A cultural geography lesson...

Regional pride is not a terribly new concept for me. Stick enough people in the most godforsaken place on earth and eventually someone will come up with a Barren Wasteland Pride bumper sticker. That being said it's amusing to see how people think their preferred area stacks up against other places.

Last week Lisa brought up something about fashion (to be honest I don't recall the context of the conversation), but she said that Harlem, where she grew up, is the fashion capital of the world. Now did I miss a memo stating that this title had been taken away from Paris? Are the French now strolling past cafes and the Jardin Du Luxembourg in terrycloth sweatsuits? Popping down to the bakery for freshly baked baguettes in pajama pants and ratty t-shirts? This is a bit of an ironic statement from a woman whose idea of her outfit matching is every piece of it being the exact same hue.

She also insisted that people travel from all over the world to visit Harlem. My first thought was "is she serious?" The last I checked Harlem isn't filled with fields of butterflies and happy bunnies dancing on rainbows. Supposedly some areas are getting quite nice, but non New Yorkers still hear Harlem and think violence, muggings and crime. The tourists stick to Times Square, Central Park and all the other points of interest. There might be a few bizarre individuals out there who consider a good old fashion mugging part of the New York experience, but I don't think it's likely.

Cleanliness is next to ridiculousness...

I suppose I need to come up with a pseudonym for my coworker, since I can't be calling her 'my coworker' at every turn. I'll go with Lisa, since that's nowhere near close to her actual name. Several times a week Lisa pops out in the morning to get something for breakfast, most often a bagel and cream cheese, possibly some lox as well.

Now Lisa is a self-proclaimed neat freak and germophobe, though if she's out of the office I have next to no chance of finding any outstanding paperwork in the muddled, vaguely organized mess in her drawers. This morning shortly after returning from her jaunt out to get some sustenance one of the cleaning ladies stopped by to drop off a handful of rubber gloves Lisa had requested to guard her hand against the vile germs that infest the subway. She thanked the cleaning lady and slid them into a drawer. Then, instead of simply closing the drawer she took out a large white plastic garbage bag.

Was she packing up some things to bring home? Tidying up around the office? Cleaning out our refridgerator? No. I turned in my chair to discover she had created a gigantic bib. Did she nip into the back room to eat? No, she sat at her desk in full view of the people coming in and out of the office. As I sat pondering what bizarre series of synaptic firings prompted this event which I was sure must be unique, she assured me this was a FREQUENT practice and that she did this when she went out to eat.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any more ridiculous, she informed me that although people look at her like she's crazy, she insists they think she's smart for doing this.

It begins...

If you've ever worked in an office you'll understand what this blog is about. Every workplace is its own organism; growing, evolving and changing to fit the circumstances and thriving- or stagnating and dying off. We have massive brachiosaurine companies treading across the global market with thundering yet ponderous footfalls and sadly in most cases a similar brain-to-mass ratio as the extinct sauropods. Others are tiny amoeba scuttling around, living on economic detritus and hoping someday to grow into their own noble beast.

Each office eventually finds its own unique dynamic; some are the brains, thinking up the great ideas and propelling the company's success. Some function as the nervous system, organizing and coordinating the efforts of all involved. Of course no office is complete without its heart, be it the grandmotherly old lady who makes everyone smile, the young jokester who keeps people in stitches during forced overtime or any of a million joy-inspiring people. Of course what office would be complete without the stomach? The guy or girl who knows all the best places for takeout or an impromptu Friday night group-building soiree.

If you're lucky, that's where things stop. A whole list of useful, functional people all working hard at making their joint endeavor a success. Unfortunately though many of us are stuck with some 'organs' we just don't think are useful. That appendix we worry is going to swell up and burst at any moment; the gall bladder who always complains about an impending stone.

That's what this blog is about. My only physically present coworker whose antics and behaviors alternate between ridiculous, maddening and just plain confusing. Any names will of course be changed to protect those involved (by those involved of course, I mean me). I can't promise how often I'll update this as I have no control over the flow of blog-worthy events, but I'll write as often as I can.