By
Denise Galasso
Eight hours a day. Five days a week. Forty hours a week. Fifty-two weeks a year. Or my all time favorite; two thousand eighty hours a year. 525,600 minutes in a year or 31,536,000 seconds a year. No matter how I say it, calculate it, evaluate it, translate it, it's all the same. I have a job. I work. I live in America. I am a functioning member of society. I pay my taxes and I have health insurance. It has a fifteen hundred dollar yearly deductible and it doesn't have psychiatric or ob/gyn. coverage but my employers tell me it's better than nothing.
Now, it's not really newsworthy that I am a bitter 30 year old that has a life totally unlike the one I once imagined in my youth. I'd be happy to live the life I imagined for myself as a self made millionaire Hollywood actress but quite honestly you've already heard about that dream and besides, the painful harsh reality of my current status just might be more compelling than anything I can dream up. I'm sorry. I am not gay and I've never been abused or molested. How unentertaining. Warning: You may not be able to relate to me.
I have been suicidal, depressed, anxiety ridden with agoraphobic panic related fears, obsessive compulsive with a side of turrets and bouts with self-mutilation. But really, who hasn't in one way or another. I am neither spiritually enlightened nor especially educated in any given subject.
I am cynical and Italian. That should be enough. There is worse. I could be a drama teacher. I could also be Dr. Phil but I have an outrageously insane amount of hair.
The ultimate joke that is consistently played on me is that of my co workers. I spend more time with these people than I could ever want to. They suck out the very being of my inner core and I swear they do it joyfully. I hate these people. I'm sure they work for Satan and they were sent to Earth just to make my work day even worse than it already is.
However, sometimes these people are so originally entertaining that I have to make note of them. It's not the kind of entertainment that you'd pay for. It's more like the late night infomercials that you force yourself to watch because you can't sleep. Everyday I am stunned by their thoughts and actions.
They are truly amazing people and although I am often enraged, discouraged and completely in shock by them. They are beyond doubt the highlight of my cruel, grueling everyday work experience.
Nina's long black hair is straight and cradles her round face. She eats Doritos and a donut. She gulps down coffee and drops her crumbs in a workspace clearly marked, "clean room area." She is pretty. Her eyes are wide and she widens them as much as her mouth. She is sticking out her tongue and twisting her face while she's yelling across the room to her best friend. She's announcing how wasted she was last night. She's original in her declaration.
"Oh my god, I got so wasted last night."
She repeats herself in case we didn't hear her the first time.
"I was so friekin' wasted last night."
She is squeezed into her tight Levi jeans and blue turtleneck sweater. Her breasts are huge. She is half-Hawaiian and half-Chinese and her skin is tan. She doesn't have any African-American in her heritage but somehow she considers herself to be of color and speaks Ebonics. Her chin jets back and fourth slowly and the rest of her head follows as if she just got off an episode of Jerry Springer.
"You know what I sayin' Denise?"
I hear her but I try not to actually listen.
"What Nina?"
I ask like the idiot white girl that I am. She and I both know that she is not withholding an intelligent thought. I play along as if I am interested in what she might be "sayin'."
"Oh Denise, you such a white girl."
I ask myself if there is any possible way not to be drawn into this conversation.
"Yes you is. You a white girl, Denise."
Nina is perfectly aware that is poor English but feels the freedom to use this form of expression anyway.
"Nina, so are you."
"Nuh uh�I'm from Compton."
Sometimes she wears a t-shirt that has the word "PEN" written in caps that stretches across her large breasts and then the number 15 below it so when you look at it closely, it spells out the word "penis." She brought the shirt after she viewed the fringe theatrics of "Puppetry of the Penis." It's where grown men stand around and bend and shape their penises into different shapes and things. Nina asked me to go but I was busy that night. I'm pretty sure that I was jamming toothpicks up my fingernails. Nina is overweight but carries it well.
A chunk of donut flies out of her mouth while she is talking about her kids and their miserable unintended little lives. I don't think that Nina is abusive but she is definitely one of those statistics that include kids having kids that have no business having kids and her kids will have kids that will end up doing drugs before the age of twelve. She is most likely just venting her frustrations and I kind of understand that she's just a product of her surroundings. Normally I would just feel sorry for her but most of the time I'm just annoyed by the agonizing lack of education and birth control.
"I hate my fuckin' kids."
"Okay, jeeze Nina, I heard you."
Nina moves her woven composite samples and puts them on the scale across from mine. She is still chewing on half of a plain sugar donut.
"My kids are total assholes."
I can't help but feel shocked by this.
"Assholes? Did she just refer to her own kids as assholes?"
I made a face. This is a mistake because Nina's goofy best friend and ex heroine addict; (which I absolutely commend her for quitting and cleaning herself up) and just recently toothless Liza jumps to her rescue. She's not totally toothless but she did just show me her upper bridge that she disconnected from her gums and then pushed out the faux dental device with her tongue.
"Check it out." Nina made sure I saw it. I'm grossed out.
"Wow that's great Liza." I wonder if she takes them out when she gives her boyfriend head. Then I throw up. Liza is eating donuts too and waving her soldering gun while she is talking.
