People are always calling the office and asking for Dr. so and so. I’ll say, “I’m sorry he’s on another line, would you like to leave a message?” all professional like. Then they’ll say, “Do you know how long they’ll be on the other line?” It takes all the strength in the world not to bang the phone on the desk a few times. All the strength. Or to just say something like “oh yeah, it will be about 2.37 minutes, would you like to hold?” Seriously, if I could predict these things then I would go join the psychic network and smoke some weed with Dionne and friends. Shit.
Excuse my crankiness, it’s just that the network connection has been down all morning and I never realized how boring my job was without it. Have you ever visited the seventh ring of hell? I have. The seventh ring of hell has a cubicle, a bad selection of muzac, the stale stench of microwave popcorn, coffee and apathy. If you're lucky, you'll slip into a semi-comatose state within the first five minutes of your arrival in hell. Let’s go back to the cubicle, shall we? I’m in a cubicle, but the walls are made of plexiglass. Don’t ask me why. It’s like you can see me, but you can get through to me. I’m sealed for your protection. People are unable to talk to me through the glass. They either come all the way around or stand on their tiptoes to talk over the glass. People, the glass is not soundproof – it’s not even 5 feet high!
2002-05-30 at 12:57 p.m.