Kick-Off

Sometimes, the thing that I find most disconcerting about my day at work is that it's no longer disconcerting.  For instance, on a typical day, I'll walk into the office in the morning, coffee cup in hand and within five minutes have a spider-bitten tit shoved into my face so I can see how big the welt has gotten.  Typical day.  Or perhaps I will receive a series of frantic angry messages from someone whose name I cannot pronounce, only to find that when I call them back only 15 minutes later, that their number has been disconnected and the address they listed is an empty lot.   Normal.   Or even more likely, some coworker tells me some story about their grandchild/boyfriend/gay-lover and his/her poopy diaper/other family/prison record and why its adorable/shocking/a turn on.   This is such a normal part of my day that it has become as unobtrusive as white noise.   

And it isn't just the social atmosphere to which I'm acclimating--it's the actual work as well.   Today was the launch of our big fall campaign and Matt called me during the day to invite me to dinner.   "I can't, it's fall kick-off,"  I said in a weird fembot voice.   In a tone probably similar to how Mormon's explain Jesus coming to America.   Matt's obvious ignorance demanded another sentence.   "I have to work until 10 or so."   And in the need for further explanation I realized there were millions of lucky people in the world who didn't know or care that fall kick-off even exists.  And with great amounts of jealousy, I realized I was no longer one of them.  Furthermore,  I also used to not know what "delivering the mission" meant (except in terms of bad Vietnam war movies) or be able to identity the "three program-processes".  I miss my days of ignorance.    This weekend at a family BBQ when asked about my job I instantly spit out answers like I had swallowed a manual.   My boss would have been proud, but my 14 year-old-self would punch me in the kidney.   I feel like that guy who hangs himself in Shawshank, I'm becoming institutionalized.

Tonight at kick-off I was in my kool-aid drinkin' best.  I had to wear my stupid staff uniform which makes me look like a cross between a librarian and Hermione Granger (If you're picturing something fetish-y and hot just go ahead and pump the breaks, it's more Janet Reno than Sarah Palin) and listen to people get really outraged and scandalized over small logistical changes that in no way effect them, while somehow also pretending to understand their concerns.   At one point some lady stood up and said, "but how does this change effect me?"  I wanted to leap up on a table and say, "Wait wait wait, stop!  Did no one consider how this cooperate-mandated change would personally effect Kettering homemaker, Janet?!   Surely not!"   Who are these people?!  Sometimes I swear they only exist to test my paitence or humility or something.  Tests which I'm sure I fail.   The questions/requests I get sometimes--it's like, alright, where's the Truman Show?   Or, more accurately, I turn into a Mexican gangster and say things like, "You fuckin' with me, esse?" to the Universe.   But, thankfully, I kept my composure and my class tonight even though inside my veins were pumping with venomous rage.

Although, old habits die hard--so while I did wear my little "staff uniform" and stay until 9:30pm at work, I also asked co-workers to take bets as to whether so and so's hair was a "bump-it" or a hair piece. So you know, I get my fun where I can.