The Usual.

I'm sitting at the reception desk of work, like I do for half an hour every morning, five days of the week. It's pretty beige in here with lots of wood. And it's cold, why do offices tend to be cold? It's not very inviting. While I sit here every morning, I say good morning to the secretaries and attorneys who aren't yet stressed out but soon will be. I say good morning, I try to mean it. But the fact is, who really cares? I don't. Maybe I would if they actually cared too. But no, that's not how it works. In an hour or so, they'll be stressed out, freaking out about trying to find some documents no one has looked at in years, spilling coffee on themselves, and complaining about the "system".

Funnily enough I actually like, and sometimes could say I "love" this job. Aside from the striped beige walls which make me feel like I'm in a prison fashioned with fax machines and copiers, it's pleasant. I get to do my own thing, and feel productive at the end of the day for doing what I'm supposed to without anyone breathing down my neck. It gives me a feeling of satisfaction.

Of course there are the times when it gets out of hand and no one seems to notice that I'm going to lose my mind if I have to be here another minute. But that passes, because, well, in the end I need the money.

msbogart msbogart
22-25, F
Feb 12, 2009