Friday, i wear gloves! (to the tune of the cure)

It's friday here in basment of mystery. And since everyday is casual-labour day, what's different about today? Well, the bosses have vanished. Off the face of the earth, at about ten o'clock this morning, along with bunches of the staff.

In an interesting move, they also scheduled a whole bunch of people for interview this afternoon, then ran away. Seems to be kind of a corporate knick-knack. As a result, for a goodly part of the day there were these earnest guys in suits sitting in the main hall, telling me it was fine that they'd waited for 45 minutes as i chased down anyone who'd even pretend to interview them.

But for the most part there's just me, down in basement of solitude. Awesome. Of course, i've been in the job a work week now, so i can banter with some of the people. (all girls, and one gay guy) (i'm assuming he's gay. That's unfair) So, they sometimes drop in if there's photocopying. Which leads me to the neurotic dilemma that's permeating the rest of this otherwise blisfully work-free afternoon.

The gay guy rang me up for a prank call, pretending to order some coffees. And after a bit i laughingly told him to 'g'wan back to work with yourself'. Then, thinking that was a bit too serious, i rang him, and prank called him, pretending to order pizza. Gay enough in itself, but when it's to a gay guy...

so yes. Apparently, in moments of boredom, born of neurosis, I inadvertently flirt with gay guys.

Time, I think, to go kiss some girls, drink some beer and cook steak on a barbecue.

Typing to make it look like i'm working

Because no one can see my monitor. Shit, look at me check out that bit of paper like i've lost my place. I am so good at this.Hang on , hang on. No, stay over your side. that's it.

What're you saying? I type very fast? Thank you. If you only knew. Why do i type so fast? because I learnt doing IM on various work computers. I had typing classes in in College, but skipped them. Probably the same attitude that has me currently typing like a loon now to look like I'm doing work. Which I'm not. And if you think I'm working through lunch, you're sadly mistaken, sonny jim.

ok, gone. typing mania over.

Basement of solitude

Sitting here, in my baement, i get a lot of time to think. Actually, strike that.I take a lot of time to think. I have work to do, but i'll be quite honest here, i don't like doing it, so i'm not killing myself. Taking regular daydream breaks, occasional stare into space breaks, and frequent much-needed glazing over breaks. No one really checks up on me, no one has ever given me ajob description, so y'know, until this role is defined, I'm going to define it myself.

My definition: Job hunting and daydreaming!

Although, the bosses have been encroaching on my very important reflection time with their hilarious tasks. Boss A's tasks are uniformly bizarre and humiliating. (buy me lunch, visit my wife, look at security footage) Boss B's tasks, on the other hand, always seem a bit more underhanded, and sometimes sound like spam subject lines. 'I'm 5IcK of PAYING for TOP RATE 5oftw8re!' or some other deal involving him and the FORMER DEFENC AND fINANCIAL MINISTER OF GHANA, and having a bunch of cash he needs to move fast. (although it is Boss A who owns the chemist, giving boss B access, i suppose to CEHAP V!A5RA AND SIAL!s. (could save $$$s!) (awesome!)

Anyway. They also hide, from me, each other, customers, everyone. Which means then that they give out when i can't find them because a polish carpenter with an unpronouncable name is standing at the front door looking to talk to them, and instead is telling me that we have nice weather in broken english. (The weather isn't in a mysterious place called broken english, i'm just depressingly unsure of where to put the comma)

I love it here. (especially since i have a new way of looking at it. it's temping noir. where i'm the beaten down Sam Spade type, who's taking the simple job for the money, but all of a sudden there's more to it than first meets the eye. It's great, i wisecrack, there's an eastern european girl who walks into the room like she had a designer purse full of trouble and the only thing i'm missing is the bottle of scotch in my desk drawer)