"Listen here, Denise. Kids ARE assholes and you would totally understand and feel the same way if you had them."
I just shake my head and think about the reason why I don't have kids. I use birth control and I hate people who don't. I use it properly and with purpose at the few sexual encounters that I've had. Now, I am aware of mistakes and sometimes birth control isn't affective. But four different times and with four different partners is not a mistake. It's a lack of self-control. Are you with me?
I want to explain to Liza that if I ever had kids, I doubt I would ever refer to them as assholes. But having any kind of disagreement with these people is a severely dangerous decision that would quickly result in a downward spiral of antipathy and create a complete hostile work environment as if it weren't already. And well since I have to work with these people, I try to act as cordial as possible.
Liza goes out of her way to protect Nina. Perhaps I am jealous of their bond. Liza's boyfriend Matt also works with us. It's like a white trash family festival of fun. I'm not saying that I'm better than any of these people. It's just obvious that somehow I do not belong to this group. I am a nerd and a prude. They are not afraid to let me know this and I am perfectly accepting of this.
Occasionally, Nina will say "Oh Denise, you know we love you." But I'm sure they don't.
They are always quick to inform and correct me at all times if I'm ever in disagreement with one of them. They tell me all the time that I need to get laid.
"You need to get some pune-tang, De. Then you will be like us."
They love this tongue and cheek idea that because I am a vegetarian that I am not getting enough meat. They inform me that I am lacking man meat. This is an every day work conversation.
So, I ask, "Why are their kids ASSHOLES????"
One of their most annoying habits is periodically making noises. I mean actual dumb noises or outbursts just fly out of their mouths like turret patients. They sing annoying commercial jingles that you generally try to get out of your head. They overuse catch phrases from popular television sit-coms and movies. I don't know if they really mean to be this annoying or if it's because they are all short of the intelligence or imagination to come up with something original.
Such phrases include different variations of the word "yeah."
Such as "Oh yeahhhhh! Yeeeeehaaaaa! or Yeahehe or Yeahhh babyeeee!"
They say, "Buurrrnnn! Sweet!"and "High figh!" They use expressions fashioned in the 80's. The best and most often used expression is "Say it, don't spray it." This isn't even a catch phrase. It's just complete childish rubbish. Did I just use the word rubbish?
The thing is that they actually say it as if they are being funny and innovative
This afternoon a co-worker is talking about a long distance relationship he is having with his girlfriend who is away at law school.
Liza swiftly responds.
"Law school?" "God, I couldn't stay in school dat fuckin' long."
"Really?"
It doesn't matter who is talking or what they are talking about. She doesn't listen to half the conversation and then just starts commenting and asking questions or just generalizes without further information.
Co-worker one: "My ex got me a birthday present."
Co-worker two: "That's nice, what did she get you?
Liza abruptly interrupts the conversation.
"OOOOh, you're just using her to get presents...you're a slob...why are you still being nice to her? You just want to get in her pants.....You're dumb....You wish you could get a girl...." (and on and on and on.)
Most of the time no one is even talking to her. She never stops...she just continually comments and talks and makes stupid noises. I wished I could stick her soldering gun in her eye....I bet she would just keep on talking.
"Oh my god, you stuck this soldering gun in my eye? Oh my god�That's rank!!! Oh yeeeehhhhh!!!! Look, this gun is in my eye�Oh yeahhhhhhh babbbbeeeee."
Liza's phone rang. She answers.
"Hello? Oh, hi shroom baby."
Like a moron, I have to ask.
"Nina, who is she talking to? What does "shroom baby mean?"
"When Liza was pregnant, she was eating a lot of hallucinogenic mushrooms so that's what we call her daughter."
Now, these three weren't the only goons that get on my nerves at this particular place of employment. There are others. We have a pretty secretary at the Testie-Test-tech lab.
She weighs in at about 102. She is approx 5'3. She was a blond but died her hair black for a few months when it had appeared that some of the guys might have been lost interest in her. She stomps, clicks and clunks loudly as she struggles to stay afloat on her high heals while walking through the lab and onto the main floor.
Her clothes are so highly fashionable and she displays her breasts proudly through tightly nit see through tops and sweaters while asking employees questions such as if we remembered to hand in our time cards or if we are going to sign up for the secret Santa gift exchange.
She's drinking a large Jomba juice with extra fiber. I hate being asked to be a secret Santa but I will sign up so I continue to appear to be a team player. I've lost my love for this place ages ago.
Melinda told me while she was walking into the bathroom stall that she purposely starves herself to be skinny. I guess I would feel bad for her if I didn't hate her.
"Oh, do you mind? I hate going when there is someone in here."
I looked at myself in the mirror.
"Oh yeah." I said walking towards the door.
" I hate that too."
As the door closes I guarantee I can hear her retching.
The dopey man-child Tyson is in love with Melinda. He asks me for a favor to look up a phone number on my computer. He explains that he could ask Melinda but he's so intimidated by her beauty (that looks exactly like a cardboard cutout of a gap ad.) He spats and stutters when he is around her. I can barely comprehend how any of this is my problem.
Up to my ears in sulfuric acid, torn jeans and a stinky plastic smock, my hair is in a bun and my eyes are behind thick white goggles.
