I forgot about my shitty blog that I pay no attention to. Today I've made some updates. Follow the link below to my essay entitled "We Can't All Be Gods" at The Montreal Review:
http://www.themontrealreview.com/fiction-and-poetry.php
Monday, October 24, 2011
Confesions of an Office Boy: Episode 2 of 5
For a few years in my "mid to late twenties" I worked at a Legal Services company. Frequently, I emailed little quips and blurbs about my job to my mother. She kept them all. Many years after when I decided to start writing I put a bunch of them together in the hopes of making a story. I cleaned them up, adding bits here and there, but I could never quite make them into anything I felt "publishable." The writing style and tone were fine at the time, but changing them to any sort of "literary standard" drastically lost the sincerity in which they were written. So, I gave up on them... until now!!! I hate that I just did that, said "until now" prefaced by an ellipsis. Anyway, I'm going to "release" what I had put together on Facebook and on my shitty blog that I pay no attention to. This is "Episode 2 of 5" of Confessions of an Office Boy.
Confession of an Office Boy 2 of 5
Email #7:
When I’m bored I look at the recycling bin under my desk. Someone empties it every night because it’s always bare in the morning. Yesterday, before I left work, on a blank piece of paper I wrote, “Hi there” in big black marker and placed it on top of the pile of used paper. The cleaner must have seen it and I’m left to wonder if this may have made an impact on his or her life: a smile, a chuckle, confusion, anger at a perceived demeaning act? Today I’ve left a new note that says, “BOO.”
Email #8:
Previously, I wrote that I was leaving messages in my recycling box for the office cleaner. It all came to an end a few minutes ago as I was heading to the toilet. There was a woman in the hall bagging garbage. She stopped what she was doing when she noticed me coming. She said, “Your ponies have lost their food.”
The fact that Windsor and Palmeras had lost their food- precisely cut yellow work-order forms made to resemble hay- was only discovered about an hour ago. I put two-and-two together and deduced that she was the office cleaner. This completely ruined all the preconceptions I’d developed about this person: she wasn't young, or an immigrant, or an old man with a hunched back. She was like anyone else in my office. In fact, she is friends with half the office staff and is in here frequently. She often goes for lunch with Bella, my boss. I see this person at least ten times a day. Her name is Flo.
Anyway, I'm off to make more hay.
Email #9:
Bella is my favourite person in the office. Most people don’t say that about their boss. She’s about sixty-four, about to retire. You can see it in her eyes, how she just doesn’t care, is going through the motions. She just pulled me into the office- a client complained about the hole in my jeans. She closed the door, poured us some tea, and offered me a Girl Guide cookie. We talked about Austria for a bit- where she’s from- and our plans for the weekend- she’s going para-sailing with her son. In regards to the jeans she told me not worry, the client that complained owes the company for three months of services. I gave her a high-five when I left.
Email #10:
On a sad note, I think I may have to put my stapler down. It’s a Swingtime Optima, silver in colour, ergonomically designed to maximize handheld performance- the warranty has expired. I’ve had it since the beginning, passed down from Darren like an heirloom. But it can't get its teeth into more than three sheets of paper these days and in this business that isn't acceptable. I thought of a stapler retirement home where they do small things, like stapling phone bills or letters to Grandmothers, but after the big time it just wouldn't be fair. I made an appointment at three with the Products Manager.
Email #11:
There is a woman who comes and collects our opened envelopes so she can steam off the stamps. She’s eighty. Sometimes she finds things in the envelopes. Today she found a cheque for $12.84 and phoned to tell us about it. Bella bought her flowers and I had to drive to her place with the flowers and a new bag of envelopes. It was a quaint house, quite possibly within my budget if I work at Dyke and Howard for the next fifty years.
I rang the doorbell and Hazel came to the door. She had gray teeth, moved with a walker, and seemed barely surprised to see me. I could have handed her a grenade and got the same response. She wore an apron and looked like she’d been baking. I guess that’s what old women do when they take breaks from steaming envelopes. I was expecting tears or an invitation for tea, which I would have had to deny because I was working. But, no, Hazel just gave me the cheque for $12.84 and explained how sometimes the cheques get “stuck to the sticky.” I assumed that meant the licking part of an envelope. I accepted the cheque and gave her the bag of new envelopes and the flowers. She shuffled away and closed the door. I walked to the car, drove to the courthouse, and filed a Statement of Claim for a case involving a botched taxidermied halibut and the pain and suffering incurred from said botched taxidermied halibut.
