documented waste

So, another day began with me not wanting to get out of bed. It usually comes down to a span of two minutes, the do or die point which is actually just a matter of being late.

I used to be at least fifteen minutes early everyday but after a few years, my Johnny-on-the-spottedness, was replaced with tardiness, it got to a time when I would show up twenty minutes late. Eventually, my lateness was like a cavity on my soul, rotting a hole into my very being, so I started showing up on time. I'm usually at my desk ten minutes before hand, if the trains are running properly.

The problem is, I get personal days, I get four of them a year, on top of sick time, on top of vacation days, on top of thirteen paid holidays. Personal days are just a phone call away and they don't count against my attendance record; personal days are very tempting carrots dangling within reach every gloomy day.

Anyway, in the morning, I'll watch the clock, I try to get out of bed by ten past six, by 6:12AM there will be a good chance I'll be late, or later than I wish to be. Freedom from the work day, just ten numbers on the cellphone away has become a great temptation as of late, especially at 6:10AM.

On the days I battle with that one simple phone call, I'll question myself, I'll question my merit. "Has work got you beat?" I'll ask myself. I won't answer because I know the answers and other questions that would follow, if work has gotten to me it's because I let it, it's my own damn fault. In such cases, I'll shut the internal dialog down and throw my legs over the side the bed.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" will be asked and be unanswered.

"I don't know why you just don't do that to begin with; it would save a lot of time and drama." will be stated and ignored, except for the quiet thought of 'What a nag'

If the feeling of escape still persists when I get to work, I'll fill out a vacation request form for two days hence; usually by lunch I'll tear it up.

Although, this past Monday, the form survived, I'm taking tomorrow off. It should be the first day that it doesn't rain since half past forever. We'll see if I can make it to the roof to vanquish new found leaks.

Or at least poke the bear of my fear of heights with a stick.

...

I'll most always look at the trolley drivers as the train rolls past, usually none of them are recognized, infrequently one is. The Louis Vuitton handbag in the window was a telltale clue, while I fought with the glare on the window to confirm my suspicion. She didn't notice I got on. I walked to the front and poked my head around the partition and waited.

"Hey, baby! You come to visit me?"

"Yeah. I've missed you."

She stood up and gave me a hug as the train made a small lurch forward. I looked over her shoulder at the controls and wondered if she should be attending any of those switches. She held me long and tight. I guessed I didn't need to worry about the switches.

We talked about Mother's Day, Little g and the twins, cars and trucks, and trips to Bermuda. I rode with her past my stop and five others, if I stayed longer my monthly pass would not suffice for the return trip.

I got off her train and crossed the tracks to complete my round trip. I got on the second car of the two car train. I stood where the two halves of the car meet, ear plugs in place, listening to Neko Case, I settled in and looked around like a usually do.

There was a mix of passengers and one I recognized. I walked to the stairwell in front of where she sat, stretched out over the two seat bench.

"Tim! I didn't know you where on the train."

"I just got on. I was just riding with your mom and got off at Fenway."

We talked about a couple things. I asked her which stop was hers, she told me and then said it was a ten minute walk from there to her house.

"Ten minutes?!" I asked.

"Yup"

"Ten minutes is a lot of time to walk. Ten minutes if you're walking slow, maybe." I said which caused her schoolmate sitting behind her, also stretched out over two seats, to laugh, but she stuck to her ten minutes and I relented that maybe with all the waiting to cross the two major intersections if could possible be ten minutes.

...

He'll come in from working in the field the whole morning and linger around my desk. He'll linger because he wants to unload whatever it is that's on his mind, I'm his repository for daily experiences. Normally, I don't mind; I like the interruption but there are other times when I've been trudging through the mundane bullshit trying to keep my head above it and finally obtain a level of equilibrium and I will not want to be yanked from it. He'll come in and want me to listen to his tale of woe, he'll want attention, he'll want to be heard. I'll ignore his look-at-me ways, "You've left me to fend for myself, now you do the same" I'll want to say but, eventually, I'll crack and lend a wary ear.

...

"What about a circle template, now."

What no 'how do you do?' I thought as I pulled opened my desk drawer and reach for the circle template.
"No, not the big one."

The circle template I had in hand is for circles down to 1/16th of an inch. "If you're drawing any smaller, you're drawing dots."

"How do I know this is yours?"

"I bought it."

"But how do I know. It doesn't have your name on it? Do you have a receipt?"

"No, I don't have a receipt."

"Why do you have two?"

"Because that one was here when I got here but then someone took it so I bought another one and then that one was returned."

"How do I know this one isn't mine?"

"Because I'll telling you it mine."

"But how do I know?"

"Because if you take it, I'll knife you in the back."

"Is that a threat?"

"Do you fell threatened? It's more of warning."

"I do. I think I'll tell the boss."

"What are you going to tell him, 'John, Tim's going stab me if I steal his things'?"


...

"Look what we got in" she said as she pointed to the Stoli blueberry.

"I've heard a lot of talk about that. Emily had plans to bring it in in water bottles on Thursday if you didn't have it by then."

"Someone brought us in a bottle Saturday night.."

The rest of the story was how the manger made a drink and then marked the level of Vodka with a pen and then later hide the bottle and then the rest of the night was spent trying to find ways to get the blueberry Vodka until finally the manager let them drink it.

"Want to try some?"

"Sure" I said

"If you have some, you'll be addicted and then you'll be here everyday."

"I'll be here everyday? I find that hard to believe."

"You will be. Believe it" She poured two chilled shots.

"So what do you think?"

"I don't know." I said after I took a sip and then knocked the rest back. "I'm not too impressed. It's not very blueberry-ee."

"You're a waste."

Could be.

She told me she was broken up with her boyfriend for real this time and that she spent two hundred and fifty dollars on Red Sox / Yankee tickets. "I get like that at times like this" she explained. She also mentioned her phone which she has been without since Friday, when she dropped it into a trash bucket that had a good amount of liquid in it. "I called my insurance because I couldn't get the phone I wanted. It was going to cost four hundred and fifty"

"I thought you were in a spending mood?" I said and received the hint of a glare before she squelched it. "Not in that much of a mood, I guess. We told Dave about your phone. You gave him a laugh that day."

"So is he coming back in then?"

"I don't think so."

"Does he think he can just walk back in and I'm going to kiss his ass?"

"I don't think he wants you to kiss his ass. Just don't be mean to him"

"If he does come back, I'm going to ask him why he has to be such a baby."

"See, now why do you have to be mean?"

"Why does he have to be such a baby? He's forty years old and he's acting like a baby. Why do we have treat him different than everyone else? You keep coming back."

"Dave's a sensitive guy."

"I'm sensitive too."

"But you don't show it here too much. Dave's not quite right is the head, sometimes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was dropped as an infant or maybe his mother drank while she was carrying him."

"She'd have to have done more than drinking to get him like that."

"It's just easier. It's just easier if he's here with us. It's just easier to go along with him."

"He's a baby."