We go to sleep to shake a pee
Even if you’re a total recluse like I am, you can’t help but notice it’s a nice day out. The weatherman on TV looking smilingly into the camera and letting you know, “It’s sunny and 65,” which at least here in the icy chasm of upstate, is pretty nice. But weather actually does just exist to give people something to talk about. Even if you put some Christian fundamentalist into a room with a KKK member, they’d end up talking about how nice it is outside. “Oh, yeah: You can’t beat those nice days.” And even I find myself, with the polar cap of my head melted, just telling everyone about it. Say, how about this nice day we’re having? Kind of good Frisbee tossing weather; what about a walk? Oh, god: are we ever alienated from one another. A girl I know has told me that conversation is a lot like keeping a beach ball up in the air, and I guess this is the right weather for it. Or close, anyway.

Don’t mind me, though, because I’m just in a bad mood over the job I have to work at for the next few weeks. The gods have aligned, surely, and have doled it out from the bottom of the deck. Oh, let’s see, this guy, they contemplate: he’s been on unemployment, living off the fat of the land. Didn’t we catch him sitting in a tree last week? Let’s give him this one over here. –That’s cool. I knew in advance it would be this way. Was waiting for it, actually. That’s kind of the thing about expecting the worst, it always leaves room for these totally serendipitous moments to occur, and rarely are you ever let down. But this job seems to have crushed even all of my expectations. What it involves, essentially, is standing in a windowless room and making copies all day. The other portion of my time is spent before a machine named the Microform Duplicator, which a 1950’s style antiquated device for copying microfiche reels. The developing process involves ammonia, and the woman tells me, “You really have to watch out for those fumes.” It’s in a sordid haze that I tell, OK, I will.

The great part about my job, though, is that no one really hides their disdain for the workplace. No one here really seems to be holding on to the notion that this is what they actually wanted to do with their time, and so there’s no need to fake it. We walk around with nasty scowls all day long. I’m actually a little bit surprised that some of these people are even human beings at all, and not some sort of Aldous Huxley-style creations from a test tube. “Don’t look so down,” some woman tells me. “You’re doing a great job, and we really appreciate your help around here.” We talk things over a bit, and when the introductions are over, she imparts the following wisdom: “It’s going to be a nice weekend, at least.” Not exactly beach ball weather, but whatever. “Have a good one,” I tell her. “You too, Ryan!!!” she says. “You, too!”