Email #12:
I was in the court line up waiting for the Registrar's attention when I heard a woman talking. She said she was from Deep Cove, and then some guy said, “Deep Cove is nice,” and then the woman said she lives at the bottom of Madrona Road, and then I said, “I grew up around the corner on Cromar Road.” The woman said that’s really close to her, and then the other guy asked me if I know Greg and Elaine Cooper, and I said, “Yes, they were my neighbours,” and all the people in the line, and a few at the counter, said things like, “small world,” and “that’s neat,” and “such a great little neighbourhood,” and then it got silent and I filed someone's divorce.
"Stay tuned for Episode 3" coming next Thursday!
William Farrant
Confession of an Office Boy 2 of 5
Email #7:
When I’m bored I look at the recycling bin under my desk. Someone empties it every night because it’s always bare in the morning. Yesterday, before I left work, on a blank piece of paper I wrote, “Hi there” in big black marker and placed it on top of the pile of used paper. The cleaner must have seen it and I’m left to wonder if this may have made an impact on his or her life: a smile, a chuckle, confusion, anger at a perceived demeaning act? Today I’ve left a new note that says, “BOO.”
Email #8:
Previously, I wrote that I was leaving messages in my recycling box for the office cleaner. It all came to an end a few minutes ago as I was heading to the toilet. There was a woman in the hall bagging garbage. She stopped what she was doing when she noticed me coming. She said, “Your ponies have lost their food.”
The fact that Windsor and Palmeras had lost their food- precisely cut yellow work-order forms made to resemble hay- was only discovered about an hour ago. I put two-and-two together and deduced that she was the office cleaner. This completely ruined all the preconceptions I’d developed about this person: she wasn't young, or an immigrant, or an old man with a hunched back. She was like anyone else in my office. In fact, she is friends with half the office staff and is in here frequently. She often goes for lunch with Bella, my boss. I see this person at least ten times a day. Her name is Flo.
Anyway, I'm off to make more hay.
Email #9:
Bella is my favourite person in the office. Most people don’t say that about their boss. She’s about sixty-four, about to retire. You can see it in her eyes, how she just doesn’t care, is going through the motions. She just pulled me into the office- a client complained about the hole in my jeans. She closed the door, poured us some tea, and offered me a Girl Guide cookie. We talked about Austria for a bit- where she’s from- and our plans for the weekend- she’s going para-sailing with her son. In regards to the jeans she told me not worry, the client that complained owes the company for three months of services. I gave her a high-five when I left.
Email #10:
On a sad note, I think I may have to put my stapler down. It’s a Swingtime Optima, silver in colour, ergonomically designed to maximize handheld performance- the warranty has expired. I’ve had it since the beginning, passed down from Darren like an heirloom. But it can't get its teeth into more than three sheets of paper these days and in this business that isn't acceptable. I thought of a stapler retirement home where they do small things, like stapling phone bills or letters to Grandmothers, but after the big time it just wouldn't be fair. I made an appointment at three with the Products Manager.
Email #11:
There is a woman who comes and collects our opened envelopes so she can steam off the stamps. She’s eighty. Sometimes she finds things in the envelopes. Today she found a cheque for $12.84 and phoned to tell us about it. Bella bought her flowers and I had to drive to her place with the flowers and a new bag of envelopes. It was a quaint house, quite possibly within my budget if I work at Dyke and Howard for the next fifty years.
I rang the doorbell and Hazel came to the door. She had gray teeth, moved with a walker, and seemed barely surprised to see me. I could have handed her a grenade and got the same response. She wore an apron and looked like she’d been baking. I guess that’s what old women do when they take breaks from steaming envelopes. I was expecting tears or an invitation for tea, which I would have had to deny because I was working. But, no, Hazel just gave me the cheque for $12.84 and explained how sometimes the cheques get “stuck to the sticky.” I assumed that meant the licking part of an envelope. I accepted the cheque and gave her the bag of new envelopes and the flowers. She shuffled away and closed the door. I walked to the car, drove to the courthouse, and filed a Statement of Claim for a case involving a botched taxidermied halibut and the pain and suffering incurred from said botched taxidermied halibut.
