Accismus

For weeks now, the rumblings have been distant and low, but each day, they grow closer: echoes of a distant dread. Through the subterranean tunnels, it comes, the Balrog – ambition withers in its path, dreams splinter and snap. Deep into the city where the willful urban twixter po’ folk dwell, with their no benefits, their clothes from six years ago, their hopeful new iphones. It comes even for them, the Nothing, wiping out all in its path. Even those small, powerless grubs who have elected to find a little-noticed crevice on a larger creature, and hunker down there, making no noise, causing little harm, silently sucking…they, too, will be dragged forth, out into the glaring light of day, and counted. The fire of this crisis leaves no pore unscoured – even the armpits and nostrils of the corporate beasts will be flushed clean.

It comes. Closer and closer, it comes. It sucks up years, it grays youth, it brings forth the sweat from even the most habitually sedated brow…

It comes. It comes. It comes for you. RUN!!!!

Those who remove sta-
-ple removers from copy
rooms should be shot dead.

Humanities majors have gone on a citywide strike in New York City.

“There’s no need to bother anymore,” says Anna Diggs, a 27-year-old former marketing employee. “My rent has gone up every year, but I’ve never gotten a raise. And I just got a big tax refund since I made less than $18,000 last year, and I realized it was actually enough to cover my expenses for a couple months. So, I quit.”

While the humanities majors hold many different positions over a wide spectrum of industries, the actual job descriptions for all of them are strikingly similar.

“I basically surf the Internet and occasionally answer the phone,” says Marie Johnson, administrative assistant at a financial firm. “My two roommates both have nearly identical positions at other firms. I make $14/hour, Trish makes $18/hour and Erin makes $25/hour. We were all three placed through the same temp agency that’s been making $35/hour off each of us for the past year-and-a-half. Which is about how long it’s been since I went to a dentist.”

In the wake of the striking humanities majors, HR managers and temp agencies have been deluged with resumes from retail, restaurant, hotel and other minimum-wage workers.

“Frankly, I’ll do anything,” says Becca Horstead, a 48-year-old single mother of two, who currently works at a Borders. “They can pay me whatever they want, just so long as it’s over $7.15 an hour, and they let me sit my ass in a chair.”

These resumes, however, have been not been greeted with enthusiasm.

“I don’t know,” said Myra Beckinridge, HR-manager at Wees & Luxembaum LLC. “Since Katy [the file clerk for the heath care law division] left, Beatrice from word processing has been doing her work. And she’s applied for the position, but she’s…well, I don’t…”

Beckinridge paused for a moment before continuing.

“What I mean to say is, this position just demands too much responsibility for someone without a college degree.”

Asked for comment, Beatrice Jones replied, “I have a B.A. from CUNY! Did she even glance at my damn resume?”

Many employers are doubting whether they’ll replace the humanities majors at all.

“I’m thinking it’s really not that big a workload,” says Dennis Masterson at Techmode, a strategizing and data management firm. “What I might do is, just turn that paid position into several, part-time unpaid internships. We could get a couple smart, young college kids to come in a couple times a week and do this for college credit or something.”

Unpaid internships are nothing new to jobhunter, Matthew Bender, a 28-year-old former assistant copywriter.

“I’d been working at this trade publication for two years, through a temp agency,” Bender explains. “And I had my performance review, and my boss said he was really happy with me. I asked for benefits and a raise, and he said that I was a temp, and they couldn’t afford to hire me on right now. So, I quit and started looking for other editing or copywriting jobs – all the ones I found were fulltime jobs, but the publications had them listed as unpaid internships. What freaking idiots are doing all this work for free?”

When asked about his plans, Bender is noncommittal.

“I mean, being unemployed is nice, and not really that different,” Bender says. “I still sit at my computer all day for no money, only now I can wear jeans, and I don’t spend $10 on lunch.”

“In this economy,” says Techmode’s Masterson. “We really can’t afford to pay our employees.”

Welcome to Earth!

First of all, you will need some money.

Money is bits of paper that can be exchanged for goods and services: things that you, as a person, will need and/or want.

Where can the money be gotten? Generally, it is to be gotten in the bleakest places. Look for large, cold rooms filled with beige boxes. The beige boxes contain smaller, blinking beige boxes. If you put on a pair of black pants and black shoes, and a shirt with buttons down the front, and sit for seven hours in front of one of these blinking beige boxes, you should receive some money.

Once you have money, it is time to go to a crowded place and drink drinks. The drinks might make you giggle, or they might make you feel dead. It all depends. When you have drunk enough drinks, you will feel sleepy. You will need to sleep, because you’re running out of money! You will need to get up bright and early and drink other drinks that wake you, so that you can be wakeful at your beige box. In this way, you can get more money, so that you can go and drink more drinks to put you back to sleep.

Is this all to Earth, you ask?

Not quite.

After you sit at your beige box for five days, you should have enough money to spend two days buying things (you can also play sports in the park, if it is not cold). When you have bought many things, you can spread them all out on your bed and look at them.

Good. Now it is time to put the things away, because you are running out of money again! Wash your black pants and go to sleep.

Is this all to Earth, you ask again?

Not quite.

Look to your right and left. There are other people there, doing just as you do. It is unlikely that you will enjoy the people to your right and left in the room of beige boxes, but if you look to the right and left in the crowded places where you drink drinks, it is possible that you will find another person you would enjoy going along with from now on, for company.

