Today was the kind of day where you roll down your car window and spit your gum out into the wind, only to have it ricochet and hit you in the face. If you’re a cynical, miserable, non-pill-dependent individual, you might be irritated by this, but if you’re me, it just seems funny. Monday morning at my job is like that. On a scale of one to three thousand, where three thousand is your dream job, and one is staring at a taupe wall all day, my job is roughly in the neighborhood of a zero. However, it is so menial, so trivial, so dull that it is actually funny and enjoyable. I never have to worry about a surprise meeting, an unexpected deadline, or an annoying phone call: all I have to do is my one, single, solitary task. It’s great.
You might think I’m being sarcastic. However, there are a number of factors that contribute to my love of my job, including an endless supply of Laffy Taffy and hot chocolate, a general lack of supervision, and a fabulous bunch of coworkers. One man referred to himself today as “a lawsuit waiting to happen”, while another worked into conversation that his wife “is great at embalming, so she would handle that end of the business.” When I add Caitlin into the mix, the laughs (and constant humiliations) just keep coming.