"Why don't you just ask her out already? Then you can finally talk to her."
He stumbles on himself.
"I just can't. I'm too nervous and afraid."
He is sitting in my chair staring at me.
"Do you think I'm sad?"
"No, you're not sad. You're pathetic.....and stupid."
We had to walk across the warehouse floor in order to go outside and take smoke breaks.
Tim the idiot was driving around on the forklift honking the horn repeatedly....HONK, HONK,HONK.
He was yelling...
."WHOO HOO, WHOO HOO!!"....HONK HONK HONK!!!
He yelled to me.
"HEY DENISE! I'M HONKING THE HORN....DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"
"No Tim. I don't."
I was wishing that he would fall off the lift and his head would get stuck in the giant tires, until it popped into a bloody explosion and die.
"HONK IF YOUR YOU KNOW WHAT!" HONK HONK HONK.
Adding to the family work atmosphere, I too decided to date co-worker; which is the biggest mistake in history ever. I believe it ranks up there with putting something cheesy in the oven and not putting a tray underneath it. I know it's wrong but I do it. I don't own a toaster because I really don't find the need to toast things on a regular basis and I hate clutter on the kitchen counter. So occasionally, I will put a tortilla in the oven with cheese to avoid having to clean an extra item. I just put the tortilla on the rack without a tray.
Every single time the cheese melts and then I have to wipe down the hot racks or even worse, the burners. I don't know why I do this. It's as if I think I'm going to get away with it but every time I don't use the baking tray or I date someone at work, I get burned.
We tried to hide it but the secret was quickly discovered by the raving family of lunatics. Everyone knew within a week and it was big, big news. My new co-worker boyfriend Mark and I didn't express our feelings publicly as we were both pretty private people.
This was pure ecstasy for Liza. She was as delighted as a child at Christmas when she found out. In frantic anticipation, she would watch us whenever we were together. Barely breathing she would hang on every word we said to one another. Liza let us know that SHE was completely aware of the fact that we were dating as she would frequently express her knowledge of our relationship by asking us a variety of stupid questions.
"What are you guys doing tonight? Are you making dinner, Denise? Are you going to go to his house or is he going over yours? Are you taking Denise out, Mark? If you are, we could meet up with you."
"Do you want a fucking report, Liza? Should I type it up, print it out and tack it to the employee bulletin board or should I just staple it to your fat, fucking, ugly forehead."
God, I hated her. Lisa was the type of person that actually pluralized the word "you" to "yous" when addressing two people or more.
Okay, let's just get this straight for the record. When talking to two or more people, YOU is already plural. You do not have to add an S. This makes me insane. And it is not an accent. I am so sick of people saying that uneducation and the lack of good English is an accent. YOU is already plural if you are speaking to more than one person, god dammnit. Open a dictionary. Why don't yous?
My mother always corrected my English and she still does to this day. I'd be on the phone crying about some boyfriend and right when I would be in mid sentence, she would interrupt with
"It's "while" honey."
"Boo hoo, I hate him�what?"
"It's while. You said He yelled at you why you were in the store. He yelled at you while you were in the store."
"Mom, I know. I'm just really upset right now and I just didn't pronounce the 'le."
"Yes, but you want people to respect you and you're not going to find a good educated man if you say "why you were in the store" instead of "while you were in the store."
"So, do you think he broke up with me because of my poor English?"
Liza used to get mad if she found out that we went out after work and didn't call her and distinctly invite her and her boyfriend. Sometimes my boyfriend and I would decide to get a few drinks after work and just casually mention it to whoever crossed our path. The next day she would be incensed. And she did that "only joking" thing but you knew she was really mad.
"Oh sure, you guys go out and don't tell us. You guys don't like us."
"No, Liza we just decided to go last minute."
"I'm only kidding Denise, god."
It was like working with Napoleon Dynamite or a 12 year old except she was female and forty.
Liza bellowed across the room.
"CAUGHT YA!!!"
She acted as if she was as profound as the prophet Mohammed. My then boyfriend and I were having a work related discussion in the lab when she walked in. But just because we were alone I guess she figured that we we're about to have sex. She yelled again.
"I GOTTCHA!"
She was so perceptive. It must have been difficult being such a genius.
Liza once told me to "Get a grip."
She said this because I suggested that car thieves should be punished by death. I was really mad that day because my friend just had her car stolen and it's really a harsh thing to happen to a person. They stole her car right out of her driveway just after she had started it to defrost.
I was speaking pretty freely and harsh. I was going off on how we live in a free country where we can have nice things only to have them stolen because it's so easy and lucrative. God forbid I got a little emotional.
I was concerned for my friend and probably spoke too soon and obviously to the wrong audience. Liza just haaaad to counteract with her two cents which she probably borrowed from me earlier. She said that it's not THAT bad to steal a car. This really floored me.
What kind of a dumb-ass statement is that? She was basically saying it's not that bad to take from others and break the law. "Not that bad?" She said it again. "Oh, come on Denise. Get a grip!" It made me want to get a grip right around her fat neck. I mean if I choked a co-worker, would it really be that bad?