Email #12:
I was in the court line up waiting for the Registrar's attention when I heard a woman talking. She said she was from Deep Cove, and then some guy said, “Deep Cove is nice,” and then the woman said she lives at the bottom of Madrona Road, and then I said, “I grew up around the corner on Cromar Road.” The woman said that’s really close to her, and then the other guy asked me if I know Greg and Elaine Cooper, and I said, “Yes, they were my neighbours,” and all the people in the line, and a few at the counter, said things like, “small world,” and “that’s neat,” and “such a great little neighbourhood,” and then it got silent and I filed someone's divorce.
"Stay tuned for Episode 3" coming next Thursday!
William Farrant
Confession of an Office Boy: Episode 1 of 5
For a few years in my "mid to late twenties" I worked at a Legal Services company. Frequently, I emailed little quips and blurbs about my job to my mother. She kept them all. Many years after when I decided to start writing I put a bunch of them together in the hopes of making a story. I cleaned them up, adding bits here and there, but I could never quite make them into anything I felt "publishable." The writing style and tone were fine at the time, but changing them to any sort of "literary standard" drastically lost the sincerity in which they were written. So, I gave up on them... until now!!! I hate that I just did that, said "until now" prefaced by an ellipsis. Anyway, I'm going to "release" what I had put together on Facebook and on my shitty blog that I pay no attention to. This is "Episode 1 of 5" of Confessions of an Office Boy. Yes, Charlotte, I'm aware of the "over-use" of "quotes" in this "intro."
Confession of an Office Boy 1 of 5
"Homemade Intro"
I work at a legal supply company called Dyke and Howard. We provide search and registration services, register companies, file legal documents, serve people, process land titles, and do a million other things I have no idea about. I’m poorly paid and could probably make more as the manager of a McDonald’s. Contrary to my expectations, there are few redeeming qualities about my work here. At twenty-seven, the only positive benefit I take from my job is that I can manipulate the level or lack of prestige it has to suit social circumstances.
When I am with a younger crowd I say I have a desk job and do menial tasks, like answering phones and making photocopies. This ironic honesty demonstrates that I am still young and hip, my lethargic enthusiasm indicating I haven't “given in to the man.” I can leave a house party with the allure of social cool.
When I’m with an older crowd- people my parent’s age- I’m more creative: I am an agent for massive law conglomerates, I handle confidential documents, I trade secrets, “I see what I can do.” I recommend things to people, give advice on legal matters- advice that is usually found with a few clicks of a mouse, but nobody needs to know that. I cross my legs when sitting and take time to think about their questions. I say, “Yeah, uh huh, really?” I also drink wine. This gives the illusion of upward mobility and measured grace.
Email #1:
It’s my first day at Dyke and Howard. Darren is training me for two weeks so I get to follow him around like a puppy. Everybody loves Darren. He’s the office darling. The women lust after him; the other two men in the office ignore him, for good reason: they just couldn’t compete.
Darren is telling me things I don’t understand. I just watch what he does. Maybe if I move my arms in the same way he does it’ll look like I’m doing the job. I try opening drawers, shuffling paper. Seems to be working so far.
Darren passed out invitations to his going away party. It’s at a large restaurant a few blocks from here. The event is called “Darren’s Freedom 35 Retirement Party.” He’s retiring at the age of thirty-five. His wife went through law school and she’s a lawyer now. So, he’s done. He’s packing it in. In his spare time he’s going to help the blind buy groceries.
I have two weeks to become Darren. I have big shoes to fill.
Email #2:
It’s my first day without Darren. I have eaten a bowl of popcorn and it’s ten-thirty in the morning- the office has several boxes of popcorn in the break room. We need to eat it because we have a rodent problem. Professional exterminators have told us that mice like popcorn, and having it around is like advertising that we have “vacancy.” It would seem to me that sealed bags in a kitchen cupboard would be safe from mice and increasing our popcorn intake would only increase the chances of it falling on the floor, and, therefore, being consumed by mice. Or maybe this is a good business move on the part of the extermination company?
