A Day at Notwork.

Arrive at notwork, 9:05 a.m.

Choose pen to compliment Jimi Hendrix “Electric Ladyland”-style jacket, sharpen pencil which has been used for more than two years.

Open balcony window. Turn on calculator and computer. Dismiss all error messages on monitor. Start Outlook 2000. Unlock file cabinet.

Read personal email. Respond to personal email. Peruse Facebook and enter profound comments regarding local weather. Log into WordPress and see The Magic Bus Stop has not (yet) been Fresh Pressed.

Accept 8 pieces of mail from boss and greet same (boss, not mail). Discard 4 advertisements and 2 noble and dignified requests for money from politicians  which are addressed to “Dear Mr. Enterprises” and “Dear Whom;” place recent issue of “OK!” magazine, featuring painfully detailed cover photo of young female celebrity wearing a Band-aid sized bikini, in stack for overnighting to employer afflicted with cataracts; set aside 1 invoice for coding. Eat yogurt. Examine container.

Mourn close proximity of personal office to office bathroom.

Fill sippy cup with coffee. Perform several leg lifts in response to annoying Outlook reminder to move in order to stave off DVT.

Read blogs. Comment on blogs. Rake tiny Zen garden.

Code invoice, 10:30 a.m. Rearrange envelopes on desk.

Apply hand lotion. Evaluate performance of dollar store mascara (which, incidentally, cost $1) now in use after viewing self-portrait from vacation and experiencing significant mortification. Defer product judgement. Wash yogurt spoon.

Read personal email. Respond to personal email.

Catch up on recent issues of Wall Street Journal and New York Times. Exercise eyebrows. While reading about exotic antelope hunting in Texas, store “oryx” and “addax” in memory for use during Words With Friends.

Engage in brief and mostly futile personal grooming. Flip plastic dinosaur head to grinning position.

Play Words With Friends on Facebook, 11:30 a.m. Wistfully note lack of opportunity to use “oryx” or “addax.” Somehow break Words With Friends game. Shop online for military books for husband. Practice smiling but fail to produce Duchen marker. Online research into Duchenne marker and correct spelling of same.

Mourn close proximity of personal office to bathroom.

Code invoice. Sharpen pencil again.

Fill sippy cup with coffee. Dismiss annoying Outlook reminder to move, taking chance instead with DVT.

Read personal email.

Read blogs. Read responses to comments left earlier. Produce smile complete with Duchenne marker (see above).

Verify receipts attached to invoice for $18,000 in salon services. Code invoice.

Noon. Apply eyedrops to eyes irritated by continuous computer monitor viewing. Decline invitation from AOL to create account for free music.

Surf Facebook. Refresh WordPress home page, note continued absence of any post from The Magic Bus Stop at same.

Find crackers in drawer and determine they can be eaten since recently discovered canned soup (Progresso Light Zesty! Santa Fe Style Chicken) will prevent starvation in the event of an earthquake before 5:00p.m. (See post.) Fill sippy cup with now-cold coffee.

Mourn close proximity of personal office to bathroom.

Empty virtual recycle bin. Dismiss Outlook reminder to move.

Send personal email to Freecycler  who claimed my extra wine corks.

Answer notwork phone. Kindly inform caller that oral surgeon’s phone number is one digit different than notwork’s phone. Disconnect (phone). Eat salad. Assemble tower from empty plastic food containers.

Log into Twitter. At recommendation of @TheBugChicks make virtual leap to Chris Guillebeau to evaluate his “Art of Non-Conformity” blog, focusing on article, “How to be Awesome,” since I have self-proclaimed (virtual) awesomeness. Remind self to be awesome when opportunity arises. Enjoy incredibly pithy comments of @TexasHumor and @CarTalk.

Restock bathroom paper towels. Eat banana. Note marvelous slow passage of time.

Briefly samba around office.

Read personal email.

Gaze out notwork window.

Handwrite lengthy good-bye note to notwork’s New York property manager without actually saying good-bye. Reflect on our conversations about martinis, technology, and embroidered hand towels. Seal envelope for mailing.

Mourn close proximity of personal office to office bathroom.

Observe time to be 4:50pm. Sign out of personal email. Log out of Facebook. Log out of Twitter. Log out of WordPress. Shut down Outlook 2000. Close balcony window. Shut off calculator. Lock notwork file cabinet. Apply eyedrops to eyes irritated by continuous computer monitor viewing. Turn off computer. Place pen and pencil in holder.

Gather personal newspapers, purse, lunch container, sippy cup and cell phone. Inform boss of imminent departure by yelling same from personal office.

Complete 528th day of notwork, all of which have been remarkably similar to the above scenario, walk to The Magic Bus and leave notwork premises at 5:00p.m.

Notworking.

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13 responses to “A Day at Notwork.

  1. Oh, Linda! Too funny….and probably too true :(.
    $18000 in Salon Services???? What in the world body part(s) got Saloned?
    You should probably get a few more newspapers – more ads to distract.
    I’m glad your office actually has a window that opens, too. Keep up the good notwork 🙂

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  3. You are a strong woman. Given the circumstances, I might have to commit hari kari.

  4. O. M. G.

    Sure, it’s good blog fodder, but how are you holding onto your sanity??

    Perhaps that’s too personal of a question. Or perhaps I don’t want to know. (Never confess a crime in a public place.) (Actually, never confess a crime, period.) Or perhaps this is a long-term experiment in non-sanity?

    Bonus points to you for the samba and the dinosaur. And for matching pen to JH-style jacket. Clearly your creativity is finding little ways to burst through the office bounds. Beware the major rupture that is surely ahead!

    • (Wipes drool on royal sleeve) Sanity? That’s secondary to holding depression at bay. I’m going to learn the mambo next. I’ve held a lot of bizarre jobs (working for a private insurance investigator; yelling “Next in line!” at the Houston OTC; delivering flowers on Valentine’s Day, but this one is surreal. I have not been able to reconcile myself to feeling guilty for not doing anything (not)work related, despite a friend telling me that I was hired not for what I can do, but for my “integrity.” Yowsa! But, as you say, we do what we must. Thanks for coming by the Bus Stop, and thanks for all those other comments. (I love comments, both making and getting.)

      • Comments are the fairy dust of the blogosphere. Shiny and oh so tasty.

        After mambo comes salsa, by which point SURELY someone in your office will notice…?

        Where do you get your royal robe cleaned? I can’t imagine a garment of such splendor is permanent press.

  5. Ha! This is great. It’s definitely a typical day in the office. What did people do before the internet?

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  8. You miss the long-haired-one, don’t you? 🙂

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