15.

Well. I’m now proofreading our newsletter, put out by the new and perky director of HR, Julie. Crimony, I’ve never seen so many exclamation points in my life. Not since, “Go, Dog, Go!” anyway.

Hm… suggested punctuation change here, complete sentence overhaul there, and poof! The newsletter has been proofread, and it is 4:26PM.

Here comes Main Boss Man, just asked me to email a bunch of people to tell them various things. Such is the amazing flurry of activity that is my professional life. Relaying various things to bunches of people. These things aren’t terribly interesting in my daily life, and once they’ve been delivered/translated/responded to/etc. I will promptly forget about them and will sleep quite soundly tonight. But within this scurrying microcosm of life, they are nonetheless of legitimate and vital importance. So, off I go on my Outlook Interoffice mail pony.

In the meantime, Main Boss Man is going home, and giving a ride to Mr. Superimportant, as we’ve all wisely given up on the cab. Good night, MBM. Give my regards to your Mercedes, and to your H1gh land Terr1er, for whom you recently purchased a custom-tailored set of a rmy fat1gues. (I’ve seen pictures. A H1ghla nd Terr1er, while cute in just about anything, may not be cut out for the Rambo look. It is awful adorable, though.)

It is now 4:36 PM. Skritch-scratch emails are done, off I toddle to distribute be-post-it-ed stuff I didn’t write and didn’t read. Meh, I don’t have to read it. I gots the company’s entire files right behind me, baby. I’m the eyes and the ears of this organization, like Carl, the janitor in “The Breakfast Club.”

Here comes Jim to grab a Tootsie Roll from the bowl by the door. I like Jim. He’s extremely tall, nerdy, pale, thin, bald, and baby-faced, and he reminds me of an enormous Q-tip. I definitely would have been friends with Jim in high school. He and his wife came to my show early in the run.

My favorite thing about Jim: whenever I type his full name into a document, the Spell-Check catches his surname and suggests I replace it with the word “noodle.” It makes me giggle every time.

There goes Jim.

My emails are done at 4:45 PM.

Now, up from the office chair (hello, office chair!) to deliver stuff. I’m wearing the same shoes I wore for my last show, in which I spent much of my time on my tip-toes to limit the sound of the heels backstage and onstage. Consequently, whenever I wear these shoes, I habitually walk like a mutant Barbie Doll.

Up, Barbie! Up to do the bidding of the MBM machine!

Well done Barbie. It is now 4:52 PM, and I have to pee.

It is now 4:55 PM, and I no longer have to pee. The faucets in the bathroom have been replaced. My life continues to be so thrilling that I may snap.

Ha … Radiohead’s “In Limbo” is playing, which I think is a suicidally accurate soundtrack for the 5 minutes before I clock out.

It is now 4:59 PM.

Now you see why I spend much of my workday on the internet, and why I write about things that go on outside of the office.

Man. So sorry. I'll never do this again.

It's now 5:01 PM.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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