You probably won’t find such a person, but you might!

If you do, you can have little people with this person, and for two days at the end of every five, you can watch these little people play sports in the park (if it is not cold), and you can buy the little people little things, and spread them out on their beds to look at. People who have done this say it is really the best thing to do.

Beware, though: little people need lots and lots and lots of money!

Is this all to Earth, you ask a third time?

Yes. This is all.

Do you think you will like it?

. . . If not, there is one other option. If you do not care enough about using your money to feel happy about sitting in the beige box each day, you can go to a place on Earth where they haven’t managed to set up such a system for making and spending money yet, and you can help them to get closer to instituting such a system for themselves.

This is called “Peace Corps.”

Is this all, you ask again?

More or less. Welcome, and enjoy!

Oh, come on, coffee. Just brew already. Come on, come on, come on, come on. Drip! DRIP, I HAVE TO GO!

-

Oh, come on, train. Come on. Where’s the train? Let me see those headlights. Come on. JUST COME ON!

-

Go, you freaking train. Why have you stopped? Just go. Go. My stop’s right there. Go, damn it! Go, go, go, go, go.

-

Open the doors. Open the doors. Seriously, we’re in the station, we’re just sitting here, OPEN THE DOORS, I’M ABOUT TO FREAK OUT, I CAN’T BREATHE IN THIS FREAKING TRAIN! OPEN!!!!

-

Come on, people. Walk. Walk like you mean it, or get the hell out of my way. Seriously, have you never moved forward before in your life?? Is this some sort of novel concept to you? You’re here, you want to go there. So, just GO there. GET OUT OF MY WAY, DAMN IT! MOVE!

-

Come on, elevator. Oh, come on! Now, go! GO!

-

Come on, computer. Boot up. Boot up. Boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up, boot up. God!

-

Come on, coworker. Just tell me what you want me to DO, okay? Just spit it out. Yes, yes, yes, what do you want me to DO? Cut to the chase. Okay, okay, I get it now! I know what you want, so STOP TALKING. Shut up, go away, shut up, go away!

-

Come on, lady. You know I’m sitting in here waiting for you to leave. I can’t shit until this bathroom is empty. Your hair looks fine, wash your hands and get out! Just GO already, because I have to GO, and if you do not GO before someone else COMES, I cannot GO, so why don’t you GO??!!

-

Oh, come on, elevator.

-

Come on, people. Just hand the man a five. No, you don’t have exact change. Don’t hunt for it! Oh, fine. Okay, you’re done, you’re done, you’re done – don’t stand there fiddling with your purse, just take your freaking sandwich and blow!

-

Elevator. I hate you.

-

Come on, spreadsheet, download. DOWNLOAD!!! Okay, here we– No, no, NO! I didn’t mean to click that link, it was an accident, don’t refresh! Oh, my sweet Lord. Well, then refresh, dammit, hurry up.

-

Come on, five o’clock. Come. On. Already.

-

I despise you to the depths of my being, elevator.

-

MOVE IT, PEOPLE!

-

WHERE THE HELL’S THE TRAIN?

-

MOVE IT, YOU FREAKING TRAIN!

-

I’M GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-

Come on, death. Just hurry up and get here.

My ears are incredibly small. Almost freakishly so. They look like tiny organisms clinging to the sides of my head. Do everyone’s ears look this weird? Yes.

–

The beads of condensation on my coffee cup lid are intensely beautiful. They are tiny, and each one is separate, but perfectly round. On the rim, there is a single line of perfectly spaced beads of water, each one an equal distance from the one before. Such perfect symmetry. Does this mean there is meaning in the universe after all? No.

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

I never really had an apeshit period. I was a well-behaved and quiet kid, a moderate and studious college student, and an ambitious and healthy young adult. I never slept in alleys, or hitchhiked across the country, or dropped acid and then jumped off a roof. I even somehow managed to backpack Southeast Asia in a mature, responsible manner. Now, I’m getting to the age where an apeshit period would be merely depressing to everyone who witnessed it. Youth is indeed wasted on the young. Maybe I will come to work drunk all next week. No.

–

Seriously, why am I even in New York? Perhaps I should move. But where to? And why? Maybe I’ll click through Google Maps with my eyes closed, and wherever I land, I’ll move there. …Kansas City. Oh, hell no.

–

The secretary next door just said, ‘Take the next two days off, will you?’ The next two days being the weekend. Everyone laughed hysterically. They laugh because they refuse to weep. They are all so brave.

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Maybe someone has put brownies in the breakroom. No.

–

I wonder if I got my book out, if anyone would notice or care. I wonder if I got out my book and my ipod, too, if that would really be pushing it. I wonder if I put in a Netflix DVD and watched it with earphones, if anyone would notice. I wonder if I did some push-ups in my cubicle, wearing my ipod and watching a Netflix DVD, if I would be fired.

–

How much do I stand to get from selling an egg? Could I bring myself to do such a thing? No. Or…maybe. Well, no.

–

I wonder if anyone else ever noticed the similarities between the cast of Wings and the cast of Chip ‘N Dale’s Rescue Rangers?

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Another hour closer to 5:00. Another hour closer to death. What have I ever done with my life? What have I ever done for anybody?

–

I wonder how much coffee I can chug in 30 minutes? Here goes!

