Wednesday

Pilfered From Work:
Bagel Count: 2 and 1/2
Chocolate Count: 0
Bottled Water Count: 2
Plant Count: 1 glazed pot from Bruning Pottery

When people walk into the building for the first time, they usually stare in awe at the ceiling and look in confusion at everything other than the reception desk. After a moment of turning this way and that in a frenzied panic, they eventually notice me watching serenely from the reception desk two feet away. Typically, the confusion vanishes from their faces as they realize that I am the reception desk person who holds all the answers to their greatest needs. They bow down to my humble self in awe and reverence, proffering gifts of chocolate and houseplants to express sincere humility and deepest apologies for having not seen the holy light that is my reception desk when they first entered.

Though sometimes, this is not the case. Sometimes, like today, someone will enter the building and completely ignore my existence. Being a bitter college student who wants a little respect now and then, it pisses me off to no end when that suit clad yuppie whore of a someone can completely ignore me after I repeatedly greet them. How many times do I have to say, "Hello, can I help you?" How loudly do I have to say, "Hello, can I help you?"

Have it your way, suit clad yuppie whore. If you want to ignore me and make me sound like an idiot, then I'll just sit in my comfy chair and stare at my computer screen while you're legs skitter some random direction without actually knowing where they're going. I'll recline back and write about you while I sadistically take glee from the fact that you have no idea where the hell you're going in this massive structure of a Jewish center. I'll snicker as you dash from one room to the next like the Starbucks patronizing cockroach you are as you vainly attempt to find a piece of rotting meat to gnaw on. If you had stopped to ask, then you would have learned that there are no pieces of rotting meat to gnaw on here; only clean and foodless floors.

Tuesday

Pilfered From Work:
Bagel Count: 1
Salmon Count: 5 ounces
Chocolate Count: 5 Snicker's Minis, 1 Twix Mini
Bottled Water Count: 2

This afternoon, a man entered the new building I work in and proceeded to analyze the entrance door hinges and tap the glass panes that make up the entryway foyer. Perplexed, a co-worker and I stared at him from the reception desk. Call me callous, but it's my belief that you don't walk into a building owned and operated by a Jewish organization, ignore their employees, and start tapping on their glass doorways unless you are calculating what type of explosive device you would need to use to make the most of obliterating a 12.5 million dollar facility. He was apparently oblivious to my suspicious ice stares of death as he continued to tap glass and scrutinize door hinges in a psychotic bliss that caused creases on his forehead to twitch in synch with his eyes.

"Can I help you?" I finally asked him.

"No. No. I'm just looking at your glass," he answered.

"I see that..."

"This is the most amazing glass I've ever seen!" he exclaimed suddenly, "Simply amazing!" He spoke with an exclamation of sound for every word, and with each exclamation of sound, his forehead creases, eyebrows and eyelids raised upwards in praise of his heavenly <insert>god of choice</insert> for producing such wonderful panes of glass.

"You have a fetish for glass?" my co-worker asked him.

"Uh... I'm a contractor. I was just admiring your glass. Do you mind if I have a client come over and look at it?" Again, every word he spoke was an exclamation, even his hesitations or pauses of sound. I began to wonder if I could take him to court for mental trauma; surely it wasn't legal to subject someone to such enthusiasm regarding glass.

"No, not really- as long as your client lets us know who they are before they start tapping on our door hinges," I told him. I was serious, though perhaps he thought I was joking.

With that, the man blissfully leaped out of our main entryway, no doubt to skip and frolic through our landscaping off into the brilliant summer sun.

Two Hours Later...

I can always hear when someone has entered the building before they realize that they have actually entered the building. This is thanks to the foreboding front entry doors that crash shut immediately behind any person while they are navigating through the massive foyer. Once through the soul-sucking neon lighted perils of the foyer, they find themselves hit by a blinding natural light from our humidity controlled skylight. At this very moment they stand stunned in the headlights of overwhelming panic as they realize they have entered an enormous white building of Jewishness. Once their eyes become accustomed to the unusual brilliance of our building, the subjects then enter a state of terror where they turn this way and that way, flapping their hands and lips in frenzied and indecipherable signals. Perhaps it is the wide open space that was designed so one can see every point of activity upon entry, or perhaps it is merely the overwhelming size of the building, but whatever the case, it usually takes an excruciating moment of this intense panic before anyone realizes that there is a reception desk two feet away from them that has been outfitted with a caustic and jaded college student for their convenience.

You can imagine my suspicion when I heard the slam of the foreboding doors and looked up to find a woman had not only managed to navigate through the massive foyer but had also darted by the reception area without being stunned by the brilliance of the humidity controlled skylights in the split second it took to turn my caustic and jaded head away from the computer.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" I called after her. She didn't even glance towards my general direction as she ran off towards the dank recesses of our 5.1 million dollar concrete dinning facility. "Excuse me!" I called after her in growing alarm, my voice echoing upwards to the second story.

I jumped up and chased her echoing footsteps, only to find her standing in the darkness of the dinning room tapping at the glass windows. "Would you like a tour?" I asked her with my cheerfully caustic and jaded voice.

"No. I'm just looking at the glass."

"I see that..." I trailed off, realizing she was the client who was supposed to tell me who she was before she began tapping on our glass and examining our door hinges.

"My last name is Rosen, so you don't have to worry about me bombing the place," she said immediately, which did very little to ease my fears. "My contractor called me and told me to look at your windows. He said you had wonderful windows. Building a house is a hard thing. You have to look at so many windows. Not many places have special windows like this."

"Well, I can give you a tour if you�d like," I suggested again.

She stared blankly. "No. That won't be necessary. I'm here to see the windows. Just the windows." She paused for a moment, and then added, "My last name is Rosen, so I'm Jewish. Can't blame you for being suspicious, but I'm here to see just the windows."

"Sorry about that, but we get a lot of freaks around here," I said as I walked back to the reception area. "If you have any questions about the glass or our contractors, I'd be willing to answer them for you."

She trailed behind me and stopped near the door, staring at me intensely as I sat down at my desk. "Actually, do you know where you got that?" she asked suddenly pointing her finger in the direction of our three old fashioned glass candy jars.

"The candy jars?"

"Yes. That has to be the most beautiful glass I've ever seen."

I squinted at the jars. From my perspective, the glass was distorted and misshapen with thick uneven seams protruding like a spine from the backs. "I'm not sure. I think they're just cheap jars we got at a cooking or restaurant supply store a long time ago."

"Do you mind if I take a picture?" she asked, pulling a disposable camera out of a lump-filled tan purse. I shrugged my consent. "This is wonderful! You find the most amazing things in the strangest places!"

"That you do," I agreed, looking at her suspiciously from the corner of my eye.

Take Your Readers to Work Week

How do you follow an inspiring month in Rome? I've been at a loss for words lately- everything I write seems trivial after my intensive writing courses abroad. I guess it's because I've lived near/in Seattle my entire life. Perhaps I'm so used to the people and the city that inspiration doesn't fly into my face.

I always carry a notebook (or two) with me for writing and jotting down notes while on the bus, but I've found myself simply examining the grains of a blank page for the duration of my bus rides to and from work. When I come home, I throw my bag and notebook down on the couch, stare for a moment at the notebook outlined by the deep green fabric of my futon, and have a sudden desire to rip my hair out in frustration. In an attempt to be melodramatic, I've even gone so far as to actually attempt ripping my hair out in frustration, but I always immediately stop as I've found it hurts too much.

So, in an effort to combat my stagnant writing skills, I am going to regale my few loyal readers with tales from work this week. If that doesn't scare off the five or so readers I have, then I must say that your loyalty is impressive.