Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Pageant pretenses among starched shirts

Another day, not enough dollarsSo I got in at 9:25 this morning... okay, make that 10:03....alright, I fess up. I really sneaked in around 10:30-ish because I got carried away with hitting the snooze button for just "15 more minutes," had some serious hair issues of the "how in the fuck am I gonna detangle this mop in under a half hour!" kind and the Lexington Avenue lines have been screwed worse than Valerie Plame since this past weekend, so I was just caught in a torrential downpour of fuck-ups before even getting annoyed at the usual beatnik jerkoff at Starbucks who wants the "decaf Komodo Dragon Blend, half skim, splash of soy, double shot of espresso, foam in a separate cup."

Once I've gotten my A.M. ritual of checking my Hotmail, AOL & Yahoo e-mail accounts, scouting the MLB division standings/checking my horoscope in the Daily News and turning up my desk stereo to drown out the schizo goombah sitting behind me, the routine of pretending to look busier than I really am would kick into full gear. Today, my usual rundown was derailed when the company summons went out at exactly 11:00. The 2nd quarter staff awards were going to be handed out downstairs later this afternoon. Oh joy. I look forward to these pointless pats on the back to the brownnosing crybabies who pocket high-level salaries and do a fraction of the work with about as much gusto as my next pap smear.

Playing it off like I was on a call and the Best Copy Maker in a Pocket Protector competition just happened to slip my mind didn't fake out my supervisor either, since in mid-spoonful of yogurt, he poked his head into my cubicle and gave his famous "I'm trying to be chipper, so just nod politely and play along" Beetlejuice grin to remind me that my presence was required in the main conference room along with the rest of disinterested minions. Shit.

There I was, sandwiched in between Carter* (the resident Al Reynolds with more bounce to the ounce in his runway/corridor strut), Bart* (as Wonder bread as they come, raging brown sugar fetish and the uneasy aura that he was one twitch away from shooting up the entire building) and Natalie* (chatty brunette who's so Hylan Blvd, I oughta nickname her "landfill," completed the Lindsay Lohan meal plan to morph easily into the Abercrombie & Fitch-swathed clique of the other Beckys in my unit). Son of Sam's heir apparent is totally fixated on my boobs while Carter and Nat are deep in conversation about whether velvet's making a comeback this fall. And I'm trying to rationalize the possibility of sleeping with my eyes open.

Ow! The fuck?!

I realized Nat just nudged me in the ribs and I'm ready to clock this bitch on reflex alone when it dawned on me that I must've let out a snore that was a bit too audible with everyone pretending to pay attention.

Whoops. My bad.

After feigning "ooh, I want that!" interest in the ultra lame prizes that went to the victors in the winner's circle this time around, I waited for the names which became all too familiar in these forced congratulatory settings to claim their moments of glory.
Kathy Brubecker*, come on down!
Matthew Ogden*, step right up!
Dan Himmelstein,* job well done!
ZzzzZzzzZzzzZzzzz.....The random idiot's spotlight at the office podium went a bit like this:

You love me! You REALLY love me!"Thank you! Oh! Thank you! I can hardly conjugate verbs! I feel so blessed! And this statue - it's so suspiciously phallic! Oh, thank you again! I just want everyone to know that even in my wildest AA meetings, I never would have imagined that this could ever validate my mediocrity. And to the other suck-ass nominees, I want each of you to know how totally wonderful your lackluster applause makes me feel right now!

You know when they first told me I was nominated, I just had to take a Xanax and think about how great my experiences have been. I guess it all just makes me feel kinda special...and a bit misty. Down there.

You know, there are so many ass-kissing leeches to thank! First off though, I want to pay off the senile old farts of the branch offices, who looked deep within their lint-encrusted navels before giving me this fantastic award! Also, I want to thank Jesus, for being such a powerful force in my life. And to Mom, who taught me to take life by the fifth of bourbon. And finally, to all the bosses I slept with - I couldn't have done it without you!

Thank you America, and good night!"

As we all filed out, the division director walked alongside me and asked if I had my name submitted for a mention yet. I politely told her no, not to my knowledge. She smiled and said, "well, I know you're up to the challenge... your time will come" and patted me on the shoulder with those pearls of wisdom.

A plastic yellow star with an array of gift certificates to Shit 'R Us all at my disposal. Who said climbing the corporate ladder doesn't have its perks? I'm more determined than ever to have my moment in the sun while I'm reaching for interoffice immortality. One file folder at a time.

(* names changed to protect the ignorant, speech credited to Chickenhead.com.)

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 3:26 PM |

Blogger Berry commented at 8/24/2005 11:54:00 AM~  

Ah, the treacherous trenches of Corporate America. God bless 'em!

Blogger Butta commented at 8/24/2005 11:42:00 PM~  

Girl, this has me howling! I see offices are the same everywhere. Damn shame I tell you.

Blogger lala_bird commented at 8/29/2005 10:20:00 AM~  

absolutely hilarious....

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