The Office: Living the Sitcom

I work in an office. Sometimes I think that I could just quit my job and make a sitcom—call it Another Office, or something lame and cheesy like that. Someone lectured me recently on the three things that make your work truly fulfilling, they are called the three Ps: Passion, Purpose, and People. I'm not sure about the first two, but the last one, we have. 

It may come as a shock to my friends, but at work I am a rather quiet almost mousy kind of person.  I think I would absolutely shock the people at work if they ever met me around my friends.  At work I am soft-spoken and quiet, I sit at my desk and type away at a keyboard. My co-workers do not know the real me, I have tried very furvently to hide it and think I am succeeding. —Such success likely means that everyone things I am shy and boring, but they are not suggesting that I should consider talking with a physiologist . . .

But, back to the sitcom.


Drama:

Every good sitcom has drama.  My drama would come from my laziness. This doesn't mean that I don't work hard when I am at work. I would consider myself a good employee. The problem comes mainly from my sense, or lack thereof, of style. My apathy sometimes clashes with my boss's zealous sense of style.

Katrina: Classy, tall, thin, stylish. She always has her hair done perfectly and her nails are always polished.  Accessories match her clothing, her heals match her accessories, and so on and so forth.

Me: I don't wear accessories.  If I do my hair it is pulled back in a sloppy bun. I wear shirts and pants, and usually a large coat to top things off.

I have the capacity to look semi-attractive, what I lack is the motivation. I can get ready for work in fifteen minutes (from bed to my car), I could do that in less time if I wasn't fixing lunch for myself in the mornings. . . I think my laziness is probably near terminal.

Katerina judges me, I don't think it has quite escalated to the point where she will fire me over my clothing choices—but she judges me.  I can feel the judgment.

I have to walk past Katrina's office to get to my cubical—and sometimes when I do this we cross paths.  She will stare at me in her pressed white Capris, with long hoop earrings dangling around her smooth cheeks.  I'll stare back, suddenly remembering that I didn't wear makeup that day and that my hair should have been washed yesterday, and that I'm wearing my sweat slacks.  —Yes, the sweat slacks.  These pants were hand-me-downs from my cousin.  They are about four sizes too big for me and hang loosely around my hips. They look terrible. Are not professional. Are comfortable. 

My laziness however, does not end here—it extends to the parking lot.  My apartment complex has underground parking, which should be a convenient and cleanly thing.  Unfortunately we have small birds that have decided underground parking is a very nice place to build nests—and there are so many nice perches to land on. My car fell victim to sparrow target practice one day (and by this I mean I had a long line of drying white poop down my window).  Did I wash off the despicable specimen?  You get one guess.

I drove to work—because I was running late, am always running late, with the bird specimen still in tact. Katrina has a 2013 shiny black Lexus. We have very few conversations, but one conversation I had with her involved how she tried never to eat in her car because she wanted to keep the smell of fresh leather in her pristine car.  —I have a cup-holder full of melted chocolate covered coffee beans in my car. . .  I also have a large multicolored beach ball that takes up half of my back seat (this makes changing lanes very exciting when driving), I took it to the pool with me once and then was too lazy to take it out of my car. Lets just say that when I arrived at work at the same time as Katrina there was another perfect opportunity for her to judge me.

I would like to say that I showed up to work the next day with a clean car and a freshly ironed dress or something ridiculous like that.  What I did do was show up with my car exactly the same as the day before, wearing leggings under an old skirt, with a hoodie pulled over my shirt.  My goal was to wash off my car window the first time I filled it up with gas when I would be in convenient proximity to windshield cleaning fluid. After my second trip to the gas station without cleaning of my windows I was becoming a little frustrated with myself.

I would like to report that I did finally get the bird poop cleaned off of my window (on my third trip to the gas station), and I also managed to look cute two days out of five last week—I even went so far as to curl my hair. Crazy!

However, the beach ball remains, and I will probably wear a ponytail tomorrow.