Office Space...

So back to work I go. Working 9 to 5, or rather 7-3, but still what a way to make a livin'. I suppose you can't see my shame from there but I wound up working for my father again, doing the behind-the-desk, thank-you-for-calling, paper cuts and panty hose work that drives me a bit batty. And I just don't like working for family because it makes me feel spoiled--like nepotism is the only thing that got me hired or that I am a spy for the big guy. Or that I am in his pocket, being fed out of it. My independence blushes and tries to defend itself.

Well, that independence has a very good excuse, I think. I am helping out there as a purely temporary measure until another woman recovers from surgery. (Let us all send Get Well wishes to Lucille. You sure did pick a fine time to leave us, Lucille.) She will be out recovering for about six weeks and, as chance would have it, that is also when we will be taking off on our next vacation--a nine day jaunt to The Boyfriend's home state of Montana. We will be riding the motorcycle up and down then rafting and fly fishing while we are there. I swear, it is as if that boy just doesn't want me to be employed, isn't it? So my independence is being served through this backward step in the long run. However, I am still stumped as to what to do for June, July and August. After August, after all, after our current lease terminates, who knows where we will be off to, but we will be off.

Did I mention that the job drives me batty? There they are in the belfry, rattling around and strewing their guano about. Perhaps the claustrophobic little file room is the modern day equivalent of a belfry, hm? I seem to spend at least two hours in there each day. First, to catch the office up and, second, to get away from the other girl who is working at the front desk. Before I begin my bitching, I will forgive her the fact that she is only 21. Actually, she "like" turns 21 in "like" 10 days now, "ya?" She's a talker, that's for sure. Not about the weather or polite, superficial subjects either. How about the fight she got into at a party, or the bar that doesn't ID her, or the guys that, well, may have been the progenitors of an absence she was worried about earlier this month. It was definitely one of two, she thinks. Her phone beeps with text messages all the time. Needless to say, not really my crowd. In fact, here's a few little exchange I had the privilege to listen this morning:

• "Gee, Saturday is Earth Day. Hey I have a nail appointment that day."
• "You know, here is one of the only places I've worked where I didn't, like, have a major problem with someone that I worked with. I just don't get along well with some people."
• "I could always make this Friday and call in tomorrow. But then Karma would really make me sick. That's how it works for me when I call in here."
  

She honestly reminds me of JJ's Housekeeper/Massage Therapist.

Did find out a bit more about grad school. Oh such a little tiny bit. I called Alaska to simply ask when notification letters were going out and the woman on the other end of the line said currently. The check is in the mail, so to speak. But, then she went on to say she could just tell me the "bad news" over the phone. Wait, I thought. I didn't even tell you my name. How do you know it is necessarily "bad news?" However, she proceeded to tell me that, sorry, the Creative Writing school is not admitting any first year MFA students. In an effort to raise the rating and quality of their program, they are taking a planning year to change curriculum and staff. They will be refunding the $35 application fee, though. (But what about the $10 to send transcripts and the $15 for GRE scores and the $5 for postage, hmmmm?) A big oh well to them, then. It did seem like a truly excellent adventure but bogus in it's isolation and the long, expensive plane ride to get anywhere at all.