–

I should really stop bitching, because this is my life to live and we create our own fate and it is my own job to make something happen to me if I want something to happen with my life, I have to make it happen, have to quit wasting time and quit thinking and procrastinating and worrying and I should just do it now and do it today, and even if I don’t know what ‘it’ is, well, that shouldn’t stop me, because you just have to strike out, you know what I’m saying, with energy and love for all and faith in yourself, and you have to wake up and plug in and GET INTO LIFE, and think of Einstein, think of Teddy Roosevelt, think of well I’m sure there’s someone who was both vibrant and female and I’ve got the will and the drive, and I’m going to do it now, I’m going to do it today because I can’t do anything until I MAKE myself do something! Anything!

–

Maybe I have a text message. No.

–

Oh, damn it! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!!!! I just HATE this! I HATE THIS SOOOOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!

I am a data-entry clerk by day. By night, I watch a lot of television, and sometimes I go over to my friend Brian’s house and watch television there. I do not play sports, nor do I enjoy things. I have a college degree in history, but now I enter the circulation numbers of various newspapers in spreadsheet format. Like, how many copies of a paper were dropped off at each location, and how many were picked back up at the end of the…never mind, I don’t care about it, and I’m sure it is not interesting to you, either, unless you are stupid. I am single, but I don’t date, because there are no available women at the place where I work. I hope that an available woman might look at this page, and email me. Brian said that that might happen.

I have never traveled, and I don’t often eat out at restaurants. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I eat at Peter’s, which is an Italian place that also serves gyros. I like gyros. Sort of. I mean, I’m not wild about them. Once Brian was emailed by a woman in his area who wanted to go to a movie with him. He made a date with her, but she did not show up. But maybe she did show up, and he just didn’t recognize her. Sometimes people look different from their pictures. My picture is of me in college. I look the same now, except I have lost a little weight. Most people gain weight as they get older, but I have lost it. I think it is because I used to go out drinking a lot in college, but now I do not do that, because Brian doesn’t drink.

There is one nice thing about my job, and that is that we have free coffee, and there are flavored coffees. I don’t like the flavored coffees, but it is nice to have the option. I don’t like too many options, though, because sometimes you can be paralyzed by choice. Something similar happened to me after college. When I graduated, I wasn’t sure which way to go, and that was an upsetting realization. I enjoy simplicity, to a reasonable degree. I have only three colors in my wardrobe, which seems to me to be a perfect choice. It would be dull and a bit insane to have only black clothing (though I have considered it), but I have found that the more colors introduced, the earlier I have to get up to pick. Currently, I have black pants, and jeans, and green and blue tops. That is what I consider a reasonable wardrobe.

I enjoy sleeping very much. It is healthy, satisfying, free of charge, and can be enjoyed by everyone. If I could, I would probably sleep all the time. I would say sleeping is my favorite thing to do. I have sometimes thought that a dog would be nice to have. But I worry about dogs. Even just thinking about sleeping makes me happy. Sometimes about three in the afternoon, I think about how I will sleep later, and I feel good from my head to my toes. If I were going to travel (and I don’t think I will), one place I might like to go is Prague. Brian has been to France, Spain and the U.K.

The thing about dogs is, they are kind of like slaves. I worry that a dog might be deeply unhappy with his overall life, but so simply pleased by whatever food or affection is coming his way currently that he can forget about it for the time being. But if that is the case, that dog would be better off dead. Brian has a cat, and the cat seems reasonably happy to me, and also not like a slave, because I’m pretty sure that cat could get away from Brian if she took a notion. I do not like cats, however; they remind me of a series of nightmares I had as a boy.

One movie I love is Dog Day Afternoon. ATTICA!!!

I do not much follow the news, but Brian was once on the news because he got into an accident. He was driving a car, but was very drunk, and he ran into the side of a school bus. It was 8:30 a.m. No children were hurt, but Brian got into a lot of trouble anyway. And I think that was right. That was two years ago, and Brian stopped drinking right after, and so I stopped drinking, too, because he was my drinking buddy. I don’t think there’s too much harm in drinking if you can leave off when it’s time, which I can, but Brian is an alcoholic.

I didn’t much care for school myself, but I didn’t hate it, either. The nice thing about school was lunch. And routine. I drive a Buick Sentry, a red one. It’s alright; I don’t much care about cars. And I have only been on a plane a couple of times. If a woman reads this and would be interested in going to Peter’s with me, I will be there at 8:00 p.m. this coming Friday. I will be wearing a blue top and black pants, and I look just like the photo above, except I am a little thinner.

Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible. Mankind’s greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn’t have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. . . . All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.

—–

Manager: Okay, guys, we need to talk about what went wrong last night, because clearly something did, and I know you guys work hard, and I want to hear from you suggestions of what the problem is and ways we can fix it-

Server #1: –Well, I think what happened was-

Manager: –Because it’s all about communication here, and you know, guys, I can tell you and tell you and tell you, but at the end of the day it’s about communication and communication is a two way street-

Server #2: –the problem was that the kitchen didn’t-

Manager: –And let me know these things, because I’m not going to yell at you, I know you work hard, and we all have the same goals here, so I just need suggestions, because if you suggest something, I will implement that suggestion, okay, guys, because nothing is written in stone-

Server #3: –I think what would fix the problem-

Manager: –Okay, guys, right now, though, we need to get these napkins folded, and get on the floor because we’ve got a 6:00 curtain at the Met, and they’re piling up in the door, okay? On the floor, guys. Now.

