My job sucks.
I am used to running around, talking to massive amounts of people, being creative, making decisions, being in charge. I currently do none of these things. It is excruciatingly boring. At worst, I try to entertain myself with music and making things out of paperclips. At best, I get to dick around with some numbers in an excel spreadsheet somewhere. I try to be helpful. I once spent two days cleaning out the supply closet because I snapped and had to do something. I ask for things to do, if for no other reason than to keep from stabbing myself with a paperclip samurai sword, but more often than not, I'm bored. At first I would feel guilty when I got caught playing Yatzee on my phone (current best game is four Yatzees) but I slowly realized that I am supposed to be sitting at this desk, waiting for the phone to ring or for someone to need me, in a room the temperature of Siberia all by myself.
It's kind of nice to have limited responsibilities. I answer the phones. I talk to people as they leave for lunch or go on smoke breaks. I help when people ask. I help when they don't ask. I sing even though I'm pretty sure people can hear me through the window. The FedEx guy and I talk about classic rock.
The only reason I haven't pulled an Office Space is that the people I work with are just fucking amazing. All walks of life, all different backgrounds, so many different kinds of awesome. If you know me at all you know that I love people, and this place is overflowing with blindingly intense personalities. I want to meet them all, I want to know about them, more than just what's on a timesheet or an expense report.
Backtrack: when I started, I tried to look normal. I washed the purple out of my hair. I took my lip ring out. I wore something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Minimal makeup. No bar wristbands or bags of drunken shame under my eyes. This, of course, did not last long and I have eased those around me into the pierced and provocative Keri we know and... know. My socks don't match. I think people are catching on that I have the same shirt in 5 colors. I decorated my desk with dinosaurs and Legos. I talk to everyone I can about whatever I can, because I am so starved for attention and the only gratification I get comes from using up a highlighter or running out of staples. It happens.
Fast forward: now that I have been there long enough, it has begun. It is the thing that happens to me anywhere I have ever worked, be it a drugstore, mall boutique, sports bar, sports radio or otherwise:
I am the biggest slut ever. I have slept with or sucked the dick of four different guys (I hope I get bonus points since they're all in different departments). My good morning smiles? They are a nod to our passionate night before. My delivering of the mail? It's because he got in my box and now it's my turn. My calls to his extension? No, I don't need help, I just want to bang you. And my cheery attitude and pleasant inquiries about your weekend? OH MY GOD JUST DO ME ON THE COPIER. When I am nice to someone, it becomes irrefutable evidence that I want nothing more than to ditch my clothes and bend over right then and there. The engagement ring on my finger and the cutesy picture on my desk? Nah, that's just a cover for my wanton ways.
End sarcasm.
I knew these rumors and barely concealed whispers would happen, because they always do. And it came to my attention today that most, if not all of these rumors have been started by the other women. The funny thing is that I haven't been hit on once by a dude, although I did have someone look me up on facebook and try to throw me off by mentioning this blog. I told him his mugshot was super hot, and we both dropped it.
Remember how I said I'm usually not busy? Yeah, I'm the only one. The company has legit shit to do, and usually everyone has a hectic day. Our Fridays are most people's Mondays. That makes our Mondays... four times harder than theirs because I tried to come up with an analogy and failed so I'm just working the mathematical angle. My point is that I don't know where these bitches find the free time to make up stuff and disseminate it. You know why I'm friendlier to the guys? Because you ladies can be absolute cunts.
I know that if I ignore it, it'll go away. I also know that's not even close to my style. So prepare yourself for the week of slut, courtesy of low-cut dresses, dramatic makeup, high heels and a knock out leather-pants-corset ensemble ala-Easy-A on Friday. I hope the women gossip. I hope they shake their heads every time I talk to anyone. I hope they are consumed by their own petty jealousy. I hope it drives them crazy and I get under their skin all while being nice as fuck because that's my game.
And on Monday I'm going back to jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, whereas they can go back to kissing my ass.
My job rocks.
