I’m going to murder the bell.
In fact, I think I am going to melt it down and leave it on the front desk as a reminder that if you want to interrupt me you better damn well want to dance.
It’s been a while since I have updated you lackluster slack elite to my random adventures. The adventures have not stopped, they have jsut taken on a new form. A new feeling a new texture.
I used to use this space to rant about the things that irritated, angered and saddened me. Those things have become fewer in number – I think it’s the therapy.
But even with all the anti-depressants and self-help sessions and late-night mental breakdowns recoveries, I have managed to hoist all of my remaining issues on one non-descript little silver bell that sits in my office.
It rings each time a new moron from the outside world manages to ascend the ivory tower we live in and assault us with questions that have no relevance in the modern world.
Out of sheer proximity I have to answer the front door every time someone rings that bell.
Every time someone has a question or wants to talk to someone else in the bureau, I have to stop what I am doing and do it for them.
“Oh, you want the newspaper from the third Tuesday of every month? Yeah, I can do that.” As I secretly wish I could just push the old woman down the stairs.
I have no idea how the other side of our office operates, but I get ram-rodded with questions about how to take an ad or place a classified.
I was even yelled at by a blonde girl from advertising for messing up an ad order form. It would almost be kind of a turn on if she was not so morbidly retarded. I think she gnawed through the straps of her helmet.
How am I supposed to know how to take and ad? If I’m doing that, then you better pay me a commission on each and every ad that I can push on these ingrates who come toddling up to my desk.
In fact, I have tired to get away from answering the door and the bell. I listen to music, top volume, to silence any chance of the bell making it to my central nervous system – I can still see the reflection of the people in my computer screne though.
Its almost kind of funny to watch the people in the cubicles hear the bell, then look directly at me, not registering what is going on. I am un phased, I am rock solid. But I see them running around, I see the reflection of the impatient idiot at the front door.
I remain un flinching.
It is only going to get worse to this month.
The guy who sometimes answers the front door is leaving for a month-long vacation next month.
I will murder someone with that bell.