—–

Server #1: Where’s the ticket for table 57?

Sous chef: What table?

Server #1: 57. Table 57!! I fired their food twenty-five minutes ago, where is it?

Sous chef: I don’t see no ticket. Did you ring it in?

Server #1: Of course I rang it in! Did you lose the ticket?

Sous chef: I don’t see it. You should always check your tickets.

Server #1: Oh, my sweet Christ. You lost the damn ticket. Oh, shit, they had a steak mid-well and a lasagna! They’ve been waiting thirty minutes, this is a disaster!

Sous chef: If I don’t have no ticket, I don’t know I’m supposed to do anything.

Server #1: You lost the ticket!

Sous chef: You should always check.

Server #1: I should always check to make sure you haven’t lost the ticket?

Sous chef: Sure.

Server #1: Oh, fuck you, man!

Sous chef: I’ll help you out this time, but next time, you should check the ticket.

Server #1: What do you mean, help me out? It was your mistake!

Sous chef: Your mistake.

Server #1: Your mistake!

Sous chef: You!

Server #1: You!

—–

Customer: Could you do the stuffed salmon with no spinach in the stuffing?

Server #3: No, I’m sorry, the salmon stuffing is pre-made. You can have a plain grilled salmon filet.

Customer: But I’d like the scallops, just not the spinach. Could you just stuff the salmon with scallops?

Server #3: No.

Customer: Why not?

Server #3: Because we don’t have a stuffing with only scallops.

Customer: Could you take some plain scallops and put them in the salmon?

Server #3: No. We could do a plain grilled salmon with a side of scallops from the antipasti bar, how about that?

Customer: Hmmm. I really, I tell you what I’d love is a salmon stuffed with like a scallop and cornbread stuffing. Could you do anything like that?

Server #3: No.

Customer: Could you ask the chef?

Server #3: He’ll say no. We can’t do that, I’m sorry. Because, you see, the stuffing, it comes with spinach and scallops. We can’t create a new stuffing and stuff a salmon with it, especially not pre-theatre.

Customer: It’s just, I’m allergic to spinach. Allergic.

Server #3: So get the plain grilled salmon, side of scallops. I think you’ll love it!

Customer: It’s just, I’d so love it to be stuffed inside the salmon, you know? Maybe if you talk to the chef.

Server #3: Tell you what, I’m going to give you a minute to think about it, while I go take orders for these nine other tables I just got.

Customer: Well, hang on, hang on, we’re ready to order. So, could I have the stuffed salmon, only without the spinach?

Server #3: No!

—–

Coffee guy: Eh! Eh!

Server #1: Sorry, Miguel, I know you don’t like me in your station, but I don’t have time to explain to you-

Coffee guy: -eh, eh, eh! What? What?

Server #1: –what I need, and so I’m just going to – out of my way, man! I’m just going to grab it myself real fast-

Coffee guy: What you want? What you want? Eh! EH!

Server #1: One minute, uno momento, I will be out of your way, muy hurry, hurry, no tiempo-

Coffee guy: Eh?

Server #1: Just need to grab a cup here, and some milk, milk, uh, leche-

Coffee guy: Cago en tu leche.

Server #1: Very good, bueno, gracias. You’re my main man, Miguel!

One night not long ago, a man who looked very much like a certain celebrity was seated in my section. I will not mention the celebrity by name (not that he would give a crap, rich and famous as he is). It was about 11:40 on a Sunday night, and so the restaurant was mostly empty. The fellow in question was pleasant enough, but I was relatively certain that he was not the celebrity because no one else in the restaurant took note of him, and the manager had seated him at a crappy, tiny table on the banquette, despite the man’s rather large size and the fact that the restaurant was completely empty with plenty of excellent tables available.I mentioned to some of my fellow servers this man’s uncanny resemblance to the celebrity, and so we all moved to a server station near where the man was sitting to peek at him. It happens that this celebrity is an adherent to a political philosophy that my fellow servers and I do not particularly respect, and we began to (loudly) give voice to our derision.

At this point, I noticed that my customer had put his credit card down, which surprised me, as he did not appear to be finished with his entrée. I went up to his table and asked if he’d like anything else. Previously, he had been friendly and communicative, but now he would not look at me and said curtly, ‘No, I’m done.’

His card, of course, bore the name of the celebrity under discussion.

Embarrassed and unsure of what to do, I ran the card and set the check folder down on his table.

‘Have a nice evening, sir,’ I said.

He grunted, not looking at me.

I returned to my coworkers, still holding a lively debate at the server station, and discreetly informed them of our faux pas. We all scooted conspicuously out of the server station and around the corner, out of sight. One of my coworkers looked back, and noticed the celebrity chuckling to himself as he signed his check. He then ran out of the restaurant, a ball cap pulled over his face.

On a $60 check, he had left me a $100 tip.

Touché, Mystery Celebrity.

Attention:

To whomever left the chocolates in here, the treats have obviously melted and then re-congealed. They are no good.

–

Attention:

To whoever left the above note, I brought the chocolates in as a nice gesture. I can’t believe you would actually leave a passive-aggressive, unsigned note complaining about free chocolates. If you don’t like them, don’t eat them.

Signed, Emily.

–

Emily:

Please, your “gesture” was a lousy, half-assed one. You knew they’d melted and were no good, so why did you set them out for other people to sample and be disgusted by? Do you seriously expect praise for this?

