Thursday, November 18, 2004

Free Pizza

I know there is pizza in the office.
I smell its cheesy goodness. The odor wafted out of the keep-warm sleeve the delivery guy had the 10 or 15 pizzas in. He walked right by, unaware of the knots forming in my stomach, my mouth getting moist, anticipating the pizza. But I am not involved in whatever project warrants the meeting of several people over pizza (it’s probably something to waste the money of the average college student since he/she’ll never use it) so I do not get a piping hot slice of the pizza of my choice. Instead I sit in my cubicle, waiting for the email that will be issued when the assistants get around to it, saying “there’s leftover pizza in the conference room.” And I will jump up, ignore the stare of my boss, and get to the stone-cold pizza before everyone. I will take two slices, because I want two slices. And a Coke. I will feast on the company’s dime. Ha ha ha!
But if the meeting drags on for a long time, I won’t get the pizza, since I have my own meeting to attend. Then I will sit in my meeting, bored AND dying to know if there’s any pizza left. I can’t pretend to go to the bathroom, because if I come back reeking of cheese, garlic and diet Coke, they’ll know. But I can’t let people have the free pizza. People who get paid more than me should NOT be able to eat for free. The lowest-paid staff should get first dibs on all freebies. This is my theory. The department heads should have the table-scraps since they can go to their nice houses within 4 zones on the commuter rail at night, drive their newish Honda minivans to pick up their kids and buy expensive take-out. At night I go to my ghetto-ass gym, work out, get on the train, walk home and eat whatever food I can find since I can’t afford to buy my own damn pizza.
The email has not come. I fear there shall be no pizza for me.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

A Letter to Target

Dear Target,
I love you with the passion of a red-hot sun through a magnifying glass. The only reason I'm not buying crap daily from your store is because I don't have a car to get there. I've purchased just about every type of item you sell at some point since you moved in to New England, and I don't have the huge pangs of guilt that I get from shopping at Wal-Mart because you don't sell only censored music/movies and you're *slightly* better at not selling sweatshop-produced goods.
I must take issue with your recent refusal to allow the Salvation Army to collect money outside your stores. It's the first example of corporate callousness on your part, and I sincerely hope you change your mind before I start shopping elsewhere.
The reason you gave for not allowing the bell-ringers to set up outside your stores is because you wanted to have a "corporate policy" towards solicitors. There is a big difference between having such a familiar and trusted charity such as the Salvation Army set up outside your stores for one month out of the year and one kid standing outside with an iced-tea mix container (that he/she most likely purchased from your store) basically pan-handling.
The bell-ringing gets annoying. But so do the endless Christmas carols you play in the store, the endless television ads you bombard me with when I turn on the television and the process of finding a parking place. The whole holiday season is annoying. But the bell-ringing acts as a trigger for your shopper's consciousness and makes them remember that Christmas isn't entirely about commercialism and buying affection. Christmas is also a time to treat your fellow human with a bit more decency than you do during the rest of the year. Many, many charities rely on the goodwill people show during the holidays to get them through the whole year. Prohibiting the Salvation Army from collecting at your stores makes it harder for them to help out disadvantaged people and shows your red and white Scrooge colors.
So I ask of you to forget "corporate policy" for the holidays and allow the bell-ringers to set up outside your stores. Even if people don't give money to the Salvation Army, they may give to charities in other ways after hearing the ringing bell, and go back into the store to buy a toy for a poor child, some canned goods for the food bank, or a coat for a clothes drive.


Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Things I am Pissed About Today

Every day, I eat lunch at 2pm. Yes, I know it’s late, but I am useless after lunch, so I figure it’s best to be useless for two hours instead of four. Anyway, our lunch room is by the freight elevator, where our FedEx packages are dropped off. Also near this lunch room is the administrative assistant’s office. Every day at 2:30, the FedEx guy comes and rings the doorbell so he can come in. Since the administrative assistant’s office is RIGHT near the door, wouldn’t you think the assistant would say, “Hey, the FedEx guy comes every day around 2:30. Maybe I should hang in my office so I can let the FedEx guy in.” But, the admin assistant is conveniently absent from his office at 2:30 most days, and since there are no other offices in the vicinity, the poor saps eating lunch have to get up and let the FedEx guy in.
All I want is to eat my goddamn Lean Cuisine in peace. I want to read the newspaper, drink my Coke and not have to think about work for an hour. When I hear the annoying little “ding-dong” I have to put down my newspaper, get up, walk over to the door, and be polite to the FedEx guy who is most likely dropping off more work for me to do. I am not happy to see this guy, nor am I happy to have to take a break from my break to do someone else’s job. This is especially frustrating since the admin assistant has been caught napping in our storage closet and still has a job and an office. I have never napped on the job and I only have one-quarter of a cubicle.

