Weak from Work
As workweeks go, some fly by(until Friday afternoon-which, in breathless anticipation of that 4:30 whistle, drags like a drummer on Darvon)and others, like this past one, crawl through incrementally, excrementally, crunching your ass at every turn.
A week of meetings, moves and counter-moves, some executed and some merely extrapolated, their possible outcomes bouncing off the walls as we tried to formulate a plan. And then waiting to see what came of it all. Waiting to find out our fate. Not unlike, of course, being at a Hospital waiting for lab results. Despite our staunch efforts to remain calm, it gave us some jittery moments. C'mon, Doc. Give it to me straight.
Without getting into any gory details(at least those specific in fact), I can say that my working unit has gone from 2 and a half to 3 back to 2 then to 1 then back to 2 and now back to 1. Some zigzagging in there, but a basic degeneration, a dismantlement not unlike that in the swordfight from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life". Currently hopping about on my one leg, but hoping for a medical miracle as far as regenerating another limb.
Well actually we've gone not from 2 to 1 but rather 2 to 1(1). That is to say, there are still two of us working my job, just in different locations. 1(1) as it were. To once again analogize from the world of entertainment(hm, why does the word 'anal' suddenly seem so prominent in that word?), this time from TV, it's sorta like when Krissy had her scenes done separately from Jack and Janet.
Only unlike the actors on Three's Company, we're not mad at each other. Quite the contrary. I could even say on some days, particularly with a certain green sweater involved, that I was mad about her. In a platonic, co-worker kinda way, you understand. These schisms always involve some kind of feud, some kind of pissing contest, but it certainly isn't between us.
So we've tied tin cans between our respective locations and hope to maintain communication, to keep a pulse going in the program. Or maybe we'll use walkie-talkies. Speaking of walkie-talkies and the world of entertainment, highly recommended viewing, if you ever come across it, is the episode of The Andy Griffith Show where Opie and his friend Arnold hide a walkie-talkie in their dog's fur and have Goober convinced the dog can talk!
I don't know how I got there, from point A to point B to point L. But suffice it to say a rough week. It's funny that a rough week is still a rough week as far as its basic wear and tear on the body, but how it takes it out of you can vary in quality- that is, the flavor of asskicking you get.
For some years I worked in a noisy office filled with clients and their problems, which could of course come after you through the office's other orifices(i.e. the phones, et al)as well as in person. A bad day would chew your ass off like a wild animal on a liquid diet. I now work in a quiet office in which problems still have the same intensity, just not(usually)the same decibel level, thus more implosions than explosions. A bad day here instead grinds my ass into a fine powder. You see, it's a qualitative difference ..
So here I sit on what's left of an ass that wasn't all that substantial to begin with(though not all that bony either, to defend it), still trying to catch my breath. Rough week. Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?
At this point, I'm on vacation. My 37.5 hours this coming week. Between my ears, I'm not yet there, still hashing out what was and what may be. Still sort of working my way here as far as that goes. But I'll get there. Or here, as it were.
I make the joke sometimes(maybe more often, in which case sorry!)about getting through the workweek unscathed. About not getting any on me. In terms of damage, albeit minor, kind of like-to again borrow from entertainment-the scene from Animal House where they're trying to leave the Dexter Lake Club(after hearing Otis Day and the Knights)and Flounder's car hits every car in the parking lot on the way out.
That's what my chassis feels like on this Friday evening. But a bit of lubrication in the form of Corona(what did you think I was going to say?)and I'm feeling on the mend. Did I mention that this was a rough week?
A week of meetings, moves and counter-moves, some executed and some merely extrapolated, their possible outcomes bouncing off the walls as we tried to formulate a plan. And then waiting to see what came of it all. Waiting to find out our fate. Not unlike, of course, being at a Hospital waiting for lab results. Despite our staunch efforts to remain calm, it gave us some jittery moments. C'mon, Doc. Give it to me straight.
Without getting into any gory details(at least those specific in fact), I can say that my working unit has gone from 2 and a half to 3 back to 2 then to 1 then back to 2 and now back to 1. Some zigzagging in there, but a basic degeneration, a dismantlement not unlike that in the swordfight from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life". Currently hopping about on my one leg, but hoping for a medical miracle as far as regenerating another limb.
Well actually we've gone not from 2 to 1 but rather 2 to 1(1). That is to say, there are still two of us working my job, just in different locations. 1(1) as it were. To once again analogize from the world of entertainment(hm, why does the word 'anal' suddenly seem so prominent in that word?), this time from TV, it's sorta like when Krissy had her scenes done separately from Jack and Janet.
Only unlike the actors on Three's Company, we're not mad at each other. Quite the contrary. I could even say on some days, particularly with a certain green sweater involved, that I was mad about her. In a platonic, co-worker kinda way, you understand. These schisms always involve some kind of feud, some kind of pissing contest, but it certainly isn't between us.
So we've tied tin cans between our respective locations and hope to maintain communication, to keep a pulse going in the program. Or maybe we'll use walkie-talkies. Speaking of walkie-talkies and the world of entertainment, highly recommended viewing, if you ever come across it, is the episode of The Andy Griffith Show where Opie and his friend Arnold hide a walkie-talkie in their dog's fur and have Goober convinced the dog can talk!
I don't know how I got there, from point A to point B to point L. But suffice it to say a rough week. It's funny that a rough week is still a rough week as far as its basic wear and tear on the body, but how it takes it out of you can vary in quality- that is, the flavor of asskicking you get.
For some years I worked in a noisy office filled with clients and their problems, which could of course come after you through the office's other orifices(i.e. the phones, et al)as well as in person. A bad day would chew your ass off like a wild animal on a liquid diet. I now work in a quiet office in which problems still have the same intensity, just not(usually)the same decibel level, thus more implosions than explosions. A bad day here instead grinds my ass into a fine powder. You see, it's a qualitative difference ..
So here I sit on what's left of an ass that wasn't all that substantial to begin with(though not all that bony either, to defend it), still trying to catch my breath. Rough week. Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?
At this point, I'm on vacation. My 37.5 hours this coming week. Between my ears, I'm not yet there, still hashing out what was and what may be. Still sort of working my way here as far as that goes. But I'll get there. Or here, as it were.
I make the joke sometimes(maybe more often, in which case sorry!)about getting through the workweek unscathed. About not getting any on me. In terms of damage, albeit minor, kind of like-to again borrow from entertainment-the scene from Animal House where they're trying to leave the Dexter Lake Club(after hearing Otis Day and the Knights)and Flounder's car hits every car in the parking lot on the way out.
That's what my chassis feels like on this Friday evening. But a bit of lubrication in the form of Corona(what did you think I was going to say?)and I'm feeling on the mend. Did I mention that this was a rough week?
posted by Roger U Roundly at 12:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home