As if I needed another reason...

I love when I log on to my Gmail account and my inbox is inundated with emails from my boyfriend. Most of the time they are links to articles that are particularly interesting or pertain to a conversation we recently had (i.e. the article from my previous post). But sometimes they're gems such as this, that make me laugh out loud:

I'd like to talk about my feelings.

My co-worker is a copy machine. In fact, I believe he out ranks me. He is described by some as "The paper making machine thingy", "Damn it", "I can't do this" "What the?" and "Is this the phone?". However, his name tag says Canon. He is quiet, like me, except when someone talks to him, and like me, he gets whacked up side the head now and then. We are the part of the office totem pole that is beneath the bottom. We are underground. 

I feel like the runt of the office, getting knocked around and stepped on almost everyday. I mean this in the most literal sense. Last Thursday, Fran stepped on my big toe as she wiggled past me to bang around with Canon. It was an uncomfortable toe-stepping, one that lasted too long to not be considered extremely awkward. I think it was intentional. Canon agrees. He is a good friend Ashley. 

This morning, Merrill Lee appeared to be trying to jam something up Canon's ass when I thought someone rubbed a prune against my neck. When I realized it was her elbow, I almost stabbed her with my pen. However, this feeling of rage I had was quelled by the sense of satisfaction that for once Canon was getting it worse than me. I mean she was really harassing him. At one point I'm pretty sure Canon printed out a page that said "rape". Then just before, Anne came in and had a few choice words to say to him. I thought to myself, "Have I been promoted?", however a quick turn and a hip check to the back quickly answered that question. 

Every time I hear the printer kick on, I cringe knowing in seconds another old biddie will come stumbling, bumbling into this over sized closet, smelling like butterscotch and mothballs. It's a sinking feeling, that starts with the sound of footsteps and ends with me believing retirement homes are too kind.

Well now I got work to do... share more later. 

Now, he works in the IT department (which is ironic because he hates technology more that I do) at the Grad School and is probably more of a big deal than he leads on (the whole department consists of him and two other people) but his fear of the elderly is entirely real (and is rivaled only by his fear of sharks). I think he perfectly captures that seemingly useless feeling when you're working in a job that is merely a means to an end.