Next week, it'll be two months since I've stepped foot in the basement, AKA the Fourth Ring of Hell. I should be happy, right? Oh I was in the beginning, don't get me wrong. I had ONE WHOLE HOUR for lunch. My supervisors are intelligent, well-prepared and didn't feel the need to watch over me every two seconds. It was like a whole 'nother planet, with different air and everything. The computers actually worked and everything!
I have to admit that the chaos I left in my wake felt a little good; it's always nice to know that something will fall apart if you're not around to hold it together...good for the ego. Some gems that I've heard since I've been gone:
Wigmaster B can edit the hell out of an article, but she still keeps her own hours like she owns the joint, and cannot master the simple steps required to transfer a call: HOLD, TRANSFER, 206...it ain't algebra, B, damn!
The new girl, dubbed Fucking Moron, is just that, god help her. And mind you, she holds a degree in creative writing from Brooklyn College...I have a mind to go to the dean and DEMAND he take it back. She can't master the basics of Quark or Photoshop, asks too many damn questions...and can't add. I hear my fellow worker-ants can't believe she has a man who actually puts up with her and willingly goes to bed with her every night.
The new guy...don't have a name for him (yet)...he's already seeking employment elsewhere...we'll call him SmartyPants (temporarily)...I have no dirt on him yet, but give me time. I'll get it.
Overheard by a fellow worker-ant...a conversation between The Man and Little Bitch Boy:
Little Bitch Boy: Rule of thumb is...
The Man: What are you saying? Speak English!
Here's a tip: when a man who's English is marginal at best tells you to speak English??? Houston, we have a problem...
And Fat Bastard has actually taken to offering his Show Pony COOKIES in exchange for her party tricks (touching her nose, saying her ABC's, you know, things astrophysicists have trouble with). Now when she balloons up to 400lbs her freshmen year of high school and takes to performing oral sex on boys in exchange for twinkies, don't say I didn't warn you...
But as hilarious as the basement antics are, I think karma is not done with me yet. I've had to come to the harsh realization that yes, the basement was a HORRIBLE place to work, but it is horrible everywhere you go.
Take the place where I escaped to: the people who work there are those 2-dimentioanl, eat-at-their-desks, have-no-life kind of people that you don't want to be stuck in a carpool with. I've had to sit through a dry pizza party and an even dryer birthday party in the short time I've been there. I was actually missing the basement. At least the Four Horsemen were a laugh riot. I actually spent money I didn't have on food I couldn't afford to get the fuck out of that air-conditioned-within-an-inch-of-it's-life first ring of hell (limbo).
Here's hoping my next stop will be a place where I can open a window, work in peace, and earn lots of Manolo Blahnik buying money.
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