RandomCha

I received some rather harsh reactions to yesterday’s post, so I feel the need to explain (justify?) my situation at work and my decision to call in sick on Friday. The main complaint is that by missing work on Friday just because I “don’t feel like going” I will be placing a great burden on my coworkers and my customers. Allow me to elucidate.

Friday is, of course, the day before Memorial Day weekend. 80% of our customers consist of federal and state government offices. And guess what? Most of the people who do the ordering in those offices are *surprise* taking Friday off. I know this because (a) many of them have already told me (i.e. “I figured I’d place my order today because I won’t be in on Friday”) and (b) on the eve of previous holidays (Thanksgiving, Columbus Day, etc.) we’ve been dead as a morgue. Whereas on a “normal” day we might get 20 orders, on Friday we might get around 5.

There will be adequate personnel in the office on Friday to comfortably handle those 5 orders and the usual 20-25 annoying sales calls we get every day to which I have to say “no thank you, we’re not interested.” Fact is, I’m going to be calling in sick on a day that I’d probably just be in the office online and surfing and bored all day long anyway.

My other defense is, perhaps, philosophical. Americans work too much. Americans, on average, work 350 hours more each year than Europeans. That’s 9 weeks of labor. According to Bureau of Labor Statistics data, average working hours in the United States rose nearly 12 percent between 1973 and 2000. That’s why, when I accepted the job, I insisted that I work 37.5 hours a week instead of 40. I can do my job perfectly well, even working less; I sarcifice a 1 hour (unpaid) lunchbreak so that that I can go home earlier each day. And, since I am offered paid sick days by my employer (which is very generous, and which do NOT roll over if fail to use them before the year is out), you can bet I’m going to use them.

My boss has needed to fill the open position in my office for 2 months now. Maybe by me being home sick one day, he will feel an increased urgency to actually INTERVIEW PEOPLE and FILL THE POSITION. I’m not going to be stuck here doing 3 people’s jobs simply because I work very efficiently and am “a good sport.” Any work they can’t do, they’ll just leave for me to discover on Tuesday anyway.

This is the first job in my entire life where I’ve had paid sick time. It’s my pleasure to use it.

My boss in in Miami to attend a conference. Our sales guy is in Springfield until Friday. Our accounts payable girl is on vacation until June 7th, our shipping manager may be out sick for several weeks, and HER shipping assistant also called in sick today.

So umm basically, I am running the whole damn front office alone. I have to answer the phone every time it rings, answer every e-mail, create every sales order, every FedEx label, invoice each order, send out the invoices, and receive the invoices from our vendors.

I am SOOOOO looking forward to Friday morning when my alarm goes off and I SUDDENLY realize that o my “I don’t feel well this morning” and o gee “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to call in sick this morning.” The 4-day weekend awaiting me shall be most warranted.

Weekends annoy me. Why? Because EVERYONE has the weekend off, and thus EVERYONE is EVERYWHERE I try to go. For a great many years, I had a series of jobs where my time off usually fell on a weekday. It was occasionally annoying as far as making social plans, but for sheer relaxation and productivity it was unbeatable. For example, if I had a Thursday off, I could get up, go out for coffee (empty coffeehouse with everyone at work) or breakfast (quiet, unlike the madhouse rush that is SUNDAY BRUNCH), groceries (empty store), the post office (almost empty), perhaps even catch a matinee (nearly empty) and have dinner (no long waits). I could be as relaxed or as productive as I wanted to be. Chicago was my oyster. Now, of course, I’m an “adult” with a “normal” job, which means Monday through Friday I’m at work. And Saturday and Sunday are my “days off.” Just like every other fucking mainstream consumer. So anything I try to do, anywhere I try to go, anyTIME from Friday at 4.30 pm until Sunday night, hundreds of others are trying to do simultaneously. I hate having to plan the precious moments of my free time around what the “masses” are going to be doing.

So I can FORGET about trying to write my new book by going to Intelligentsia every Saturday morning, sitting at a table myself with a relaxed cup of coffee and my notebook. No siree. Every yuppie and their personal trainer would be right there with me.

Last night’s thunderstorms were really, really cool. We turned out all the lights and lit some candles and just lay there in the darkness together. Andy was a little freaked out, so he reached over for me. I thought it was thrilling. Even though it was pouring outside, it was still hot. Weird. Almost like a monsoon.

