I pour the terrible coffee my office provides me into my oversized mug and I smile, for I have spotted a bag of bagels left over from last Friday’s festivities. Today being Monday, that dates them as three days stale. In other words, they are perfect for my needs. My needs are neither complicated nor cultivated.
I take a sip of my coffee. I do not spit it out, despite the fact that it tastes like urn cleaner has been left in the pot. Since the coffee pots have never been cleaned, this is clearly not the case. In fact, it tastes like every other cup of coffee I have been steadily intaking since I took this job, two long years ago. I spend roughly 28 percent of my time at this job. A sickening statistic and a sickening amount of bad coffee.
As I saunter back to my desk, I chew on a bagel, spilling poppy seeds everywhere. I chip no teeth in the process, making this bagel a rousing success. I take another bite, eager to absorb the urn cleaner taste.
I drink more coffee, which is well and truly foul, for such is my stupid custom, and sit down at my desk. My iPod randomly decides to entertain me with Ben Folds, formerly of Ben Folds Five, playing a Ray Charles cover. It works. I am entertained.
My “next door neighbor,” that is to say, the woman assigned to the desk next to mine, has, as of today, left my company to work on a temporary project for the next month or so. This, I must say, comes as a bit of a relief, for she was, perhaps, the single most awful person I’ve ever been acquainted with.
This departure relieves a steady pressure that had been building on my soul for the past month. For this reason, it is with relative good cheer that I agree to help a co-worker steal and install a shelf for her desk. I am promised a case of kiwifruit as compensation for my trouble.
And so it goes.