I Refuse To Learn From Other People’s Mistakes

Saying my job is boring is like saying that rocks are boring. Or paper is boring. It just makes no sense – because in order for something to be boring it has to at least have the potential to be entertaining and then fail to live up to that potential. My job isn’t boring for the same reason that a colonoscopy isn’t boring: because something that hurts this bad can be a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them.

(I think if my firm had a motto it would be “We sacrifice enjoyment so you don’t have to.” Although I would probably be in charge of making it our motto, so I’d likely shorten it to “We sacrifice enjoyment!” because really that says it all; and I may waste things like ambition and opportunities to tell family members I love them, but I don’t waste words.)

But every so often my job throws me a proverbial bone. Back in the summer of 2000 I had a view outside my office window of a woman sunbathing out on her terrace. She was just close enough to know it was a woman and just far enough away that I could tell myself she was topless without admitting I was delusional.

Then there was the time in early 2002 when I convinced my bosses the office needed a scanner, which of course needed to be kept at my desk so that I might scan in my picture collection. And of course there was the Fall of 2003 when I had my wisdom teeth out. That really doesn’t have anything to do with work, but in general my days went much smoother on pain medication.

All that said, I don’t think anything compares to this.

Now I’m not dumb enough to write the name of the law firm I work for or to talk specifically about the stuff I work on here, but I definitely AM dumb enough to hint at it and write sarcastic remarks about my co-workers. So while I can’t say exactly what I’m doing now, I can say this: it involves a lawsuit and that lawsuit involves a blogger.

Part of me feels very bad about this because let’s just say that I’m not on the blogger’s side here. And while it’s not like we’re witches or socialists, I like to think that there’s a certain amount of camaraderie among bloggers (except for the photobloggers – I mean come on, write some words).

The other part of me, though, is fucking giddy over the fact that my job over the past few days has been to read blog posts and (I’m smiling just thinking about it) OTHER PEOPLES’ EMAILS looking for incriminating evidence.

I wish I could spend thousands and thousands of words gossiping here like a 15 year old girl about all these emails I’ve read. (Let’s just say within the first 10 emails I unearthed an office love affair.) But I’ll draw the line at vague references, not for the sake of my career but because if my bad luck got me fired from my job now I would have no way of knowing if Office Worker 1’s wife found out about how many orgasms Office Worker 2 had on that corporate getaway.

The flip side of all this is how reading this catalogue of damning evidence has made my own vulnerability so obvious. The mere thought of one of my bosses sitting at home, doing a Google search for Sarah Silverman’s breasts, finding my blog and their face immediately contorting into some hideous mask of shame and contempt upon seeing my picture in the upper right hand corner – well first the thought makes me laugh. But when I’m done laughing you can be sure I would vomit, or at least throw up a little in my mouth.

In an effort to make the whole thing a little more painless, I figured I would create a compendium of some of the funnier quotes my bosses could stumble across. Maybe if they find this they’ll appreciate my diligence and organization and spare me a lawsuit.

Lately I’ve been thinking I should quit my job.

- Great way to start out any post

Speaking of poop – what are the chances I could get a group of believers to flock to a log of my poop if it resembled a swaddling baby Jesus?

- Pretty self-explanatory

I even found three stamped, unsent letters stacked neatly under some neatly stacked documents with post-its reading things like, “Get this signed!” and “FYI ASAP!” which, even now, unhungover, makes no sense to me.

- On coming into work the day after being hungover at work

I’ve realized I’m a little afraid of Microsoft Excel. It’s like a really good prostitute – I can use it, and I do what I need to do, and that’s fine; but I also know there’s a whole world of stuff it can do that can’t even begin to fathom.

- Not only am I admitting I can’t use a program required for work, but I’m also likening it to a whore

Illegitimate Children Deserve Happiness Too, Sometimes

- Pretty much everything about this post

I don’t quite understand “office politics” because my co-workers are an old Jewish man who calls me into his office to ask if I know why his back hurts and a crazy elderly secretary who once told me that someone on “Survivor” was a “cunt” because she voted against the alliance. Clearly my office never got the memo on office politics.

- Actually, my bosses might agree with me on this one

Then make her get a job and get an apartment and get bitter at life. If she says she doesn't want to do any of these things, say, "No one wants to do these things. You think this is where i want to be in life!" Then make like you will hit her, but back away and brush her hair lovingly.

- Um . . .

I even put a set up a sexy photo slideshow as a screen saver.

- I don’t even think they’d let me back in the building

Let’s just say that if farting out in the open at your office is an indication that you don’t like where you work, I think I need a new job.

- So many suspicions confirmed

During our animated and slightly drunk conversation about the show, I was attempting to reenact a certain scene, so I pressed the side of my head against hers to imitate the conjoined twins. I don’t remember if that led directly to us making out, but I prefer to think that it did – because in the eventual movie of my life, that is going to be one of the best scenes ever put on film.

- At the trial, they will overrule my objection because this “goes to character.”

I bought her a locket for Valentine’s day and wrote a rap song for her, but she still left me for Richard Velázquez, who was a faster runner than me.

- Something about this sentence just screams “INCOMPETENT”

Scott puts sunblock on my back
Me: (cowboy accent) “I wish I knew how to quit you . . .”

- They don’t see those kind of movies

Basically, it’s to hold whatever book I read on the subway; and to portray myself as a more important person than I really am. Plus I sometimes take boxes of tissues from the office, which I suppose I would need a bag for anyway.

- What’s worse: stealing or being that cheap?