O how glad I am that it’s Friday. The office has been suspiciously quiet today. I think Andy & I are going to El Jardin Cafe for dinner tonight. It was where we ate before we had sex for the first time ever. That was over four years ago. I still remember the tingling sensation I had in my toes as we sipped the last of our margaritas, knowing that we were about to go back to my apartment and …

Not enough sleep last night even though I got plenty. It feels like there is a warm stone behind each eye which is very, very slowly turning. Been rushing around like a madman here at work today because we are 2 people short (ugh), been extremely efficient, and yet I feel dazed. I guess I really CAN do this job while (half-)asleep. The little cat nap awaiting me when I get home sounds delicious.

DVD night should be great tonight. I think I’m gonna be all trailer-trash and make that Betty Crocker Apple Bake for everyone. At least by making it for a group I know I won’t be eating the whole thing myself.

Wonderful sring day. We’ll have crepes for lunch, a walk to all the record stores on Clark, bus to the Loop … sightseeing.

Today is David Byrne’s 52nd birthday. Happy Birthday, Mr. Byrne, and thank you for 15 years of personal inspiration!

My journey began when I was 13, and randomly rented “True Stories” from the local King Soopers. I’d never heard of Byrne or Talking Heads, but seeing the film opened my eyes to a completely new world. It made me realize that a film could do more than just tell a linear story. And getting into Talking Heads made me realize (along with The Beatles, who I was just starting to get into at the same time) that a song could do the same.

And here I am today, doing all kinds of wacky, scrambled writing. RandomCha is more than just my “net identity,” it’s my aesthetic.

I gave in all too easily, and decided to order Wendy’s for lunch just like everyone else here at the office. A spicy chicken combo meal with a Frosty is irresistable.

It’s rainy, but I love the rain! My brother is coming into town for the weekend; his flight gets in at 2.50 this afternoon. Should be fun.

Andy has grown tired of my pet names. He doesn’t want to be called “sweetie.” He doesn’t want to be called “honey.” This leaves me in a difficult spot. I’d like an affectionate nickname for him, but none that I’ve thought of fits the bill. He suggested “Droobie,” which is what his dad called him when he was a baby, but I’m not crazy about that. I guess I could just call him “Andy,” but that’s his actual name and everyone calls him that anyway. I want my own, personal nickname for him, darn it. Now and then I call him “my little rhino,” but that isn’t suitable for daily usage. I’m stuck.

Pre-summer thoughts: I’ve already grown weary of seeing bone-thin gay men in tight clothes everywhere I go. It’s either svelte or buff, lean or pumped. Subconsciously, “body image” issues are on my mind constantly. And this is despite the fact that I’m 5″11″, 175 lbs. and work out about 3 times a week. At the most absurd moments, I find myself feeling angry and resentful at guys who are just naturally thin, who can eat whatever they want, drink as much as they want, and yet always complain about how their clothes DON’T fit. Our whole mainstream stereotype of beauty is so sickening, and yet I feel it’s programmed into me and there’s little I can do about the fact that it automatically attracts me. I know there’s a gazillion books already written on this subject, but I just don’t feel like reading about it. They’re just stating what’s obvious to me already: advertising, marketing, and gay culture make up a trilogy of mindfuck.

In a way, I’m a bit worried about all the terrible news being heaped upon Bush & Co. lately: sluggish economy, prison abuse scandals, bad war news, nepotism, you name it. I’m worried that all the bad news will be exhausted prematurely and that come September and October, when Americans’ short-term memory kicks in, everything’ll be just peachy. I expressed this concern to Andy and he replied, “Never underestimate the Bush Administration’s ability to fuck things up.”

Today is payday. Mr. Visa gets a big chunk of it in order to be pacified, but the rest is for me. So after work, I’m making little stops at Old Navy and H&M just to see if anything catches my eye. Then meeting up with Andy at the Exchequer Pub for some damn good food of some kind, deep-dish pizza maybe. I dunno if there’ll be enough time to get get over there afterwards, but “Kill Bill Vol. 1” is at the Brew & View tonight. We’ve waited to see it until it played there, and now it is.

Our 1st DVD Gathering on Wednesday was fun, despite the fact that out of the 5 guys who committed to coming only 2 actually showed. Why am I cursed with this eternal desire to socialize when bad luck dictates that something will always arise to thwart my plans? We (re-)watched “Dancer in the Dark” (this was the 2nd time seeing it for me). Cut-to-the-chase mini-review: Bjork is a luminous, rapturous presence and Lars Von Trier is a shallow, manipulative snob.