Cafeteria

So, today requires a second post.

I dragged myself to the cafeteria, searching for something sticky and carbohydrate-laden that could possibly rejuvenate me. I made-do with an english muffin and a yogurt cup, which is a surprising value here in the complex. Being that the room was entirely empty, I had my choice of tables and picked one near the windows where I sat to enjoy my brunch and listen to the late eighties rock piping through the intercom.

I noticed something strange. A voice accompanied the tunes, singing along softly to "You Shook Me All Night Long" and making quiet murmurs. I assumed it was some fluke, a phone left off the hook back in the kitchen picking up the sounds of the dishwasher.

Then, the voice began to harass me.

"Hey, what you got there? Some toast?" I frowned and stopped chewing. "What kind of yogurt is that? Raspberry? Any good?" I cast a quick glance around to confirm my solitude, only to notice a large Samoan manning a turntable with a stack of records. That's right. There was a DJ in the lunchroom. And I was his audience. And he liked to chat it up.

Normally I might be in a more affable mood, more accepting of a boorish intrusion into my brief period of relaxation, but given my current state, it was difficult for me to remain composed. I wanted to hurl my Dannon Light at him, but instead I just stared intensely at my spoon. I was on the verge of snapping as he continued to pepper me with inane banter when an unwitting fellow employee came to my rescue. He rounded the corner holding a tray with a soda and some noodle salad. "Alright," he blurted, glancing at me. "I love this guy!" He set down his tray and proceeded to execute the silliest, most horrendous dance I have ever born witness to, thrusting his hips and pumping one fist in the air.

"Thank you, kind sir," I whispered under my breath, "for restoring my peace in your own strange manner. May your pocket protector never leak and your sticky notes adhere for eternity." I was able to finish my snack without any more commentary.

Morning

I am ill today, but since I am at work in a giant corporation I will describe the feeling as "sub-optimal" instead of "sick" or "hung-over." It may be a struggle to perform at "value-added" level today.

When I arrived, a man with an electric screwdriver was disassembling the cubicle next-door. He also had a loud rubber mallet. My appearance startled him. Whether it was my early arrival or my visually sorry state that caused his jump I do not know. After a moment or two, however, he warmed to me. He began speaking in a foreign language, something guttural and phlegmy, and looked at me expectantly. He punctuated sentences by jabbing the air with a yellow box-cutter. I nodded, looked at my watch, and made an escape.

I decided to walk the perimeter of the HP pond. As I approached a group of ducks crowded around me, jostling each other and tilting their heads sideways to peer at me in an anticipatory manner not unlike the office handyman. They were obviously highly domesticated. They were unfazed as I wildly clapped my hands in childish delight. They stared, bored, at the leaf-blower that the groundskeeper used to shatter any possible peace I might have found. I enjoyed the ducks' company for a few minutes before returning to the cube.

Today, I lost my pen

There is a meeting going on across the cubicle wall in which a group of grown men in suits are seated around a tray of assorted miniature pastries and talking about flow. The conversation could be happening in a doctor's office, centered on prostate enlargement, but this flow refers to something more abstract than urine. A small table topper near the donuts reads "synergistic strategies for productive flow".

The hallway out to the press is 200 yards of shiny tile and high, florescent lit ceilings. Since they do not make the shoes with little wheels built into the heel in my size, I am forced to find other ways to make this trek more interesting. My current game of tossing my pen high into the air and trying to catch it without looking up was brought to an abrupt end today.

The weight and shape of my pen (a Zebra GR8 gel- blue) spins exceptionally well, like a juggler's pin. I was thoroughly enjoying the zip with which it left my fingers, and the snap against my palm on it's return. But then it didn't, return that is. I looked up.

Above me hung a convex mirror suspended on a chain, the kind designed to alert you to the forklift approaching the intersection, operated by an inebriated high school dropout who will undoubtedly strike and crush you to death.

There was a hole in the side of the mirror.

