A Day at the Beach

The unexamined life is a life not lived. – Famous philosopher
Live life like you’re going to die. You are going to die – William Shatner.

There is something undeniably marvelous about downtown LA at night. The rising of the lighted buildings amidst the night sky. Each light represents a dream someone had once. What is so seductive about the shiny lighted things? Even, I who, trudge to work each day in one of the cubicles, on one of the floors, in one of the buildings, on one of the streets of downtown, cannot deny, there is in fact, something alluring, mysterious…magnificent? about these structures. I wish they were more mysterious. I wish I didn’t know that each light shining from each window is more like a greedy gulp. You know that from the inside of the building you cannot see out because the lights just reflect on the smoky glass. My first day of work, I took a deep breath in my low high heals, and looked around at these square structures of unimaginable heights and thought, yes, this is my city and I am about to enter into it. I have not taken a deep breath since, (that was 6 months ago) because I am afraid the exhale will be disappointing, as this last six month exhale.

In front of the ___ ___ building there is a statue. Of a man whose neck ends into the building. He has no head. His head is somewhere inside the wall. Like he was bashing his brains out and on the final blow against the wall, the building just decided to absorb it. I do not want to be absorbed. I do not want to be absorbed. Sometimes, I think, just stick it out. There is a purpose to being in my cubicle, in an office building, on some floor in some city, in some universe. Keep the papers moving, keep answering the phone, with the expectation that the person on the other may or may not beat you up with their words, and tone of voice? Keep on keeping on for the sake of keeping on. This is perseverance. This is what it is about. I feel my skin growing a little thicker over these six months. Saying Fuck you (in the privacy of my own mind) to person who treats me like shit instead of running to the bathroom to wipe my eyes in the privacy of my own stall. This is good. This is adult. I should learn to be tough, how to take shit and throw it back at them in a polite and kind way, of course. Would never dream of making ___ ____ Company look bad. Never. Other times, I wonder if it is worth it. Do I want to have this thick skin? Do I want to be a place where tears are as unwelcome as a terrorist bombing?

(BTW should a terrorist call and tell you there is bomb somewhere in this building, keep talking to them. Asking them questions, where the bomb is, what does it look like. If they were kind enough to call maybe they will be kind enough to tell you all the details… This came in the advice manual that you get when you start working in a high rise).

Thick skin though? A heart that is hard and says fuck you to mean people. When the phone rings at work I have three responses depending on my mood. 1) Oh God, please don’t let them hate me. 2) I hate you I hate you I hate you why are you calling me 3) Deep breath, I can do this. I can. And if I cant it will be okay.

I’ve learned not to think about my life. To realize I spend 40 hours in a place I hate, with people I can not be friends with, smiling, smiling. I got employee of the month and they said one of my attributes is being “pleasant with a Can Do Attitude”.

If only they knew I dream of running away. If only they could see in the elevator cameras. As I get in at the end of every long day. My face crinkle, I jump up and down, and scream under my breath. I am always worried that the building security laugh at me or worse will come tell me not to jump in the elevators. But it hasn’t happened yet.

On my to do list at work the last item to do, with no date next to it is “smile though your heart is breaking” because I think that more than administrative assistant that is what my job description should include.

So is six months long enough. Should I put it to the test quit and see if its clerical work I hate, try out clerical work at the LA mission where, I might not feel like I am working at the bottomless pit of problems and papers, that once solved or filed reappear in more or else complicated fashions.

Or do I need to preserve at this job that changes me. I am no longer a morning person who can get out of bed. I roll around waiting until the last possible minute. Before lying in bed will longer will just make my day worse that it already could be.

But who am I to deserve a good job. Men work back breaking hours in the fields picking heads of lettuce because they do not know there is anything else, because its all they know, because we have pushed them into a box and labeled them Farm Worker and try as they might, we have used permanent ink that is hard to wash off, sweat of. Why should I get to change my label?

It’s almost 8pm and I can feel dread starting to settle on to my skin like a small layer of dust. But there is always that possibility that it won’t be that bad….