Towards a new etiquette
And then it snowed again, throwing Ross into a frenzy. He was rushing out every five minutes to clear the garden path, even as it continued to snow. I overheard him struggling to compare this snow with the previous week's: 'It's thicker, but... not as thick', he finally arrived at.
It was true. Last week's snow was so thin, yet strangely thick, that it managed to destroy the whole world temporarily with its weird contradictions. Time ceased to mean anything. I left work early and walked through a freshly deleted landscape. Kids played in the snow; or, to put it another way, youths loitered menacingly in the snow. Their new-found inability to communicate except through snowballs had created confusion in the land: were they little vandals or innocent rosy-cheeked scamps? Questions were asked on Jeremy Vine: 'Have you been the recipient of an unwanted snowball? We'd like to hear from you.' Wandering through the icy wastes I saw a group of sullen youths rolling an enormous snowball that looked more like an ice boulder. Were they going to roll it in front of a moving car? Even if asked, they probably wouldn't have been able to tell you. They'd just have stabbed you right away. I shut myself in the house and prayed for a thaw.
Days later I saw three great ice boulders sitting on Shenfield Common like megaliths awaiting the worship of primitives.
Not a great deal has been happening at work. Our work, in the admin department, is measured in 'job bags', which are brown A4 envelopes in which everything relating to - say - the production of a sign is stored, but these have only been trickling through recently. The other day, when one did drop into the in-tray, my opposite number Lorraine accused me of looking at it 'with lust in my eyes'. I said I was just curious.
Personally, I feel that I have adapted well to the routines of office life. It does not seem strange to be communicating with someone in the next room by e-mail. Though it still seems odd not to get an immediate response. I'll send through a designer's cost to be approved and not hear anything for five minutes and start worrying: did I write 'fuck you' instead of 'regards'? Did I come on too strong?
It was true. Last week's snow was so thin, yet strangely thick, that it managed to destroy the whole world temporarily with its weird contradictions. Time ceased to mean anything. I left work early and walked through a freshly deleted landscape. Kids played in the snow; or, to put it another way, youths loitered menacingly in the snow. Their new-found inability to communicate except through snowballs had created confusion in the land: were they little vandals or innocent rosy-cheeked scamps? Questions were asked on Jeremy Vine: 'Have you been the recipient of an unwanted snowball? We'd like to hear from you.' Wandering through the icy wastes I saw a group of sullen youths rolling an enormous snowball that looked more like an ice boulder. Were they going to roll it in front of a moving car? Even if asked, they probably wouldn't have been able to tell you. They'd just have stabbed you right away. I shut myself in the house and prayed for a thaw.
Days later I saw three great ice boulders sitting on Shenfield Common like megaliths awaiting the worship of primitives.
Not a great deal has been happening at work. Our work, in the admin department, is measured in 'job bags', which are brown A4 envelopes in which everything relating to - say - the production of a sign is stored, but these have only been trickling through recently. The other day, when one did drop into the in-tray, my opposite number Lorraine accused me of looking at it 'with lust in my eyes'. I said I was just curious.
Personally, I feel that I have adapted well to the routines of office life. It does not seem strange to be communicating with someone in the next room by e-mail. Though it still seems odd not to get an immediate response. I'll send through a designer's cost to be approved and not hear anything for five minutes and start worrying: did I write 'fuck you' instead of 'regards'? Did I come on too strong?
posted by martin at 2:01 PM
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