TODAY IS THE WORST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE
I’m an office clerk now ––
trying not to think in pessimist clichés.
Trying not to think I’m a robot.
Trying not to think of the movie Office Space.
Trying not to image that my cubicle
is a jail cell and that my stapler
are my cellmates.
There is an air conditioner in the corner.
“Air conditioning is a luxury,” we’re told.
And maybe that’s true.
No more panting in a warehouse.
No more almost-strokes or swamp crotch.
No more clumps of powder falling down my pant leg.
No more leaving powder footprints
as I sneak away for a quick affair with the water fountain.
Every morning, documents are delivered to my desk
by a guy named Tim with a wart on his forehead.
Tim got yelled at last week for taking a 50-minute shit
on company time. Now he walks
with a slow shuffle and never says hi to anyone.
“Tim should cheer up,” people say.
“Yeah,” I say, and point to the air conditioner.
One of my tasks is to skim the documents on my desk
for insurance-policy numbers
and policy-holder names. I type
this information into Microsoft Excel, then toss
the documents into a “TO-BE SCRAPPED” bin.
I’m making it a point not to daydream
about tossing myself into that bin.
I’m also making it a point not to call Child Services
on my pregnant supervisor. (She is currently rambling
on the other side of the room. She says
she has recently binge-watched all 5 Twilight movies
and is now considering naming her baby Renesmee.
She is completely serious about this….)
I walk to the men’s room
to check Facebook on my phone.