It’s a slow day. And I have volunteered to stuff envelopes. I have become quite good at this, a rising star. I squeeze all the excitement I can out of aligning the address of a letter with the clear window of an envelope. I feel I may have become arrogant. I get frustrated when others try to fold envelopes; they just don't have the speed and finesse I do. I say, “I’ll fold those. Your back must be killing you? Why don’t you answer phones for a while?”
The Corporate Department's documents are the most rewarding to fold. They either say, “You didn't do this right,” “You can't do this the way you have done it,” or “Sorry, you are overdue.” The real gold, however, are the names of the companies. Canadian Clog Comfort Society and Bong Water Flavours Limited are just a few. But the company with the best name is the law firm of Noble Young Virgin. They specialize in sexual assault cases.
Email #3:
I just ran into the Armenian hat-wearing lawyer at the courthouse. He takes the cases no one else will. He asked me to pay the fee for a Writ of Summons- he is currently representing a woman who has no idea she’s involved in a lawsuit. Then I saw a face of withered excitement. It was television reporter Jim Pemberton with his camera crew. He wanted an interview with the Armenian lawyer. The lawyer acted smooth. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “As a child I used to throw rocks at bees' nests.” I smiled back and told him bees’ sting.
Email #4:
I had an A&W burger at the Bay Centre food court for lunch today. Afterwards, on the way down the escalator, I saw that the other escalator was turned off and surrounded at both ends by Mall Security; two guys, with name tags that said Ken and Darryl. A crowd had gathered watching them direct mall traffic. Some guy who couldn't see past the crowd asked me if I knew what was going on. I told him a child was stuck and they couldn't get the escalator to stop.
Email #5
The office is getting primed for the big Dyke & Howard Christmas party in Vancouver. All four of the offices go: Vancouver, New Westminster, Coquitlam, and Victoria. Everyone keeps telling me about previous parties- who was the drunkest, who is overweight, annoying, etc… We get our own free room at the Motel Six. It’s paid for with our Rec Club Membership. Apparently, two hundred people go to the party. I can’t wait to meet all the people I talk to on the phone everyday from the other offices. It’ll be like meeting celebrities. I hope I don’t get flustered, run out of things to say. I wonder if Ashley in the New Westminster shipping department is a babe? I’m starting to get excited. Really, I am.
Email #6:
For my birthday I received a toy pony from Carmen. I named him Windsor. Today was the office Secret Santa gift exchange. I got a My Little Pony, which I promptly named Palmeras. Windsor and Palmeras were quickly wed in a quiet civil ceremony at the photocopier. They are now Windsor and Palmeras Eton. Lindsay suggested that Palmaras might have wanted to keep her own name. I disagreed. I told Lindsay that Palmeras’ maiden name was Mare-in-Taiwan and that she was more than happy with the new name. The newlyweds are glowing.
"Stay tuned for Episode 2" coming next Thursday!
William Farrant
Confession of an Office Boy 1 of 5
"Homemade Intro"
I work at a legal supply company called Dyke and Howard. We provide search and registration services, register companies, file legal documents, serve people, process land titles, and do a million other things I have no idea about. I’m poorly paid and could probably make more as the manager of a McDonald’s. Contrary to my expectations, there are few redeeming qualities about my work here. At twenty-seven, the only positive benefit I take from my job is that I can manipulate the level or lack of prestige it has to suit social circumstances.
When I am with a younger crowd I say I have a desk job and do menial tasks, like answering phones and making photocopies. This ironic honesty demonstrates that I am still young and hip, my lethargic enthusiasm indicating I haven't “given in to the man.” I can leave a house party with the allure of social cool.
When I’m with an older crowd- people my parent’s age- I’m more creative: I am an agent for massive law conglomerates, I handle confidential documents, I trade secrets, “I see what I can do.” I recommend things to people, give advice on legal matters- advice that is usually found with a few clicks of a mouse, but nobody needs to know that. I cross my legs when sitting and take time to think about their questions. I say, “Yeah, uh huh, really?” I also drink wine. This gives the illusion of upward mobility and measured grace.