After my initial alarm, I realized that had my pen caused this hole, not only would there have been some sort of breaky-noise but debris would have definitely fallen around me. So either my pen had gone into the hole or landed on top of the mirror. I proceeded to the press, hurrying past the security cameras which constantly pan over this entire complex.

"Noah," the press tech said. "Come over here and take notes."

"Um, do you have a pen I can borrow?"

Welcome to the weird

Long strings of white and red spool past on a black screen. The man squints intently, his face close to the monitor and his finger-spiked-fist poised for a quick strike hovering above the keyboard. He is a predator; a mongoose fastidiously examining the twists of a snake as it writhes, patiently timing the attack. I pass before the offensive commences.

These people observe my migration many times daily on various time-consuming tasks: the bathroom, the prototype press, the infrared water/ice dispensing robot. They appear secure, totally cemented in purpose. I am but the breeze, a variable that is inevitable and expected, calculated as an algorithm into their sphere of existence.

I pass a man painting the wall with a roller on a twelve foot handle. His role is unambiguous. Just a glance will tell you he is working, the quality of his craftsmanship, the speed at which he progresses. I scurry through during an upswing, past the handle intermittently barricading the hall.

I carry a clipboard, to assuage the doubts of superiors. My pen has been destroyed by the physical manifestations of energy without direction. I look at my watch.

Continued... surely.

New job...

Its hard to say what causes the general feeling of angst that settles over me within the first two hours of being here. It is definetly quiet around my cubicle, the only real obtrusion into the otherwise silent space is keyboard clicks and sighing. Maybe I just get nervous around so many people wearing glasses.

I still have no computer, no voicemail and no real sense of what my main objective is. The assistant to the manager's assistant feels very badly about the hardware situation. I first met her on my second day. After twiddling my thumbs for several hours, I was finally able to corner my boss between his meetings. He stood in the hallway eating a rough looking salad from a plastic container, looking puzzled when I asked, "So, Loay is busy and I don't really know what I should be doing right now."

"Um," he looked around as if he wasn't sure who I was or why I was asking him for direction. "Go upstairs and find Jen. Ask her where the pens are, or something."

"Who's Jen?" I asked.

He replied over his shoulder as he ducked into the meeting room. "My assistant's assistant," he said with a mouthful of lettuce.

Jen showed me to the office supply cabinet. It brimmed with batteries and ink-jet cartridges, but the only notepads were graphing paper and the choice of pens limited to 2 varieties, both cheap. Apparently people use laptops around here for everything, but they don't have a spare for me.

After another day of putzing, I asked Jen for a computer mouse and was given a dozen to choose from. An hour later I requested a calculator. She rummaged through drawers bursting with candy and cookies and assorted sweets before locating a bruised pocket Casio similar to what banks give out to 10-year-olds who open a checking account. Then I asked for a ruler, which was even more difficult to procure. "Do you happen to have an abacus?" She actually started to look around before I stopped her.

So now at my desk I have a file cabinet, a wire shelving system, three clear plastic cubes containing paper clips, binder clips and thumbtacks, a staple remover but no stapler, two kinds of tape, a ruler, a calculator and a keyboard, mouse and gigantic twin monitors, but no computer.

I walk around quite a bit, because the fear of being cornered by a superior and interrogated about my productivity is far easier to take than the weird emptiness around my office space. The break room near my desk has a high-tech water and ice dispenser that uses radio frequencies to detect when you are holding a cup under it, but there is no silverware or plates. I asked Loay where I could find a spoon and was directed to the official cafeteria nearly a half-mile away across the sprawling multi-acre compound.

Several e-mails have now informed me that my computer has been ordered, and most are followed by messages that the orders have been canceled for one reason or another. Today is Thursday, August 13th. My original order was placed Tuesday, July 13th.

This is my first time working for a major corporation, and I don't understand how anybody could ever feel comfortable in a place like this.