–

Wow, anonymous, you’re a real ingrate. Thanks for the chocolates, Emily!

Signed, Bess.

–

I agree with Bess – an ingrate and a coward.

Signed, Libby.

–

Bess and Libby:

It’s easy to sign your name when you know your Post-Its will be applauded. I suppose I’m the villain here. But honestly, I got very, very excited to see chocolates. I’d had a horrible day, and the sight of the chocolates lifted my spirits considerably. Only to experience utter revulsion upon tasting the chalky bitterness of spoiled treats. Why does every potentially promising thing turn out in the end to be disappointing shit? Thanks for providing a metaphor for one of life’s cruelest lessons, Emily.

–

Ladies:

Shut up.

Signed, Richard.

–

Richard:

I’m offended that you assume anonymous is a woman. From the pretentious language and obsession with food, I myself would assume that this person is a man.

-Emily

–

Emily:

Only women care about chocolate. Or leave stupid Post-Its.

-Richard

–

Richard:

What? You’re such a moron.

-Bess

–

Agreed

-Libby

–

Look, I’ll never bring in chocolates again, melted or otherwise. I promise.

-Emily

–

I am diabetic, so I didn’t appreciate the chocolates anyway. In fact, I can’t eat half the things that people bring in and leave around the break room for free. I sort of resent the fact that no one ever thinks of those of us who can’t eat sugar (several people in the office), but I would never leave a stupid note about it.

-Brian

–

Brian:

You just left a stupid note.

-Emily

–

Brian:

Leave the ladies to their cat fight. You and I have better things to be doing.

-Richard

–

All I’m saying is, if life is indeed a desperate wasteland, I’d rather just face that fact honestly and learn to live with it than to try to placate myself with crappy chocolates. If there is to be no exceptional chocolate, let there be no chocolate at all.

–

I just said, there’ll be no more chocolate.

-Emily

–

Attn to all:

I have brought in the cookie. My daughter buy too many. Help for yourself, from Rita.

–

You’re really opening yourself up to an onslaught, Rita. Learn from my mistakes.

-Emily

–

Wow, Rita, these cookies are delicious. Not like some shitty chocolates I know of. Thanks!

–

Once again, I am unable to share in this bounty.

-Brian

–

Thanks for the cookies, Rita. Brian, I left half a veggie-burger for you in the bottom of the trashcan. You’re welcome.

-Richard.

–

Everyone:

If you’d spend half the time it takes you to leave these Post-Its on washing out your coffee mugs, I might actually get home in time to play with my kids sometimes.

-Housekeeping

–

Housekeeping:

Sorry, this bulletin board is for valued employees only. So are the cookies. Slip up again, and you’re fired.

-Richard

–

Richard, you are such a dick.

-Emily

–

I never realized you guys were so much fun! Lets all go out for drinks this weekend.

-Bess

–

I’m in!

-Libby

–

Well, Libby and I want you all to know, you missed a great time on Friday. Your loss.

-Bess

–

I’m sooooooo hungry.

-Brian

You torture me, teahouse fox. I sit at this desk, nine-to-five, five days a week (if I’m lucky: sometimes much longer), thinking, worrying, slaving and perspiring, and all in pursuit of what? Money? Success? Respect? The ever-elusive American dream?Maybe you’ve got the right idea, teahouse fox. Living your pastoral existence. Picking oranges, doing laundry, having tea on the dock in the evenings. That’s life, right there. You don’t care about money. You don’t care about fame. You don’t even seem to need the companionship of other foxes: fireflies, geese and caterpillars seem to give you all the company you need. You taunt me with your contentment. As I am madly reviewing accounts and formatting spreadsheets, you are rowing your boat around the pond. How Thoreau-ish of you.

–

I’ve just returned from a horrid afternoon meeting, in which my boss demanded the impossible, ranted incoherently, and dripped sweat onto the Powerpoint slides. You meanwhile, are playing some sort of stringed instrument as you sit on the end of your dock. Some childhood memory stirs in me: my feet swinging through the cool breeze, a glass of lemonade clutched in my little hand, the first evening stars glowing in a purple sky. But most likely, I am merely remembering some Country Time ad: my childhood was spent in front of the television in the den of a suburban McMansion.

–

Hungover and late today. Boss read me the riot act. Teahouse fox, how do you manage it? Near as I can tell, you do not light your incense and tuck into your sleeping bag until at least 2:00 a.m., yet you are always fishing at the end of your dock long before I am awake. I suppose leading a life of simple pleasures does not necessitate much rest.

–

I’ve just been to lunch with Sheila from marketing. I’d always been intimidated by her attractiveness, but it turns out, she’s totally down-to-earth, and she seems kind of lonely. She had salmon, and I had a bacon cheeseburger. You’ve probably never had one of those, teahouse fox, and let me tell you, you are missing out. I see you’re doing your laundry again. What are those white things, and how do you get them so filthy that you need to wash them every afternoon? I never see you dirtying any linens. Perhaps you take in other people’s laundry to pay for the rent on your teahouse. Which you never seem to enter.

–

Yearly reviews today. Great news, teahouse fox! I’ve been promoted!!! I have a new office, with a window. And I got a raise, too! And best of all, I asked Sheila out to a fancy dinner to celebrate, and she said yes!!!! I see you’re taking your usual row around the lake, accompanied by that baby chick. Have fun with that.

