Sep 28th, 2006, 12:55 PM
My New Job
No one really bothers me. My supervisor doesn't require much of me other than updates because I liaison directly with my clients. He's very hands-off. I love him already. The other two guys on our development team work with different aspects of design. Whereas I focus on Flash dev, they work on updating content and publishing new information.
I find myself giddy at times, wanting to let out a chirp of excitement. It's hard to contain my emotions within my cubicle. I've been on the verge of busting out with a chicken dance or somethin' freaky (humping my chair seemed appealing), but my dome rises above my partition walls and I'm sure it would appear suspect.
"What's the new guy doing?"
"Not sure. But it looks like the Running Man."
"Think so? 'Cause I'd say he's fucking a three hole punch."
My workspace momentarily lacks pizzazz, but I have a remedy; POSTERS! I have this one with an Anime Japanese school girl, complete w/ clichéd uniform, holding a heap of books so massive that she's unable to return her panties (which happen to be swaddling her ankles) back to their designated position. Her plaid skirt is the size of a banana peel, her eyes are the size of watermelons, and her tits are the size of... well, melons. I have another poster depicting a pair of dismembered bloody kitten paws, claws sunk deep in to the branch of a tree. The caption reads, "I tried."
I have a bobble-head of a starving Ethiopian, but it's ironic because the giant "bobble" head doesn't look disproportionate to the tiny frame. HILARIOUS!
I have a pen holder next to my docking station (yes, I have a notebook) and I customized with a sticker that says, "MY PENS, BITCH!" I also have a few reference materials stuck to my cubicle walls with push pins. Amazing how they make the walls out of canvas or burlap or something. I have ornate plans of transforming my walls in to a post-it-notes mosaic of John Stewart's face.
My desk phone is a muddle of buttons and flashing lights. I have to refer to a phone book as thick as a phone book just to learn how to put someone on speaker phone... (segue) Speaking of speaker phone the guy in the office across from me leaves his office open, cranks up the volume on his speaker and talks, albeit business, at a deafening roar. And he has the Raspy Smoker Laugh. His lungs are crispy, I just know it. Residual whisps of Winston escape his every breath.
I'll probably invite him over for Thanksgiving.
Otherwise, our area is quiet by nature… The sounds of keyboard strokes and palms slapping foreheads. It's sedating.
I have a political tear-away calender on my desk that my predecessor left behind. It's called, "America (The Calender)." Today says:
Were You Aware?
The producers of a 1983 sci-fi mini series sued famed author Thomas Pynchon in the landmark case V v. V. This case was appealed four times until its settlement on the fifth try, a case known as V v. V. V.
I have to dress business casual, which can be difficult for a guy who was used to wearing the same shit every day. But I've found that I still manage to look good and the women (and gays) have a hard time keeping their eyes on the prize. And by prize, I'm not talking about my genitals. I'm referring to whatever it is that they're supposed to be doing. And my genitals are not what they're supposed to be doing. But it's funny because I named my genitals "SuperSize" and that rhymes with "prize" so I'm sure I could have made some smarmy quip about my genitals being a prize but you wouldn't have understood because you didn't know the name of my penis. Or did you? You did? Well I changed it. My genitals are now called Cletus. Collectively. Is the taint considered part of the genitals? If not, I'd like to name it the "Violator".