“I tell people I’m a legal secretary, because it’s a job so boring that no one bothers to ask questions.” — from, Secret Diary of a Call Girl
Forty hours a week, I sit at a desk in a cubicle in an office doing occasional work in order to bring in a paycheck that will keep the roof of my apartment over my head. I don’t do anything I am interested in, nor do I work for a company that will help me further my ultimate goal of being a working — if not vaguely successful — writer. I simply work, because once you graduate from college you have to work, and I need to work to make enough money to maintain air conditioning and a steady supply of food, alcohol, and extracurricular activities of varying degrees of legality.
For at least 25 of those 40 hours, during any given week, I am not working. I am exploring, I am gossiping, I am doing something to keep the skull-crushing boredom of my job from sinking in deep enough to drive me to the depths of emotional instability. It also helps that I work with one of my favorite people and closest friends, another object keeping the mental floodwaters safely at bay.
This is what we do at work.
