April 4, 2002

Today is the day to 'accidentally' kick your kickboxing instructor in the neck.

Didn't you hate those people in school who always looked like they were actually enjoying doing their work? You'd be horizontal on your desk, drooling, and they'd be ramrod straight, focused, writing perfect notes with perfect pens, their ears even looking perked, if that's possible. I'd always say, "If I try, I can be like that too. Focus and attention are easy! I just have to think about how perfect I look." Some Wite-Out or a spilled pop can later and that was out the window.

Fortunately, at my office, there are no people like that. We've been insanely busy (i.e. I have a strict go-home-at-5 policy but even I have been forced to be less stringent and leave at 7.) There are some people who, I'll admit, I would have pegged for little miss or mister perfects, but our office routinely descends into insanity around 3:30. My boss breaks out bottles of Special Export and enjoys playing the first track of the "Pulp Fiction" soundtrack, repeatedly and loudly.. A few people begin screaming obsenities like they have Tourettes Syndrome. Even the most pulled-together young ladies begin running around with their hair in their face, snapping at anybody who gets in their way. Oh, and some people smoke in their cubicles. This is my favorite. It's sort of like a little time capsule. 2002, the year of the nonsmoker? I think not.

Just the same way perfect people seem to enjoy their perfection, I think we enjoy our depravity and entirely outblown sense of proportion. Like we're splitting the atom or something like that instead of making commercials. It's pretty funny.

Anyway, I have to go, because I'm late for work. Oh, by the way, you don't want to miss tomorrow. It's going to be a humdinger.