I just found this on the always-fascinating N: Drive:
Office Workers in the Wild
It reminded me of … things.
I talked to lawyers today. They think I am idiot, and of course I agree under this and/or any circumstance, but I was satisfied to find that my concerns were at the very least considered legitimate.
I remember the lawyers with whom I used to interact. Crabby, prickly, one was bafflingly beautiful, mostly (hah, almost said “moistly”) on account of her overheated brain. We worked at the same shapely office building but it was when she approached me at the Canyon Road restaurant on the Upper East Side, interrupting dinner with a friend, that my 20-something brainclot swirled with fantasies of long-awaited legitimacy among women I found beautiful.
Alas, legitimacy was evasive, and fleeting (almost said “fellating”, Freud). I am not certain I ever saw that woman again, but she talked me up up up in the glass tower, advising certain untouchables of presidential title to send me off to executive school (somewhere in Boston?).
When I caught word of the Executive School mumblejumble I bought an Ascot-Chang shirt at the like-named store located downstairs. I never wore it. That shirt hangs in my closet, never-worn, a monument to my life unspent at an office, rising ambiguously through the ranks of corporata, failing upward in an artificial orgosystem.
The above picture, of people I know not, from the 1950s, of a man taking pictures of women’s feet somewhere on a rock in the United States of America, returned my mind to corporate. This is a corporate vacation. Corporate vacating. Let us VACATE. Let us pay a week’s hard-earned wages for guided tours and raftboats, inner tubes. Let us spy on domestic antelope and rhinocerii through our binoculars.
I was walking over the 59th Street Bridge today when I spotted a kitten, lingering in an open area north of the pedestrian walkway. A Serta pillow, filthy, has sat in that space for months. I stopped to look at the kitten as the memory, surfacing for an instant, of a friend who saves alley cats played in my head. As I stopped to get a closer look at the kitten a voice rose up from the roaring din of vehicles heading into Manhattan. The voice, stupid, shouted “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN’ DOWN THERE? STOP IT!” I turned to see a drunk man, his head lurching from the passenger-side window of a van, blasting obscenities and bile at anyone inferiorly underneath him, which at that moment happened to include me and a kitten.
The kitten dashed away.
3 Comments
yeah, well, you’ve got a good un here. Noire about the moistly retiring nonvacating vacillating multivibrating woman lawyer conondrum. Did I hear that your retired from the working world? and spend your time just finding pianos at the curb? postulating theorectical pustules of knowledge… or am I wrong in this assumption?
i got kicked out of corporate in ‘02, and mostly assumed i would re-visit that realm, but i never did. out of habit i interviewed for jobs at corporate entities, but any time i entered any of those ghastly glass towers i felt out of place. i would take a job again if i needed it. i have no philosophical objections to working for someone else, just so long as i need the money. otherwise, this is america, and money is everywhere. it is like krill to the whale. while i‘ve been typing this $1,000 just drove by, if only i thought to grab it. oh yeah. i am sitting at a bar, buzzed, thinking that a picture of the two pairs of flip-flopped feet under the table of the 2 women across the room having dinner together would make a nice composition. no camera, though.
Guy are into foot fetish! No questions!
Post a Comment