–

You might be interested in this, teahouse fox: I’ve been looking at lakefront properties, just like yours! Except not like yours at all, because these are huge and comfortable, and I would never have to sleep outside the door.

–

Listen, teahouse fox. We need to talk. Your theme isn’t doing it for me anymore: the never-ending cycle of your simple, daily chores has begun to depress me. I’ve been waiting for you to feel some ambition, get motivated, make something new happen in your life, but frankly, I don’t think you’ve got the drive. We’re just not in the same place anymore, teahouse fox, so I’m going to go with a new theme.

In case you’re wondering, I’m going with Seasonal Scape. The frog and the ladybug chug caffeine and play at least three sports every day. Now, that’s what I call energy!

When you sit down at a table in the restaurant where I work, the first thing that will happen is a busser will come over, give you a basket of bread, and ask you whether you would prefer tap or bottled water with your meal. The vast majority of bussers (and this would be completely obvious to anyone at all, regardless of their perceptiveness level in general) do not have a strong grasp of the English language. Restaurant owners prefer it this way, because bussers who are fluent in English are fond of bandying about troublesome English words like ‘overtime,’ ‘vacation,’ ‘raise,’ ‘benefits,’ and ‘verbal abuse.’ So, like most people in the beginning phases of learning a new language (a thing, incidentally, that the vast majority of our customers have likely never seriously attempted), the ESL bussers rely on recognizing a few key words, namely: ‘tap,’ ‘bottled,’ ‘sparkling,’ ‘flat,’ ‘Pellegrino,’ and/or ‘Panna.’ Anything beyond this is probably beyond them, but that doesn’t matter, because their task is a simple one. Except when some customers, who are either utterly oblivious or downright mean, decide to give their entire drink order to the busser, usually by screaming at him like he’s the biggest idiot ever to work his ass off to send money back home. Recently, I overheard a particularly abrasive bully doing just this:

“No, no, no, no, listen to me. Are you listening? My wife will have a white wine spritzer. Do you understand? You don’t understand, do you? A WHITE WINE SPRITZER! Do you got that? And I will have-”

The busser stood there, nodding confusedly, but politely, and looking around in a manner approaching panic. I ran over and shooed him off.

“The bussers don’t really take drink orders, sir,” I said. “They’re just supposed to bring water.”

“Well, good,” he said, sighing in relief, as though he’d just been through something really trying. “I guess I should tell you we want a large Pellegrino – maybe he don’t understand that, either.”

“Actually,” I really wish I could have said. “I think you mean to say, ‘Maybe he doesn’t understand that, either.’ Why don’t you learn to speak English, fool?”

On the flip side, here are some things in the past week that absolutely devastated me, and probably should not have:

• Blowback from my fresh-squeezed carrot juice stained the front of my sundress. I decided to cancel some plans I had later rather than show up like that.




• A busser helped himself to one of the pens in my apron for what felt like the umpteenth time, and I lost my shit at him. ‘Everybody steals my pens!’ I wailed.




• G8, or whatever weird cable station, has apparently stopped broadcasting Arrested Development reruns. Now, there is only Ninja Warrior and that dull show about designing your own video game.




• Leaving work one night (it was very late and I was very exhausted) I ran down the stairs to the E, hearing the rumbling that means the train is either just coming in or just leaving. At that hour, it’s at least a 30-minute wait in between trains, so you can understand what a tense situation this was. Despite my flip-flops, I got to the bottom of the steps just as the train was slowing to a stop. I was so excited and relieved that I said ‘Yes!’ and did an actual victory fist-pump in full sight of everyone in the car. Only to realize a minute later, that the train was actually just revving up to leave. I hollered, ‘NO!!!’ Then, unbelievably, the train again slowed to a stop halfway out of the station. Panting excitedly like a delusional puppy, I ran down the platform to where it had stopped. The conductor looked at me, and started the train up again without opening the doors. I threw an all-out tantrum (I was really, really exhausted). Again, the passengers saw this whole thing. It was another hour before I got home.




• I discovered ‘I Can Has Cheezburger,’ and its popularity. Really, people? Really?




• I told a bunch of people from work that I was 36. They said, ‘I don’t believe it!’ But in that, ‘I do believe it, but I find it very surprising,’ way. Not in the, ‘It’s really not possible, and you’re clearly lying,’ way. Then, as I started to explain that I’m actually 25, I realized that I’ll actually be 26 in less than a month. Which upset me.




• In an effort to think more positively, I sat down to make a list of my accomplishments in life. This, too, ended in a crying fit.

First of all, I want to know why so many well-to-do, theatre-going Upper West Siders will give a standing ovation to any old shit thrown up on a stage (and pay dearly for the tickets), but when it comes to tipping their pre-show waitress 20%, they seem to think that this reward is only merited with a serving performance of unparalleled perfection. I mean, what are people holding out for? I can only imagine what goes on in their minds.

‘Hmmm, she was prompt, very friendly, kept our glasses refilled, never made us wait for anything…but I just don’t know. I mean, she could have been prettier. Or she could have curtsied. She didn’t curtsy. She didn’t draw charicatures of everyone at the table, which would have been a nice gesture. She didn’t walk on her hands even a little bit. In sum, she was good, but not surpassingly brilliant as a waitress. I think 17% is fine.’

The hell with people, seriously.

Also, people who refuse to order off the menu should be bitch-slapped. If you want to invent your own dish, cook it at home.

