Tuesday, April 06, 2004
My desk sits in a dark corner of an old house on a quiet street two blocks from the bay. Though barren for a time, the walls and tabletops are now littered with momentos and the remnants of my obvious untidiness and penchant for scrap paper. On nice afternoons we eat lunch on the front porch or walk downtown for a sidewalk cafe picnic. The workload is either all at once or not at all, so in the downtime I busy myself with these, or this, or whichever DVD happens to be packed away in my briefcase. My boss, a fine , upstanding family man, was once a guest on a pre-sleaze episode of the Jerry Springer Show on which he discussed the drawbacks of allowing women wearing G-strings to sell hotdogs. Every morning and every night, I spend almost an hour fighting idiots over the 15 miles between work and home. My position commands minimal respect and I have worked hard to change that. So far, I've had little success.
#
#
Comments:
Post a Comment
