Today has been insane. INSANE. Possibly in the membrane, even. That’s just how insane.
So I get here, and the receptionist called out (AGAIN – I think she’s probably dying, I mean, what else could explain all of these absences except death? Oh, hypochondria? Yeah, I suppose there’s that, sure) so that means I’M ON DECK SKIPPY. Listen, I’m like the worst receptionist. Yes, sure, sure, I can answer a phone. Who can’t answer a phone? I even have a very pleasant phone voice. That’s like the only nice thing they say at my annual reviews, “You have a very pleasant phone voice.” But THEN the other admin person called out sick, too, so that leaves just me to do all of the typing work, PLUS answer the phones pleasantly, PLUS do the mail, PLUS body-check my co-workers who are totally nefariously trying to take each other’s scheduled conference rooms at unscheduled times, PLUS deal with the weirdo man-off-the-street people who just wander in here all “Hey, do you want to buy a copier?” (do you think any company is all, “ZOMG! A COPIER! I didn’t even think – WHAT AN AWESOME IDEA! JIM! FRANK! GET UP HERE! Listen to THIS! This guy wants to sell us a COPIER! I mean, think of the things we could DO if we had a COPIER!” Who doesn’t have a copier, man-off-the-street? I mean, seriously? And also, do you think that the person sitting at the front desk, who is obviously the lowest man on the totem pole, like the person who all the other totem-polians are stepping on and squashing, has the ability to authorize a copier purchase? Those things are PRICEY, yo), PLUS deal with the fact that one of the doors fell off one of our bathroom stalls so I have to deal with people telling me that every five minutes even though I sent out an email all “I KNOW ABOUT THE DOOR STOP TELLING ME SOMEONE’S COMING TO FIX IT CHILLAX,” PLUS listen, I kind of wanted to blog at some point today, you know? Ergh.
(Oh, yeah, side note, I have no idea what’s happening in the women’s bathroom here. Doors fall off, toilets keep getting clogged, someone keeps cutting their hair in one of the stalls so you walk in and there are like tumbleweeds of hair in the corners, someone keeps leaving magazines in the toilet-seat-cover dispensers; it’s kind of like going to the bathroom in a mental institution. You never know what you’re going to find. Ever. And it’s scary to think about.)
So anyway, yeah, today has been kind of the suck, I’m not going to lie, what with the mental institution bathrooms that possibly someone hulked out in and the phones ringing and the work and the people all calling in sick and also it snowed last night so every five minutes someone has to talk to me about the snow. “Did you see the snow?” No. No, I didn’t. I don’t have HUGE CEILING TO FLOOR WINDOWS RIGHT HERE. What’s snow? What’s this “snow” of which you speak? ZOMG WHAT IS THAT ON THE GROUND OUT THERE I AM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW. Yes, Sir Obvious, I SAW THE SNOW. I brushed it off my car this morning, I wore boots to work, I drove here in it. I live in New York, bub. Heads up, it sometimes snows here, usually in the winter months. IT IS NOT UNHEARD OF.
Anyway, so probably I should have spent all that time I was working thinking of some sort of theme to write about today but I am totally on brain-fry. SO MANY THINGS ARE HAPPENING HERE.
Also, I said the funniest joke to one of my coworkers and he was all serious-face when it was done. WHY DON’T YOU PEOPLE LOVE ME. OK, listen, is this not the best? So some woman dropped off some swag here yesterday? The swag was weirdo swag, though. Shoeshine kits and calculators that are made of rubber and bendy. Yeah, I don’t know, either. The shoeshine kits, especially. Except they did make me want to pretend to be Andy from Parks & Rec for a little while out in the lobby, see if I could start a new career. ANYWAY. So my coworker was all “CALCULATOR I WANT ONE” and then was playing with it and was all sadfaced because the minus key didn’t work. And, instead of saying, “Well, you know what they say, free shit is usually garbage” (what, they don’t usually say that? I say that. Don’t most people say that?) I said, “That calculator is trying to get you to keep a positive outlook.” HA! Get it? Because the MINUS key didn’t work! And he was SAD about it! POSITIVE outlook! That was the funniest, I know you’re all thinking that I’m totally probably like the funniest person ever. And you’re right, of course. Nope. Not my coworker. He just walked away, sadly shaking his head over his broken free rubber calculator. I don’t know what I have to do to get these people to see I’m like the best thing ever, seriously. I mean, probably I could pratfall, but even I’m not willing to take it that far. I’m using my A material and NOTHING. It’s like playing tennis against a wall made of GLUE.
