Day two of my very first desk job. It isn’t like any other desk job really, I’m a copy editor and basically correct presentation grammar, three stories up, blasting The Strokes and disabling the fire alarms so I can smoke cigarettes. What’s better is the bar directly underneath the office, and free pulled espresso shots, not actual shots, at least not while I’m on the clock. They’re bringing me my own desk today, and I think I’m going to bring my, “hang in there” mug. The truth is that I really only do about an hour of real work a day. I just find it distracting having a dance studio directly across from my office window. That’s right, leg warmers, push up bras, me with a mug and a cigarette listening to the Best of Bowie. Of course, I do have a supervisor, but he joins me, except he smokes cigars. I’m not too fond of cigars and he spends most of his time in the bar downstairs anyway. I take hour long lunch breaks as long as I take a laptop with me, and I don’t have to watch my language.
However hard it is to convey tone in writing, I happen to find this job a little boring. I need to blow some minds, but my bartending gig is only on weekends. During the day, I’m a mendacious digital diplomat. Then have a period of detente. I miss my old job when the detente was hunting down the local happy hour with my coworkers. Now I don’t even have to pay for it. I need to find a release or some really good drugs. Stay out of school kids.