At lunch today, my friend (and coworker) Kristen and I were sitting at a table eating lunch. Kristen, due to her new “eat until you puke” diet plan, had a small pile of Tupperware in front of her that had contained the ingredients for her burritos. One of the higher-ups in my office walked in to the lunch room, and, without saying a word to either Kristen or me, picks up the Tupperware and examined it quizzically to see if someone had taken her Tupperware. When she was satisfied it wasn’t hers, she put it back on the table, still not saying anything to Kristen or me, grabbed a soda and walked out.
How fucking rude are you? Just because I don’t attend your little meetings about how to market the newest edition of a poetry anthology (which doesn’t change!) and you don’t have to deal with me much doesn’t give you a free pass to treat me like some Untouchable, and even if you’re being an asshat, why don’t you say “Sorry about that” or maybe ask before you pick up somebody else’s stuff like they’re a common thief?

I toasted garlic bread in the toaster-oven at work today to go with my lunch. Some of the edges got singed, which smelled like burning toast, but the smell of yummy garlic was also strong. About three different people came in to the lunch room, sniffed the air, and made faces like I’d shit in the toaster over and toasted it. Fuck you. It’s garlic toast.

When somebody new is hired, they usually get a tour of the company, meeting everyone. It’s totally overwhelming for the newbie, but it’s a nice gesture so the other people can know who the strange person walking around the office is. One of the editors was taking around a new editorial assistant, looked in to our large cubicle (known as “the Bullpen” or “the Penalty Box”), which had most of us sitting at our desks, peeked her head in, said “And these are just some of the assistants” and walked off without introducing the new person.
I’d like to see what your grammar book would look like without “the assistants” looking at it. First of all, it would take forever to develop since the assistants do a lot of the grunt work while you do lofty things like show the new people around the office and spew out babies. You get paid more than me, you have an office to yourself with a door, you get more time off than me… could you take the minute it takes to say my name and introduce me to the new person? Or do you know you’re going to make her life so miserable that she’ll quit in six months so it’s not worth my time to get to meet her?

I read this story in the newspaper about a woman who died of bone cancer. Sad, yes. But she said that she wanted her tombstone to read “Never drank a Coca-Cola.” I hate this Harvard/BU/MIT-educated, uber-intellectual type of person who is completely brilliant but looks down their nose as the “normal people” and their “boorish” behavior. I am a smart-ass girl, but I enjoy baseball, beer, and Coca-Cola as well as good literature and a rowdy political debate.

The MBTA announced plans to get rid of tokens and create something called a CharlieCard. This is all well and good for the people who use the paper, seldom-use ticket. But for those of us who use the monthly pass, the T now wants to make it so you don’t get unlimited rides with the pass as you do now, but that you’ll get a slightly discounted rate on the rides you take, so you’re paying per ride, not per month. Also, they named it the CharlieCard after a song by the Kingston Trio. What? Nobody knows what the hell that is. They should’ve named it the Tessie Card, the Dirty Water Card, or perhaps the Go Fuck Yourself With Your Veiled Fare Hike Card. According to the MBTA’s website, a “large number” of T riders wanted to name this the CharlieCard. And they all wear pants up to their chins and complain about people “thinkin’ too loud.”

I am pissed off that I am college-educated and I can’t make enough money to pay for the damn education. I’d be making more money being a flight attendant, teacher or trucker than in this job. While I love my department (none of the above offenses were committed by any of them) the rest of the company and their damn low pay scale sucks. I am here only because of the free Coke, nice people, and occasional afternoon punch and pie.