Email #1:
It’s my first day at Dyke and Howard. Darren is training me for two weeks so I get to follow him around like a puppy. Everybody loves Darren. He’s the office darling. The women lust after him; the other two men in the office ignore him, for good reason: they just couldn’t compete.
Darren is telling me things I don’t understand. I just watch what he does. Maybe if I move my arms in the same way he does it’ll look like I’m doing the job. I try opening drawers, shuffling paper. Seems to be working so far.
Darren passed out invitations to his going away party. It’s at a large restaurant a few blocks from here. The event is called “Darren’s Freedom 35 Retirement Party.” He’s retiring at the age of thirty-five. His wife went through law school and she’s a lawyer now. So, he’s done. He’s packing it in. In his spare time he’s going to help the blind buy groceries.
I have two weeks to become Darren. I have big shoes to fill.
Email #2:
It’s my first day without Darren. I have eaten a bowl of popcorn and it’s ten-thirty in the morning- the office has several boxes of popcorn in the break room. We need to eat it because we have a rodent problem. Professional exterminators have told us that mice like popcorn, and having it around is like advertising that we have “vacancy.” It would seem to me that sealed bags in a kitchen cupboard would be safe from mice and increasing our popcorn intake would only increase the chances of it falling on the floor, and, therefore, being consumed by mice. Or maybe this is a good business move on the part of the extermination company?
It’s a slow day. And I have volunteered to stuff envelopes. I have become quite good at this, a rising star. I squeeze all the excitement I can out of aligning the address of a letter with the clear window of an envelope. I feel I may have become arrogant. I get frustrated when others try to fold envelopes; they just don't have the speed and finesse I do. I say, “I’ll fold those. Your back must be killing you? Why don’t you answer phones for a while?”
The Corporate Department's documents are the most rewarding to fold. They either say, “You didn't do this right,” “You can't do this the way you have done it,” or “Sorry, you are overdue.” The real gold, however, are the names of the companies. Canadian Clog Comfort Society and Bong Water Flavours Limited are just a few. But the company with the best name is the law firm of Noble Young Virgin. They specialize in sexual assault cases.
Email #3:
I just ran into the Armenian hat-wearing lawyer at the courthouse. He takes the cases no one else will. He asked me to pay the fee for a Writ of Summons- he is currently representing a woman who has no idea she’s involved in a lawsuit. Then I saw a face of withered excitement. It was television reporter Jim Pemberton with his camera crew. He wanted an interview with the Armenian lawyer. The lawyer acted smooth. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “As a child I used to throw rocks at bees' nests.” I smiled back and told him bees’ sting.
Email #4:
I had an A&W burger at the Bay Centre food court for lunch today. Afterwards, on the way down the escalator, I saw that the other escalator was turned off and surrounded at both ends by Mall Security; two guys, with name tags that said Ken and Darryl. A crowd had gathered watching them direct mall traffic. Some guy who couldn't see past the crowd asked me if I knew what was going on. I told him a child was stuck and they couldn't get the escalator to stop.
Email #5
The office is getting primed for the big Dyke & Howard Christmas party in Vancouver. All four of the offices go: Vancouver, New Westminster, Coquitlam, and Victoria. Everyone keeps telling me about previous parties- who was the drunkest, who is overweight, annoying, etc… We get our own free room at the Motel Six. It’s paid for with our Rec Club Membership. Apparently, two hundred people go to the party. I can’t wait to meet all the people I talk to on the phone everyday from the other offices. It’ll be like meeting celebrities. I hope I don’t get flustered, run out of things to say. I wonder if Ashley in the New Westminster shipping department is a babe? I’m starting to get excited. Really, I am.
Email #6:
For my birthday I received a toy pony from Carmen. I named him Windsor. Today was the office Secret Santa gift exchange. I got a My Little Pony, which I promptly named Palmeras. Windsor and Palmeras were quickly wed in a quiet civil ceremony at the photocopier. They are now Windsor and Palmeras Eton. Lindsay suggested that Palmaras might have wanted to keep her own name. I disagreed. I told Lindsay that Palmeras’ maiden name was Mare-in-Taiwan and that she was more than happy with the new name. The newlyweds are glowing.
"Stay tuned for Episode 2" coming next Thursday!
William Farrant
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