And...you're done

Today was my last day in the office. I didn't realize it at the time, but it turns out that I don't have anything else to do, so I'm not going in on Friday.

I thought they were having a going-away party for me today, which I was not looking forward to, as I didn't particularly want to make a big deal of my leaving, especially since I'll still be working in the building this summer. When I checked my email again today, I realized that the party was actually scheduled for tomorrow, when I have class and when I pointed this out, they decided to give me my parting gift today.

This involved the entire office staff (or the people that were there this afternoon, anyway) standing around my desk and staring at me. In silence. We briefly discussed my summer plans, but the whole exchange lasted less than 3 minutes in uncomfortable silence.

I'm curious to see how the party would have turned out.

Inside the cube

Once again, I have found myself spending my time inside a cube, though unlike my summer internship, there were no rules about personal items inside it. This did not, however, make the office any friendlier, which I think is due to the fact that I worked in a research office, where people don't exactly practice their social skills.

They read. A lot. Often with the doors closed. Occasionally, some of them meditate, but I only know that's happening because I hear a gong going off. A GONG. I couldn't make this up if I tried. The most social interaction that occurs during the week is the staff meeting.

I have found that when I return from my people-deprived cubicle in the evening, I spend it talking because I am so starved for human interaction. Or, I spend the better part of the day talking to myself and draining the batteries on my iPod. When the batteries die, it's time to go home.

I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

I apologize for not updating as often I as I should.

When I get home, I find myself watching my new favorite show (The Real Housewives of NY) or until recently reading Twilight (I swore I wasn't going to jump on the bandwagon, but I did).

But now, the internship is over, I am finished with Twilight and I have lots to catch my loyal readers (all 5 of you) up on.

On Living in a Zoo

When I moved in with my 10 roommates, I thought that life would be super-easy, considering that I spent the last 3 years in a sorority house with 30 girls. Wrong-o.

This morning I woke up to find dirty dishes stacked on the floor next to the sink. Why, you ask? Was the sink also full? No. Was the dishwasher filled with dishes? No.
I can only assume that someone wanted to use the sink to wash or prepare some sort of food, but what I cannot figure out it why after using the sink, this idiot wouldn't pick the dishes up off the floor?

I think someone needs a little home training. And until I install a hidden camera in the kitchen, I'm not going to be able to educate them.

A simple "No" would have been nice

I apologize for the long delay in my posts. It turns out when I sit in a cubicle in front of a computer all day, I don't have any desire to sit in front of my computer. But anyway, I feel a few stories are long overdue.

A few weeks ago, we conducted visitor surveys at one of the museums. This mainly required me to walk up to museum visitors and tell them (I didn't ask because they didn't need an option to say no) to take my brief survey before they started their museum visit. Because it was a survey, I certainly couldn't force them to take it, but I was supposed to be a good salesgirl and stand there and convince them.

My first survey out of the gate was the most awful experience, and after that I was assigned to hold the counter and count visitors. Our point person sent me to talk to a pimple-faced sixteen year-old, who apparently had a mother who failed to teach him any manners. He was the perfect candidate for a little "home training." I politely walked up to him and handed him my survey. At that point, if he really didn't want to take the survey, the polite answer would have been, "No, thank you."

At that point, I would have asked him for his zip code, collected a little demographic information and walked away. What he chose to do was repeat "No, thank you" over and over again, while staring at his feet and avoiding eye contact. He was not developmentally delayed, he was not visiting with a special needs class. He was just a sorry little punk, who is lucky that my boss was there because he really deserved a nice whack with my clipboard or a very strongly worded talking to.

I feel sorry for his mother.

On Fevers and Flatulation

There's only one housemate that really drives me crazy on a regular basis. He's one of those creatures who doesn't really take social cues very well, and it just means that he and I butt heads. I don't think he intentionally tries to be an ass, but he clearly has no idea how to behave otherwise.

For example, I went to a concert a few weeks ago and on my way out the door he says, "Where are you going?" To which I replied, to the 9:30 Club to see The Fray. And he replies, "Oh, well have fun. I only listen to good music."

Excuse me? When I asked him what qualified as good music, he said that he had no idea, so I told him the next time he was going to say something so blatantly insulting, he should at least justify it. If you're going to tell me you only listen to good music, you would do well to tell me what that is.

So anyway, I was power-walking around Capitol Hill the other day (after my giant cup of coffee) and I ran into Big A on his way home from work. I asked him pleasantly (as pleasantly as possible, and I was talking super-fast) how his day was, which is when he told me that the night before he'd had a headache and felt rather gassy.

I felt bad for his roommate. And despite my abundance of energy and my overwhelming desire to hear myself talk, I was speechless. What on earth? Why would he advertise that he was feeling gassy? That sounds like something he'd want to look up on WebMD, and not tell me about.

Uh, excuse me?

I have recently decided to stop riding the Metro everyday. It turns out, it takes me about the same amount of time to walk to the office as it does to hop on the Metro, change trains and get to the office. And walking gives me the added bonus of saving a couple of bucks and walking all of those weekend calories off.


But, that's not really why I did it.

Last week, as I was making my morning change from the Red Line to the Yellow and Green, I hit this woman with my bag (complete accident). I apologized to her profusely, even though she was standing on the right, completely blocking all walking traffic. Her response? "Thanks, bitch."

Excuse me? Charmed. I did not step off the train with the intent to hit her with my bag. Nor did I forget to say excuse me before I hit her (with my back, I didn't body check her) and I apologized. I did try to sidestep her. The platform isn't that big.

So, thanks to this unbelievably rude woman, I am now walking to work. I suppose I should thank her when my pants start to slide off.