This wasn't originally going to be a photodiary, but I had a bunch of real, unedited pictures from my day, so I decided I might as well intersperse them with my always-witty musings. If you're offended by anything I say here, you can, as always, blow me.
7 a.m. : Alarm goes off. Snooze it up a couple of times.
7:15 a.m. : Begin getting ready for my day. I'm a little tired and disoriented. Not to mention disheveled.
7:30-7:45: For some reason, this stretch seems like 2 minutes long. All I manage to get during this time is checking the weather and looking in the mirror. Time well-spent, if you ask, me, and by about eight, I'm looking good and ready to go:
9:20: Unfortunately, I have to work today. I get in around 8:50, but since my boss is a bit of a stoner and not the earliest of risers, I usually have half an hour to check my mail, play a game of chess, check my mail, have a plain donut, and check my mail. Apparently, some Nigerians want to send me some money. Seems like another prince has been deposed. People should pay more attention to this growing problem. By my count, that's 123 Nigerian princes. I don't know how many there are, but there can't be many more left.
10:30: I get a phone call to the front desk regarding my use of the Encore software. I share an account with somebody across the country, for some reason, and thus can only use it at certain hours.
I would answer the call, except I am very busy. Also, they gave my phone to a new guy and never bothered to give me another one. I do not get very many calls.
12:00: In the short time I've been working here, it's rapidly becoming apparent that everybody is senior to me. This includes the dogs in the office. My work is a tedious, so much so that by the time I take lunch (at my desk), I look like this:
2:00: I begin to wonder if people with AIDS ever call in sick to work. Do they always call in sick to work? Can they just call and say, “Yep, I'm still working on this whole AIDS thing. I'm just gonna kick back at home today and take it easy.”
3:00: I read a resume that goes on for 14 pages of small, rambling, blue nonsense. One of the heading reads “Knowledge and Skillets” but there is no discussion of cookwear.
This man makes six figures.
4:00: I read another resume that is decorated with stars, shooting stars, rocketships, and, in one corner, a unicorn.
This woman makes six figures.
4:01: I contemplate asking a small child to rewrite my resume for me.
4:45: I, as always, cleverly schedule my work so that it would just be silly of me to start anything else now, and so take a 15 minute break before I am scheduled to leave. I am a master of timing.
5-8:00: Wandering/reading.
8:30: I meet up with a friend, where he is working the door of a bar. We chat idly for a while. Don't you wish you were me, Nathan DeGraaf?
9:30: Some girls walk in the bar. They are the best source of amusement I have had in a long time. To wit:
Girls: Are our friends in here?
Friend: This is the first time you've walked in. I have no idea who you're talking about, or who you are.
After my friend somehow manages to locate their friends, he needs to see their ids.
Friend: Do you have any id?
Girls: Sure!
Friend: *Studies id intently*
Girl: It's right here! 10/16/88!
Friend: But that's…not…old…
Girl: We can't get in?
Friend: It says, “Under 21” in big letters, right here.
Girl: Is that a problem?
After a spell, the girls realize that they overestimated my friend's capacity for simple arithmetic, and attempt to wheedle their way in.
Girl: But you let them in!
Friend: They were born in 1986.
Girl: It'll be cool, right? We won't cause any trouble.
Friend: What will you say if a cop comes in?
Without missing a beat, as if this were her master plan for getting out of any jam, the girl comes back with:
“We'll just say we died in a fire.”
That's right. Her grand plan for convincing the door guy that she was quick witted enough to deal with the cops was saying “we'll just say we died in a fire.” Somehow, it doesn't seem that far-fetched that this girl could accidentally light herself on fire, probably while attempting to microwave her puppy because it “looked cold”.
Obviously, my friend was skeptical.
The girls tried whining.
Girl: What am I supposed to do, stand outside in the cold rain by myself, smoking a cigarette?
Me: You don't have to smoke.
My friend had kind of been planning to let them in all along (it was pretty early), so eventually he waved them in with this:
Friend: You're not going to invite any of your friends, are you?
Girl: We don't have any more friends.
Me: You don't say.
10: 15: My friend gets off of work. We hang out, have some delicious sodas, and play a couple of games of NHL '07. In two games, I manage three shots on goal.
One of them was supposed to be a pass.
12:00: We head back to the bar, where we hang out for a bit. Not much more of interest happens, which is cool, because Friday is technically over anyway.
Y'all come back now, hear?
Here's a real picture to make fun of:
You can find the rest of the PIC Staff's accounts of their Fridays, right here.