#chassids

Where does the time go? Weeks pass, and nothing happens. I'm not sure how to deal with it. The most entertaining things happen when I'm at work, which isn't saying much, and it's also sad because I'm entertained by the silliness that is perpetuated by that environment and structure:

I don't have much to do the majority of the time that I'm at work: My coworker has taken it upon himself to do all of my work for me, but not in a nice way—he's a very controlling person and has decided to control the entire department (which only consists of the two of us). I've spoken to him about letting me do my job on a number of occasions, and he throws a tantrum, banging things and raising his voice and even sweating. So, I do nothing all day, really. It's terrible, because I spend most of my current life at work, and thus most of my current life is spent playing games. And now my coworker is taking an anti-anxiety or anti-depressant pill because he can't handle all of the stress he's putting on himself. It's sad to see someone do this to himself, especially because he takes much too much of this stuff, so much that it causes him to act like a drunk sleepwalker. He also loses his sense of volume. So, he'll get up from his desk to go to the kitchen—he's in the cubical with me, about six feet away. On his way, he'll walk into the wall, shake it off, like a dog with a depth-perception problem, and then walk into the adjacent kitchen. From my desk, I'll hear muttering. It wasn't until the other day, when he was talking to me about things he thought I should have known, that I realized he'd been talking to me in the kitchen. Then, there were other times when he'd mutter to himself and I heard the intonation signify a question, and I realized he was speaking to me then, too. I'd ask him to repeat himself, and he's shout it at me—not rudely, but like someone who has absolutely no understanding of how he sounds. 

My work is an odd place. But what workplace isn't?? You take a bunch of different characters and put them together, and you have a story. Too bad the office thing has been done to death in television, films, etc. The environment is a great forum for stories, especially an environment like the one I'm in, where it's not specialized. I'm a writer who is a customer service coordinator; the receptionist is actually an actress; one of the sales guys is a biochemist; the accountant is a crossfit athlete. None of us are really there because we love the position; I think we all look at this job as transitory. But even though it's transitory, we're all frustrated. 

In other news, I haven't been doing anything to improve my life, except for going to Ikea and battling the crowds of children, parents, Chassids, and Chassidic parents with Chassidic children to buy silly furniture, such as wardrobes that could double as tents: they consist of a rod to hang clothes from, a metal arm to support the rod, and a shelf. The whole thing is enclosed in a white tent material, replete with a zipper, so that the bears can't get at your jackets or slacks. We have yet to build this thing. I suppose that's what some of this glorious Saturday will be devoted to.