Some More Notes

1) The New Secretary at Work

By "new," I mean to say that she's been employed for roughly three months. Unlike the majority of the office, she is young and, it's fair to say, attractive. Unfortunately, I've been completely incapable of starting any kind of communication with her. Though I wouldn't call myself a man naturally disposed to flirtatious proficiency, I'm usually able to establish a jokey rapport with other human females of personality. It is tempting to accuse the new girl of dullardry, but I'm afraid this isn't the case. She seems quite open and nice, and has even laughed at witticisms I've made within aural range. But when it comes to interpersonal banter, I freeze.

I've come up with a number of gambits to break the ice, but have had trouble in the implementation. I don't even need an excuse to speak with her; she works for the floor's other boss, and I deliver mail on this boss' behalf twice daily. Roughly three weeks ago, I decided our silence had gone on long enough, and invented an extreme conversational starter. Here's how the idea went in my head (I use a sobriquet for the girl):

Me, delivering mail: What's up, Melissa.

Her: Hey.

Me: So, you've been here like, what, two months?

Her: About, yeah.

Me, mock-serious, but wearing a smile so my intentions are clear: And we barely even know each other! So here's the deal. Every time I bring mail over, you have tell me something fascinating about yourself. You don't have to think of one now, but this afternoon...be ready. I'm expecting huge things

Her: Haha, okay! You're fun and interesting!

When the time came, I redoubled my resolve and started down the hallway to her desk. Halfway there, I realized this was probably the corniest shit I could ever have thought up. I promptly delivered the mail, nodded curtly, and straight-armed it back to my desk.

Yesterday I came up with a less outrageous idea. I'd earlier asked her to have the boss sign a paper permitting some bureaucratic inanity, and while at lunch, she'd sent an e-mail saying the task was complete, and that she would deliver it herself, but she didn't know where my desk was located. This, of course, was either a lie or an oversight. I sit at the entrance, and in order to come onto the floor, you must pass my desk. I see everything. She's walked by on countless occasions, even waving at times, and must have forgotten in the moment.

What a perfect chance, I thought. I'd simply pick up the sheet, and say "Come on, Melissa, you really don't know where my desk is?" Then I'd chuckle and good-naturedly rib her for overlooking the obvious. She'd laugh and perhaps smack her forehead, and off we'd go. Again, I set off in full commitment, thinking the plan fool-proof. Then, halfway down, the doubts flooded. What if she thought I was upset about having to pick up the form myself, and was chastising her? Even my smile might appear strained, a thin disguise for the prissy anger brewing beneath. Indeed, the tension of initiating conversation would stiffen my grin anyway. She might become resentful, or think of me as lazy and coarse, the sort of man who would rather type angry rants on a themed internet message board than engage in meaningful human interaction.

I promptly picked up the form, gave a curt thank you, and retreated to the familiar confines of my desk.


2) A Child on the Subway

There was a small toddler in a stroller on the subway to work today. She had big brown eyes and stared at me in what seemed like prolonged amazement. I did a one-eye wink at her, then tried to elicit smile by doing a variety of exaggerated facial expressions, like the guy in that one Godard movie (Breathless, I think). Her eyes grew wider, and then I remembered being a little kid, and how out of proportion and terrifying and exciting adults seemed. I even have some snapshot recollections from when I was very young. One in particular stands out- I'm in the front seat of a car, going somewhere with my new stepfather. I'm probably about three years old, and my stepfather is new to me. He comes in the driver's side, sits down, and turns. Up to this point I'm just extrapolating details, because all I remember is the memory picture that came next. He faced me, darkened by a perpetual five o'clock shadow and a pair of sunglasses, and obscured further by a downturned, woolen poorboy cap. A pipe sagged form his lips, unlit. He smiled, and for some reason, probably being alone with a new person who looked so intimidating, I cried in fear and wouldn't be placated. I think he eventually had to get my mother. The image has stuck with me forever, despite the fact that, typical bumps aside, we've mostly gotten on well.

The little girl just seemed curious, though, not terrified, so I let her be and turned my focus to certain people, encompassing maybe 30% of subway traffic, who express with tiny sighs, darting glances, and gritted teeth that life is one long series of small burdens. I shouldn't judge them, not knowing their circumstances, but juxtaposing an intent child with their kind is perhaps instructive. There are pitfalls we should avoid.


3) A Sign I Posted

Last week, some woolgathering soul left a scarf in the reception area. A more heedful sort, finding the accessory, brought it to my attention. Today, after no claims, I decided to be proactive and compose a sign. I placed it by the front door, in clear view of the floor's lone exit. For your perusal:

!!!!

IF YOU LOST A SCARF,
PLEASE SEE SHANE*


IT IS BLACK AND SPORTS FRILLS AT EITHER END



*ask about the scarf

4) A Song I Composed

I was improvising lyrics to the verses of "Father and Son," by Cat Stevens, and was particularly happy with the results. Please note this is not bragging. I improvise lyrics to various tunes continually- perhaps as much as 6 hours aggregate on a typical weekday. Rarely is the result worthy of second mention, and it usually devolves into arrhythmic vulgarity. I am an altogether poor freestylist, having grown up in the country where the practice is widely scorned. This time, though, the last verse made me laugh out loud. Again, for your perusal, and a disclaimer: if you don't know the tune, it will be even lamer.

Here I am,
four feet high
waiting for my confirmation
all these souls
down the aisle
Holy water

oh the nails
on His hands
just like needles they have threaded
through the dark
through the night
bringing floods across the land

If I had
such a thread
and a thimble I could sew, Lord
I could stitch,
I could weave
just like Bea Arthur

She was brave
she was cold
when she aged she built a castle
and that old
frowning gal
could sling a needle like a God

The best part is, it's true. Bea Aruther could out-sew pretty much anyone on the planet, and woe to the man who doubts it

The end of this blog entry was all about how funny I am. I apologize for the complete lack of subtlety. From here out, my self-aggrandizement won't be so overt. But remember- in the pursuit of imaginative capers, lonely souls in offices have only themselves. We enlist time and circumstance to evolve and distort a single personality, and so if I credit myself, I am in some sense crediting a different being altogether.

Now, like JD Salinger, I must drink my own urine for vitality.