Friends,
It’s Friday and I know it should be a magical time where the paycheck faeries gently press their sugar-dusted lips to your filthy foreheads, grimy from the sweat and toil of a week picking at the wisps of salt veins down in the mines, but by the gods themselves, I must say that this particular day stunk to the ends of your earth and the next one as well. I’ll tell you how in a moment, but it’s important to note something that should be very obvious and might be casually missed. This writing exercise is largely about me, so what follows may seem self-centered, which is how this works. Stick with it though, because eventually it stops sounding like whinging and more like a weird string of happenstances coming together as an unsubtle note from the fates that my time working in the desert has come to an end.
Exhibit 1)
I had been listening to the On The Media podcast (which I encourage you to download and support) Thursday night and plopped the iPod into the clock radio. 0400 rolls around and the “Ayn Rand’s influence on the GOP” story is blaring. Hit the button to stop the alarm, proceed with the morning ritual.
Exhibit 2)
I check the Facebook app on my phone during breakfast. One of my coworkers Likes Mitt Romney’s page. “Damn,” through a milky bite, “And she was one of the good ones, too. I’ll miss her.” Like real zombies, she’s been infected and has self-identified as one of them. Data point. Moving on.
Exhibit 3)
The drive down the hill to work was as easy as any. Slowpokes pulled out right away, people dipped their high beams quickly and courteously, and the stoplights all the way to the Festival of Dirt were obligingly green. I take Highway 111 all the way across the valley because when it’s quick, it can be very quick and I had four minutes to make up. The timing is really working out and I’ve made up two of the four minutes when I see the flashing gumballs in the distance. Getting closer, the plume of smoke is evident and Indio Police have the highway blocked off. I take the detour, but what could be on fire? Starbucks? Game Stop? It’s hard to tell and I’ve lost three minutes. Now I’m on the hairy edge of being late.
Exhibit 4)
Arriving at work I have a minute to spare, so I rush around the building to my favorite shady parking space. The one now dominated by the fallen foliage in the photo at the top. The clicking in my head isn’t the normal clicking that always clicks (don’t ask. i think one of the gears has lost a tooth, but he’ll argue the point. – ed) but another click that starts analyzing all of the events of the morning. What’s the connection? What’s going on here?
Exhibit 5)
Logged on to the various computers in the office after clocking in successfully within the seven minute window, but the biometric time clock gives me a score of 90. Single-digit scores mean that it really believes that the picture it’s just taken of the back of my hand is really me. Higher scores mean that it’s not so sure. A score of 90 means that it’s giving me a pass, but stop being creepy, okay?
The Twitter feed starts buzzing (aw, c’mon. we’ve been through this. it’s twittering. – ed) with news about the fire. It’s this…
If you’ll notice the second business from the left, it’s my favorite taco shop. The only one I know of in the valley that makes a decent potato taco.
…or used to. They’re all gone. The owner of the building promises to rebuild, but will the rents be too high for the previous tenants, as is often the case? I’m very sorry for their losses but the clicking continues.
Exhibit 6)
I had hoped that the teleconference that was scheduled for the late morning would include video so I could see who I was talking to in America’s Third or Fourth Finest City for Border Violence, but I got an email that they didn’t even have a phone. The solution was to put a cell phone on the center of the table in their meeting room and call me at my remote location. This made my blood sugar drop, so I ducked out to grab a late fast food breakfast. I’ve got fifteen minutes for my federally mandated fifteen minute break, so why not?
I pull in the parking lot and spy my coworker’s car. It’s unmistakable and I’m a little perplexed. This coworker should’ve arrived at the office hours ago, but the car is here. What gives? Then I see the windscreen sun shield pressed up against the passenger side door glass, impressions of hands from the interior to prevent my view inside. Fair enough! I back into the adjacent space, head into the joint and power down a greasy egg sandwich and box of orange juice (to prevent scurvy, as you do). Back out to the Jeep and the sun shield is hurriedly rearranged and mashed up to the window. What’s going on in there?
Exhibit 7)
Cell phone teleconference goes better than expected. I put my phone on mute and just listen, but send stupid jokes to my colleagues over SMS. No response.
Exhibit 8)
I violate my rule about working on coworker’s personal computers due to tears. Hers, not mine.
Exhibit 9)
I get my first speeding ticket in two years on the way home. My Jeep was clocked at 69 MPH heading up a hill with the A/C on in 4th gear while next to a car that was overtaking. If I was going 69 MPH in 4th gear, I would’ve had to rev the engine up to over 4,000 RPM, so I’m thinking that the Lidar was, once again, lying. If I can’t do traffic school, I’m going to contest this one.
So, in the words of the prophet, how was your day?
Your pal,
bob
