Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkey*, No More
Friday was my last day at work; the sweet, sweet end to my attempt at being responsible and adult-like. Surprisingly, the day flew by, partly because I had to type a four page e-mail to a guy I had spent Thursday afternoon with explaining the process I go through to yield the maps I generated for my job. Apparently, he heard not a word I said to him in the two and a half hours I sat at his side watching him repeatedly start typing on the wrong keyboard in front of him, getting frustrated and listening to my explanations less and less. The culprit was the two computers, two monitors, two mice, and two keyboards he thought he needed on his desk and the longer I sat by him the less sense I could see in doubling up on computing power. I didn't think I did a bad job of explaining the basic parameters of the program I then went on to tell him how he should set up his project, and that's where I think I lost him. Well, no. He was lost at about the time I sat down and opened my mouth, but I didn't realize that until around three o'clock when I knew that, for my sanity, I couldn't spend the whole afternoon holding his hand. I made my excuses and bowed out around 3:30, by 10:30 Friday morning he had written me the e-mail I would spend my last day at work writing.
His e-mail started out stating that he wished he could have the two hours back from the day before, I sincerely wished that too, but when I read it I couldn't help but being irritated by his brazenness. It went on to list 12 questions he wanted answered (actually 11 questions, he typed "2" twice). Eleven questions about everything I covered the previous afternoon except for the last question, which was "Could we get together on Saturday to go over this some more? I can maybe compensate you for your time with some computer programs" (programs he was stealing off the internet). And even though it was my last day at work I didn't write back with my real answer to this question ("Fuck no, I'm not wasting my Saturday with you!") but let him down gently still comforted with the slight thrill I got from driving a state car across town, the air-conditioner on full blast and the college radio station playing loudly, and then leaving the radio's volume up really loud on the college radio station to startle the next driver, a person who most likely favors either sports-talk radio or Jesus-talk radio.
Monday was filled with meeting my now former boss and a few co-workers for a farewell lunch. Afterward I stopped by the office to fax my final time card and then, giddy with freedom, went to the library and hung out with all the other unemployed freaks. I checked out two books, a cooking memoir and a prostitution memoir. The prostitution book kept me busy the rest of Monday night and on into Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday was filled with the same, sleeping in late and then reading the rest of the day, I certainly wasn't squandering my time with packing for my upcoming move. From my experience, cooking and prostitution are pretty time consuming.
Today I had to leave my apartment because my landlord was showing it off. I made the minor effort of washing the dishes piled in the sink to make it look presentable. Otherwise, it's pretty messy and I've chosen not to think too hard about what the prospective renter might think about a person who keeps a utility knife on the edge of the bathroom sink and who lives with a giant yellow humanish sculpture in the corner of the bedroom (I suppose I can see why my landlords have been having a hard time renting my apartment). It was nice to get out. I'm starting to tour Lincoln recording my favorite spots, or memorable spots. Today was UN-L's campus and the downtown Mill, about which I'll post and write later.
*A line from the memoir, Julie and Julia, a line that I have no idea what it means, and a line I couldn't even figure out from the context of the story. Nevertheless, I have taken it on as a metaphor for my newly unemployed, soon to be graduate school lifestyle. No more am I a cubicle-monkey, government-drone, but a freed soul; I'm also trying to cut cheese out of my diet. Again, because of my unexplainable weight gain that can not follow me through relocation, though, as I type this I'm at The Mill drinking a calorie-laden granita (with a shot of toddy).
His e-mail started out stating that he wished he could have the two hours back from the day before, I sincerely wished that too, but when I read it I couldn't help but being irritated by his brazenness. It went on to list 12 questions he wanted answered (actually 11 questions, he typed "2" twice). Eleven questions about everything I covered the previous afternoon except for the last question, which was "Could we get together on Saturday to go over this some more? I can maybe compensate you for your time with some computer programs" (programs he was stealing off the internet). And even though it was my last day at work I didn't write back with my real answer to this question ("Fuck no, I'm not wasting my Saturday with you!") but let him down gently still comforted with the slight thrill I got from driving a state car across town, the air-conditioner on full blast and the college radio station playing loudly, and then leaving the radio's volume up really loud on the college radio station to startle the next driver, a person who most likely favors either sports-talk radio or Jesus-talk radio.
Monday was filled with meeting my now former boss and a few co-workers for a farewell lunch. Afterward I stopped by the office to fax my final time card and then, giddy with freedom, went to the library and hung out with all the other unemployed freaks. I checked out two books, a cooking memoir and a prostitution memoir. The prostitution book kept me busy the rest of Monday night and on into Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday was filled with the same, sleeping in late and then reading the rest of the day, I certainly wasn't squandering my time with packing for my upcoming move. From my experience, cooking and prostitution are pretty time consuming.
Today I had to leave my apartment because my landlord was showing it off. I made the minor effort of washing the dishes piled in the sink to make it look presentable. Otherwise, it's pretty messy and I've chosen not to think too hard about what the prospective renter might think about a person who keeps a utility knife on the edge of the bathroom sink and who lives with a giant yellow humanish sculpture in the corner of the bedroom (I suppose I can see why my landlords have been having a hard time renting my apartment). It was nice to get out. I'm starting to tour Lincoln recording my favorite spots, or memorable spots. Today was UN-L's campus and the downtown Mill, about which I'll post and write later.
*A line from the memoir, Julie and Julia, a line that I have no idea what it means, and a line I couldn't even figure out from the context of the story. Nevertheless, I have taken it on as a metaphor for my newly unemployed, soon to be graduate school lifestyle. No more am I a cubicle-monkey, government-drone, but a freed soul; I'm also trying to cut cheese out of my diet. Again, because of my unexplainable weight gain that can not follow me through relocation, though, as I type this I'm at The Mill drinking a calorie-laden granita (with a shot of toddy).
posted by Ellen at 3:12 PM
4 Comments:
we must get together before you leave.
that is a direct quote from what you wrote to me about one year ago before i left for korea. we're going to amy's house this weekend. perhaps you'd like to join us. did amy email you? she said she might. i hope she did.
cheese-eating surrender monkey sounds suspiciously like something coined by the coiners of Freedom Fries, doesn't it? although from what i know of julie (/julia), i would assume that its use was facetious in this case.
(by the way, all i've read so far of your last 5 or so posts were the title and the footnote, so that probably wouldn't have been what i would have chose to comment on--i just thought that you might like to have some light shed on the mystery of the cheese-eating surrender monkeys i.e. The French.)
Having a lot of experience hanging out at the library with the other unemployed freaks, I'd have to say that the Urbana library totally kicks the Champaign library's ass. Not only does it have more and better books, movies, and CDs, but it lacks aura of final stage leprosy that many of the patrons of the Champaign library have.
Also, at Champaign, there is some strange program called "book rental", which suspiciously requires you to PAY to check out certain books. Sounds like facism.
my, my. luke saves the day.
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