I believe you have my stapler

It has been an interesting week, transitioning from working from home to working in an office, and not actually in an office at the office but in a cubicle with walls so low that I get to see the mug of the person sitting across from me every time I look up (I try not to look up too much). 3 years of working in underpants and maybe a shirt to now having to drive 24 odd miles (that is 38km for those in the modern metric age) each way, uphill, in the snow, to look at someone’s head over a cubicle wall.

Even worse I have to wear clean(ish) clothes.

Now in all honesty it hasn’t been that bad, the office dwellers that I have joined are a friendly bunch (I have to say that as a couple of them might have someone read this to them) and I know a few from my previous office working days. It would be nice to discuss the latest rugby scores around the water cooler but even the token South African in the office knows nothing of the sport so instead I guess today we will talk about (spoiler alert) the demise of Dr McDreamy (actually all I know is that he is dead, I stopped watching that show just before the first episode). I believe a cone of silence has already been requested by some of my cubies as I have issues with volume control when on a phone call, or just in general. I am not as loud as a few people I know (yes you YS) and I don’t type like a horny woodpecker while popping bubble gum (yes you Mr V), however I am not what anyone would call quiet and reticent (cool sounding word, had to google it to make sure I was using it correctly), and I am not sure if that has anything to do with working from home for the last few years or the fact that I am just loud(ish).

‘FFS what has this to do with Poets Day?’ you might ask, and I would reply ‘why did you say FFS instead of For Fucks Sake, dick’ - I am getting there.

Actually I am not. I am heading to work in a few minutes with clean(ish) clothes on, a couple of apples (one is a Mac and one an ipod) in my bag and with a smile on my face knowing that in a few hours this week of hell will be over, cause it only get’s easier, right ?  :)

I am just glad that no one has asked me to put a cover sheet on my TPS report yet, and as far as working from home, so far, well, I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve been missing it, Bob.

Work hard, play hard and earn your inspiration

Happy Poets Day


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The American Idol complex

And I am not talking about the big commune of yurts where they keep the past winners. I am talking about what I like to (as of today) refer to as The American Idol complex pertaining as to how sometimes people need to be told the truth and often it is the people closest to them that fail in doing so. The only person who told the truth was that annoying English git in his tight V-neck shirts. The truth will set you free No, this is not a sermon from the mount but I often use that phrase. However, I do know that I am also guilty of not always telling the truth to avoid upsetting others but that is not what The American Idol complex is. Well what is it then? The American Idol complex (and trust me, I have played a Doctor on stage so I know what I am talking about) is where good meaning but badly executed praise is heaped on someone who should not have praise heaped on. It was amazing in the early episodes of American Idol how many tone deaf, talentless people turned up to
Read more

Do not go gentle into that good night

Ok, so Dylan Thomas was not exactly writing about what I am about to pontificate on but it is germane to this week's post. Back in early 1980’s Poppa Jeff turned 40 and had a birthday party with a friend of his, Alan Wilson, who happened to have his birthday on the same day. Alan was disappointed that his name wasn’t Brian, as he really just wanted to lie in bed, however he came to the party anyway. I remember being downstairs watching a movie about some Austrian painter with a stupid mustache topping himself (he seemed like quite a douchebag) whilst the ‘adults’ partied upstairs. The standard attire seemed to be suits or sports coats, ties, dress shirt etc and the men dressed the same :) A belly dancer turned up at one point, there was the obligatory gift of a walking cane and the boisterous singing of 'Life begins at 40' by Dave & the Dynamos echoed through the house. Evening finished with the smoking of cigars and a sherry or port depending on your fortified wine o
Read more

Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you

You know, it’s funny where I get inspiration to write this drivel. I’ll tell you this much for free, writing this crap is not easy, but my adoring fan (thanks Mum) is ever demanding for new and improved posts (usually with less swearing) so I have to keep my fan/Mum happy. Also The English Major doesn’t do fuck all on Poets Day anyway so the 5 minutes he spends checking my posts are the highlight of his day. Anyway, back to this week’s inspiration, a Crowded House (famous Kiwi band, not from the prison colony even though they might claim them – and Phar Lap) song. Why is it this week’s inspiration? I have no idea. It just popped into my head the other day during an opium induced haze and stayed there. The other day I was at a trade show in the safe zone known as San Fran, City by the Bay, home of the 50 th  Super Bowl (sort of as the stadium is nowhere near town any more) and a close personal acquaintance of mine, let’s call him Mr Pelaez (really need to update your LinkedIn p
Read more