It's all about the workplace today, kiddos! It is only Tuesday and it has already been a long week. But this is the pattern at this office; overworked for a month, totally bored for two or three months. Feh.

On my way in to work today I was sitting on a C car on the green line behind a young lady about my age. She was dressed nicely, perhaps a little "preppy" for my taste, but it takes all kinds, even cursed preppies. Anyway, I was trying not to pay attention to her (as per usual) when I couldn't help but notice that she was pulling a tag off of her shirt! That's right, she left the house in a brand new blouse complete with tags from the store! She saw that I saw this and just smiled meekly at me and I said "These things happen".

The funny thing is, I didn't find this pathetic or laughable. It made me want to kiss her. Not a sexual kind of kiss, but a kiss nevertheless. It was like for a minute, someone on the train showed their humanity, their fallibility whereas everyone else was keeping up the pretense of being totally together and ultra-competent.

I was listening to Aimee Mann at the time on my iPod and I remember thinking that this scene would work well in one of her songs. She seems to write about people raising and lowering their defenses a lot, and this woman was caught with her guard down. Not that it was terribly revealing, but watch people on the T (or the "subway" for you non-Bostonians or "underground" if you're a Brit (in which case, if you are a single woman, you should give me a call cuz I have a "thing" for British women)) and you'll see what I mean. These people are totally closed and this woman pulling off her tag and looking sheepish was the equivalent of her reading her diary out loud to the whole train. Is this making sense? I hope so, because this little, tiny, almost insignificant event meant a whole lot to me. I'll probably throw it into my NaNoWriMoNo. So don't steal it, or I'll hunt you down and kill puppies in front of you all day while your eyes are propped open with those clamps from A Clockwork Orange. Maybe this is just a Boston Thing, too. Maybe in cities not made up of cold, defensive jerks people don't act like robots. Let me know what you think.

Speaking of Aimee Mann, I felt a stab of betrayal from her the other day. I bought an album of her's and I opened it and there was a picture of her and she (at least in this picture) was a total knockout wearing really hip clothes. What the fuck is up with that? She writes all these songs about outsiders and fuck-ups and freaks and here she is being all beautiful. Am I the only one who has a problem with this? As the kids today say (I think) that's whacked, fo shizzle. That sounds so foolish coming from me, but I said it, didn't I? Damn, I'm hip. Or not. Feh.

Speaking of people named Aimee, there is someone who works at the same company as me named Amy. I had worked with her at another job doing brain-damaged-monkey level retail work. I thought she was pretty cool: funny, smart, what have you. Anyway, one day a mutual co-worker of ours came up to me and totally out of the blue tells me "You know, Amy told me you were stupid".

WHAT???

So, for the next few months it was all I could do to turn my rage inward to fester and slowly dissolve my organs.

Fast forward to the present. I work with her now and see her just about everyday. Not quite everyday, but most days. She is still funny and smart and I really, really want to put this whole unverified rumor that she thinks I'm stupid behind me. I want to like this person. (I know, it sounds so weird coming from me) I really do. But whenever I see her all I can think is "She thinks I'm stupid". I mean, who says that this other guy wasn't just starting trouble? And who cares what she thought of me back then? She smiles and says hi and we even joke around every once in a while but behind it all, I'm bitter.

"What? You bitter?" I can hear you muttering sarcastically. Yeah, I'm fucking bitter. Get used to it. And sometimes I don't act bitter. And sometimes when I'm trying not to be bitter I end up getting even more bitter. That's life. And I hate you. Happy?

So, here is my work hell - lots of stuff to do, co-worker with whom I can't interact without speeding my ulcer, and...

Yes, there is one other thing.

There is a new guy in the department,

He seems nice enough. Talkative but not loud. Good humored but not a clown.

But the damn building manager hasn't given him a set of keys.

So, every time he needs to leave the office to go to the men's room, he needs to borrow some ones keys.

Guess whose keys he loves to borrow?

Guess who is going to be going through 3 times the normal number of Purell bottles than usual until this guy gets a set of keys.

Guess who is a total freak.

Anyway, I like the guy, but this is intolerable. I swear, if he is doing this next week, I'm just going to walk. I can't be doing this shit.

Anyway, I don't really hate you. I just said that in a moment of passion.

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