So I’m totally getting a haircut tonight unless the snowpocalypse occurs. This is exciting, because it happens like once a year. I know. I totally lose my girl membership card for this. Listen, I have hair issues. Here are my hair issues. I know you’re totally on pins and needles because you are so excited to hear what they are. THE PHONE KEEPS RINGING IT IS NOT MY FAULT THE BLOG IS SUCK TODAY. Blame the receptionist of death, I am.
My hair is unruly. No matter what style my hair is in, it doesn’t do what I want it to. I have crazy person hair. Also eyes, but that’s not what we’re talking about, now is it. So I could get layers, short hair, long hair, bangs, a Flock of Seagulls do, whatever – it’s still going to either be flyaway or greasy, or frizzy or flat, depending on the day and also I think whatever mood it’s in. Also, it’s always going to have three cowlicks in the front (YES THREE I DON’T KNOW EITHER) and it’s always going to have a whole shitload of little frizzy things on the top, no matter what I do, unless I wear a hat. Oh, also, it eats hairspray. I can put a gallon of hairspray in, so it’s like a helmet, and then in ten minutes it’s like I put in NO hairspray. Crazy-person hair. Like this. I LOOK LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME.
I don’t like to spend time styling it. I have my morning down to a science. I get up, I slump around bemoaning the fact that I’m not independently wealthy, I get ready for work, I eat, I go. Doing something to my hair would take like an additional – what, fifteen, twenty minutes? So I’d have to get up EARLIER. What the hell. No. I brush my hair, I get it wet and I smush it around so it doesn’t stick up for a few minutes, until it dries, when it sticks up all over because CRAZY PERSON HAIR, and I’m good to go. I’m a total guy about my hair. It’s because I’ve given up, seriously. My hair’s unwillingness to work with me has broken me.
I don’t approve of haircuts that make me spend time styling it. So really, my options are limited. I can get it all one length; I can get layers; or, I suppose, I could get a buzz cut, but I look totally weird with short hair, so really my options are all one length or layers. I’m pretty easy to deal with at the salon.
I don’t like dealing with the small talk that happens at the salon. What are you supposed to say to the stylist who’s all up in your personal space? And it’s awkward if you talk and it’s awkward if you don’t so really, it’s just totally awkward.
Here’s me at the salon:
Me: Can you cut this?
Stylist: What kind of style were you thinking?
Me: Meh. I don’t care.
Stylist: Um…you don’t…I don’t understand…
Me: I don’t want to spend time styling it. So cut it to my shoulders, so I don’t have to come back here for another year. You can put in layers if you want. Or don’t. Surprise me.
Stylist: This is…um…what if you hate it?
Me: I always hate it. I can’t imagine I could hate it worse once you make it shorter.
Stylist: We could do bangs?
Me: I have three cowlicks. And my hair’s got about as much body as an abandoned morgue. Bangs are a no-go, sis.
Me: Cut. To shoulder-length. Layers. Or no layers. Your call.
Stylist: Your lack of interest in this is truly befuddling. Are you sure you’re female?
Me: Not always, no.
So! Haircut! Shorter! Layers or no layers! I DO NOT CARE! But seriously, shit’s got to get done sometime. It’s been ten months since I last got a haircut. Who goes ten months without getting a haircut? I’m totally broken, haircut-wise. Oh, also I totally go to the cheap place for a haircut. Not a real salon. Why would I go to the real salon? I’d be embarrassed to tell someone who does this professionally and takes it seriously that I just don’t care. Like, I care about the fate of monkeys more than I care about my haircut. And I DETEST monkeys.
Alright. Since I started writing this, I’ve gotten FIVE MORE PROJECTS and the PHONES WON’T STOP RINGING and for some reason UPS dropped off a gajillion boxes and everyone who walks by is all WHAT ARE THESE WHY ARE THEY HERE and hell if I know, I’m just the fill-in receptionist, do you see my name on them? No you do not, Questiony Sam, but if one more person asks I’m going to say that I have an online shopping problem and see how long it takes the office game of telephone to get that shit spread around like wildfire.
Happy days, people! Wish me all the luck! There’s a bottle of magic wine with my name on it waiting for me in my fridge if I survive today!