Other people deserving of my wrath:

- Women who spend about an hour trying to construct a dish in such a way that it will contain no food, so that their dining companions will be impressed with their…whatever. If you just want something simple, cook at home. Or have coffee. But not at my table, because there’s a $20 minimum.

- People who think of something else to send me trotting off for each time I approach their table with the last thing they asked for, because they apparently think they are my only table. ‘And just some cream now. …And a glass of ice. …One more thing, miss: some red pepper flakes. …Aaaaand now I’d like a small piece of lemon.’ These people are probably touching themselves under the table cloth.

- Europeans, Brits, Asians. Ever wonder why you encounter such hostility and poor service in American restaurants? No, it’s not just a part of our culture, but you know what is? %$#@ing tipping! Learn it!

- Old people who act as though the entire process of eating out is distasteful to them.
‘What would you like to drink, sir?’
‘What?! Oh, for heaven’s sake, all I want is a glass of water.’

- Anyone who thinks that if they don’t want something, it needs to be taken off the table. And who feels that the unwanted item’s appearance is some sort of personal affront. ‘Oh, I don’t drink cream! Why would you bring me cream? You can take the cream away, I never take cream. I want a public apology for you leading other people in the restaurant to think I would associate myself with cream.’

- People who ask me if I’ve seen the movie, Waitress.

- People who, when they have received their answer, argue with me eternally, as if I will suddenly admit that they are right, and that I am lying or stupid.
‘We are all out of the lasagna tonight, ma’am. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t understand how you don’t have it. You had it last time.’
‘Yes, but we’re out of it tonight. I’m sorry.’
‘I came here specifically for the lasagna. I always get the lasagna. I’ve been coming here for ten years.’
‘We don’t have it.’
‘Talk to the chef. Ask him if he’ll make me the lasagna.’
‘We’re out of the lasagna. The chef is the one who told everyone that we’re out of it.’
‘I don’t understand. You don’t have the ingredients for it?’
‘We don’t have it. We have no lasagna tonight. You can order something else, or you can leave, but you can’t argue the lasagna into existence.’
‘I don’t believe you. I think there is lasagna, and you’re evil.’

- People who ask me, ‘How’re we doing on our lunch?’ when the food fails to arrive promptly. There’s this thing called a kitchen. I ring in your food, they cook it. The speed of that process is a factor I cannot control, alter, speed up, slow down, predict or manipulate in any way. It is entirely out of my hands. And if I so much as mention your impatience to the people who are in control of that process, invectives (in Spanish) are hurled upon me.

The restaurant where I work is across Broadway from Lincoln Center, and the vast majority of the waitstaff are aspiring actors. A lot of our patrons like to ask their server if s/he is an actor, which annoys me because hey, maybe I’m just a server – is there something wrong with that? And two, did I ask you what you do? No. No, I did not.

Anyway, I’ve come up with the perfect response to that question, and this is how I hope it plays out:

Nice, but Tactless Old Lady: So, tell me, honey, are you really an actor?

Me (squatting down and resting my elbows on the table): You know, it’s a funny story about that. Years ago, when I was just a little girl in East Tennessee, my mother found herself in possession of a small amount of mad money. After careful consideration, she decided to spend that money on a trip to the Big Apple, where I had always wanted to go. We were here for four, glorious days, and on one of those days, we visited Lincoln Center, right across the street there. It was my wildest dream to one day attend Julliard, and then to sing at the Met. My Mom drew a picture of me standing in front of that fountain, and then we ate lunch at this very restaurant. I had the berries with mascarpone cheese. They tasted like hope.

(I stand, and smile at the distant past for a moment, lost in happy reminiscence. Then, glancing down at the sticky bussing tray in my hands, I am brought back to the present.)

Me (Cont’d): Well, that was years ago now. I never made it to Julliard. And I certainly never made it to the Met. I don’t sing anymore. But I did get a job in this very restaurant! So, every day, I can look out those big, front windows at that paradise across the street and remember…a little girl’s dreams.

(I pause for a moment, gazing out the large front windows that afford a view of Lincoln Center, then blink rapidly several times, and swallow.)

Me (Cont’d): I’ll be right back with your bloody Mary.

[Scene]

I’m a server at a restaurant in Manhattan. I find that, this time around at least, I actually quite enjoy dealing with people…most of the time. As anyone who has ever worked in the service industry knows, however, there are more than a few real winners out there. Because I (a) have a horrid temper, and (b) don’t really give a shit about this job, I am afraid that I may very well say what I’m really thinking to a customer one day, at which point I’ll be immediately fired. So, in an attempt to preempt this event, I’m going to use this blog (it’s my blog, after all, and I can write whatever I want) to record all the things I really want to say to my customers. It’s possible that the people who need to hear these things might accidentally stumble upon them, and hopefully the knowledge of this (admittedly unlikely) possibility will grant me enough relief to continue providing smiling, patient service to my more horrid customers.

This past Tuesday evening, a lady wanted my opinion on the wine list. There is nothing I hate so much as people wanting me to give my opinion on our extensive, totally-unfamiliar-to-me wine list. I am not a sommelier. I am a waitress. You should know that if you ask your server about wines, your server just makes something up. We all do it – our aim is to make you look smart in front of your dining companions, because that is what you really want. You never know what you’re talking about, and you never complain when the wine arrives (because you wouldn’t really know a pinot from a grape Kool-Aid), unless you were planning to complain all along because you’re the sort of person who likes to make a big stink and get a lot of attention (i.e. an old and/or French person).

