Had a bit of a chat with the new boss today about the job-o. Turns out that when they hired someone with my length and breadth of experience, they fully intended to exploit it.

And, here I’ve been reveling in the glorified secretary of it all. Sure, I’ve been trained at the new gig (trained being an overstatement of shown stuff) by a sort of traditional support person, although that is possibly over-reaching or poorly stated, because her youth gives her a certain je ne sais quoi. You know, like, today she’s into just doing the job and punching the clock and not being overtaxed and shitting on the boss in predictable eye rolling ways. But, you know, being 20-something and still in school doesn’t last forever, it’s not terminal.

But, I digress away from my favorite topic–me, of course.

Anyway, I’ve been grooving on the simplicity of typing business cards into Outlook and printing and photocopying and filing shit. Mega-good-fun. Seriously, I love the flow of the mundane. You’re stepping forward, but it ain’t exactly a stretch. (I imagine it’s like the satisfying weight of a spade full of earth and the invigorating heavy sweat, muscle churning of a well-dug ditch, without all that messy ache and grime.)

Not a status quo they are looking to maintain. Interesting that, since I have to say I have any unhealthy (for my slacker soul) fascination with the name-dropping clout and agenda-setting cache of some of the world’s big agenda setters. The realm of the folks with and for whom I work is littered with multi-billionaires, celebs, politicos, celebrity multi-billionaire politicos and all sorts of Tom Wolfe in his later years worthy subjects.

It’s one thing to read and talk or hear about the people writing Op Ed pieces on foreign policy and advising or criticizing the current, war-mongering dink in the Whitehouse. It’s another to have them on the other end of the phone. (Although, clearly, I ain’t sharing my insightful analyses (although who’s to say one day it wouldn’t be solicited). Or to be chatting about their personalities casually.

And, the place that’s handing me a paycheck is well-linked to all of the media. You know like the media shit I all but bathed in at a major journalism school. Or the media of which stand-up comedy is a step cousin or poor bastard child or vital part, depending on who’s talking.

Fucking hell, shit and damnation. How is it I find myself continually with multiple doors and some kind of sense of expectation (as in the “fails to meet” category that occasionally got checked in report cards of my distant, grade school self)?