Why are all my ideas for bumper stickers blaphemous?

Man. I don't really like my job. I mean, it's not terrible. Most of the people are pretty awesome. The ladies are great, and really attractive. The young gents are cool, because they haven't developed egos yet. Oh! But BP has left the building, permanently. And he left in the middle of the day, so I didn't have the chance to ask how old he was. Sorry Pat! But then again, I didn't want him to 66 me. I'm in a whole new fandom these days.

Shit. There I go again, saying things that make no sense except to me and maybe one or two other people. I'm tired. That's my excuse.

Anyway, what I don't like revolves around the fact that it's boring. I sit in front of the phone and wait for it to ring. And I can't move too far from it in case it rings. It creates all this unpleasant tenseness in me. Then, there's the fact that I answer the phone. That's my job. Which is insane, because for many years I was petrified of talking on the phone. I think I finally started getting better once I started talking to internet weirdos, incidentally. Like, I remember the first time I called Pat, and he hated talking on the phone, and I hated talking on the phone, but we managed to have a conversation for, like, half an hour. It was pretty cool.

When I was in HiCal this spring, Mary-Jane and I watched American Idol together while the menfolk ditched us and we were charged with the particularly cruel task of calling to order pizza. I volunteered, because I've gotten so much better about this phone thing. Sometimes, I can even pick up the receiver *lazily.*

But I still don't like talking on the phone if I can help it. When I talk on the phone to people I love, my breath still sometimes get shallow and I start gasping for breath. I don't know why. It just does. And while I'm okay at my job, somewhere in me, it still freaks me out. It still causes this tension and unpleasantness, it's just hidden. I'm really relieved when I don't have to be there.

Not that I think I'd be happier in a non-receptionist position. I've always known that I would not do well in an office job. And perhaps I'm being proven right now because I have absolutely no interest in what this company does. It was okay doing clerical business at the McCarter, because I loved what I was doing there, no matter how small.

Here, gruff gentlemen call up and sound irate before I even speak to them. Then I try to put them through to the guy who's always stressed out and never wants to take calls because he gets about fifty a day, and his assistant is never at her desk, so the same person calls back a minute later saying, "Uh, I wanted to talk to [what's his face] and you gave me his secretary's voicemail!"

Sorry dude! This probably wouldn't happen if they could see how cute I am. Alas, they can't. My hair's getting so long again. This makes me happy.

I have this persistent fear that the people on the other end are going to start yelling at me. I hate having to put people on hold, holding my breath until the little beep that tells me that it's been a minute. I don't know what to tell them when one of the gents tells me to lie and say that he's not in the office, like happened today. I don't like lying. I'm not very good at it. And I'm completely sure that the person on the other end knows I'm lying. It makes me feel really unpleasant.

The highlight of my day is coming back from my lunch break (1-2PM EST, during which I typically do not eat lunch, but wonder who I can call up. If you're interested, let me know!) and sorting the mail. Even though half of it isn't addressed to anyone in particular. It kills at least an hour, and nearly two on Mondays.

Here's something good, though: I always have a piece of scrap paper to take down the names and business of people who call in. I've started picking various bits of my scribblings and labelling them "For Enemies." This cracks me up so much. SO MUCH. You have no idea.