The woman in question asked which of the three (nearly identical) reds she was considering was the most full-bodied, and when I said, ‘Uh…’ and paused half a second for inspiration, she said, in a tone dripping with sarcasm,

‘Do you drink wines at all?’

What I really said was yes, and then I pointed to the most expensive of her three choices and told her that was the most full-bodied and she’d love it (and she did), but what I thought was:

‘If you’d like to know which is the least repulsive magnum you can get for $7.99 to obliterate the consciousness of having danced attendance on rich, superior bitches all day, I can help you out. Otherwise, as you can clearly see, I am a waitress, and so do not make a habit of buying $30 bottles of wine to compliment my microwave burrito.’

No more nancying about. This is the real thing, Elizabeth. This time, I’m sticking to these resolutions. I’m not going to cry, complain, whine, sleep, eat or feel. I’m going to achieve my objectives, stop standing in my own way, buck up, sack up, sit up, shut up and shape up. I’m going to conquer all foes and disembowel all personal demons. I’m not going into my 26th year a pasty, poor, unloved loser. I hereby resolve that by August of 2007, I will achieve the following goals in the following arenas:

Professional:

- Write a novel;
- Obtain a role in a quality off- Broadway production;
- Become a regular and highly anticipated presence at comedic open-mic nights throughout Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens;
- Publish two (2) short stories in well known literary magazines;
- Have a regular readership of at least fifty (50) readers of this blog; and
- Become a household name.

Personal:

- Have at least five (5) good, close friends and at least forty (40) acquaintances (mostly industry contacts);
- Have dated fourteen (14) people casually, and, following that, have involved myself in a serious relationship, which will last at least one (1) year and no longer than two (2) years;
- No longer be uncomfortable or shy when introduced to groups of strangers who all know each other; and
- Become close, personal friends with at least one (1) major celebrity (could be an actor, writer or politician, I’m not choosy).

Financial:

- Become beloved and skilled enough server to regularly make $1600/month from working three (3) shifts per week; and
- Inherit a large fortune.

Personal Development:

Physical:

- Get weight down to 110 lbs.;
- Consume only lean protein, vegetables and (on rare occasions) fruit;
- Replace coffee and alcohol with green tea;
- Have visible muscle definition in my thighs and torso;
- Sleep eight (8) hours per night;
- Be able (and sometimes willing) to run ten (10) miles at a stretch; and
- Develop one (1) superpower, preferably flight or invisibility.

Intellectual/Cultural:

- Read fifteen (15) great works of literature (and publish intelligent critical essay of at least one (1));
- Inform myself fully on the following, currently fuzzy, topics: Vietnam (conflict and history), WWII, the World Bank (function and structure), the Balkans (conflict and history), major American presidents and their contributions, Kant, the UN (function and structure), indie music, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Buddhism (Theravada v. Mahayana), the various branches of the US military, carpentry, sports, physics (string theory, etc.), the entire Middle East (conflict and history), the Bloomsbury group, Russian history, Abbie Hoffman, Cuba, Greek mythology, the human body, Freudian thought, silent film and the rules of poker;
- Be familiar with all current periodicals (both political, social and literary), including journals and newspapers;
- Have viewed all Oscar-nominated films for this past year, and all likely contenders for this next (and publish intelligent critical essay of at least one (1));
- Each month, take advantage of this great city in which I live by attending one (1) theatrical production, one (1) reading or lecture and three (3) inexpensive alternative music/poetry performances; visiting one (1) museum and two (2) galleries; and exploring two (2) new neighborhoods (and publish at least five (5) on-line essays about these experiences);
- Travel to one (1) other country, and to two (2) new states (and publish a travel essay about each trip); and
- Be quoted in Bartlett’s.

Psychological/Spiritual:

- Stop criticizing, deriding and otherwise hating and mistreating myself;
- Stop criticizing, deriding and otherwise hating and mistreating others;
- Stop compulsively eating, ruminating, obsessing, talking about myself in public, interrupting, procrastinating, hesitating, doubting and over-thinking;
- Stop giving any evidence of my own stupidity, uncoolness or weakness in any social situation ever;
- Stop fearing to appear stupid, uncool or weak in social situations;
- Decide to be happy, regardless of circumstances, and remain ever cheerful;
- Listen to even the most boring ramblings of others with genuine, rapt attention;
- Actively become a benevolent force for good;
- Stop having unrealistic expectations for myself; and
- Start living up to my potential.

Social:

- Volunteer at least once a week;
- Become politically active (in part by submitting and publishing intelligent op-eds in major periodicals);
- Donate ten percent (10%) of earnings to charity (well, after-tax); and
- Develop and implement a perfect economic system that combines powerful incentives with a reliable social safety net.

I guess that’s a good start. I have my work cut out for me now, so with all of this to do, there is clearly no time for lying about, feeling lazy and unmotivated and bored and just generally sorry for myself, is there? No. No time for watching Law & Order marathons, or sitting around my friends’ apartments, drinking and playing Taboo. If I want to achieve these goals by August (and achieve them I will), I have to start first thing…in the morning. Right now, though, I’m going to go get a cheese slice, some cookie dough, and a magnum of cheap shiraz, and then watch Caddyshack. Because, while I’ve seen parts of it 500 times, I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen the entire thing all the way through.