My life as an office peon (temporary?) does have its advantages: I need look no further than my own extremely narrow putty-colored world in order to find things that are wholly intolerable. At this moment, from the cube katty-corner to my right come wafting the gentle (yet always somehow forced-sounding) harmonics of Mrs. Bobby Brown (I will Always Love You Until You Run Out of Crank). From the cube to my right, I am being treated to the clock-radioed bass bumps of the BlackEyed Peas, who are anxious, apparently, to Get It Started. In Here.
Separately, neither of these do intolerableness make. Whitney’s pathos actually makes me smirk now that she’s transmogrified from "Diva" into "Gaunt and Demented Divalike Lovechild of Kid Rock and Latoya Jackson." And I really like the Peas song—--Let’s Get it Started grooves with me nicely. But. When you put my burny scratchy eyes in front of a medical database for 9 hours and set my work to music over which I have no fraction of control, you’re liable to make me into a frowny pirate--one who may take to making officy declarations about how the 4th floor's air control setting is UNACCEPTABLE or about that piece of coffee cake that's been in the break-room fridge for almost a WEEK and is totally INTOLERABLE. It's a strong and deeply depressing cycle.
But, you know. It's not so bad. Like the music says,
Bittersweet Memories
That is all I'm taking with
Get started, get stupid
Don’t worry ‘bout it, people will
Please don't cry
We both know I'm not what you
Step by step, like you’re into New Kid
You
My darling you
You wouldn’t’ believe how we wow shit Out
Mmm-mm
And I will always love you.
1 comment:
Wait until they peek over the cube and say, "Dude, check out this awesome comedy email I just got. It's funny." And then they hold out their coffee cup in an imaginary 'cheers!' and strut down the hall. Humming.
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