I saw someone today using a fountain pen for a utility bill. It looked ridiculous. The ink was bleeding through the cheap paper. Why does anyone bother with the flourish when the mail driver doesn't care about your calligraphy? I just use a ballpoint and get it over with. My hand hurts from cramping on those forms at the office. Everything is just so flimsy. It's a waste of time, honestly.
It's the performance. People want to feel like they have some dignity while they're just filling out a form. I saw a guy at the deli try to use a leather notebook for a receipt, like he was writing a peace treaty. It's pathetic. My hand is still killing me from those inventory spreadsheets today. The stuff never ends. You just scribble the name and move on. Why make a point harder?
Exactly. It's the delusion of importance. They think if the pen is heavy, the debt matters more. It's just paper. My manager is obsessed with those spreadsheets, but he wouldn't even notice if I wrote in crayon. Honestly, I've started using those cheap sticky notes now because I can just throw them away when I make a mistake. That's the only point. It's all just noise to fill the space while we're waiting.
Sticky notes are just more trash to clean up. It's the same thing. My manager thinks those spreadsheets are a legacy, but the power goes out or the wind blows and it's all gone. I spent three hours today fixing a stapler that kept jamming. The fluorescent light in the hallway has this humming sound that makes me want to scream. Whatever. It's all just a way to pass the time until the shift ends.
The humming is the worst part. It gets under your skull, that vibration right behind your eyes. I tried to tell maintenance, but they just looked at me like I was losing it. It's like the building is designed to be annoying. I just keep staring at the ceiling tiles. Half of them are sagging. You need that stapler, anyway. It's a mess, but people are too happy with it. It's exhausting.
Maintenance doesn't care. They just get paid to be there, not to fix the world. The tiles are sagging because the pipes are probably leaking again, but everyone just walks past the ceiling is becoming a swamp. I stopped trying to even say it. It's a slow decay. If you complain, you're just acknowledging the rot. Better to look at the stapler and wait for the clock to move. It's easier that way.
It's the only way. Once you acknowledge the rot, you're part of the cycle. I saw a crack in the breakroom floor that looks like a map of some country I don't want to visit. I just step over it now. If I thought about it, I'd never get anywhere. It's better to focus on the cold coffee and the humming light. It's just a building. Everything is.
The coffee is always cold. They don't even bother to check the pot anymore. It just sits there, getting that weird film. I saw a guy trying to water the plant in the corner yesterday, but the leaves died months ago. It's a lost cause. You just drink the dirt and sit back down. There's no point in pretending the building reflects the world outside. It's just a place to exist.
The plant was probably plastic anyway. I figured that when I saw the dust on the leaves. People are so desperate to see something alive that they'll water a piece of plastic. It's pathetic. I just stick to the vending machine. At least the machine is honest about being garbage. It doesn't pretend to be anything else. It's all just a performance of meaningless effort.
The vending machine is stuck half the time. You put your coins in and the bag of chips just hangs there on the glass. It's the most honest thing in the whole place. It doesn't even pretend to work. I lost three dollars on a granola bar last Tuesday and I didn't even kick it. I just walked away. Why bother fighting the machine? You're just going to be hungry.
That's the trick. Fighting the machine gives you a false sense of agency. You lose either way. I saw a guy kick the glass once, and it didn't even budge. He just stood there red-faced, looking like an idiot. It's the height of stupidity to get worked up over a stuck granola bar. I just take the hunger. Air is cheaper anyway.
Hunger is the only thing that's real. Everything else is a lie you tell yourself to stay busy. That guy looked like a fool because he thought the world owed him a snack. I just sit there and watch the dust motes dance in the light. It's quieter than the shouting. If you stop expecting the result, the failure doesn't sting as much. It's just a fact.
The dust is the only thing moving in there. It doesn't pretend to be going anywhere. I watched a speck drift across my desk for ten minutes this morning. It had more purpose than the meeting I had to attend. People are so obsessed with "results," but we're just moving in circles. If you stop looking for the exit, you stop being disappointed by it. It's the only way to stay sane.
The meetings are just noise. They talk about synergy and growth while the roof is literally peeling off. I spent half the time looking at a loose thread on my sleeve until it unraveled. It's more productive than anything the boss said today. If you accept that you're stuck, you aren't really stuck anymore. You're just bored. There's a difference.
Boredom is a luxury. Being stuck implies there's a door you can't open. I have a thread on my jacket that's been hanging since I pulled it. It's the only thing that lasted longer than the quarterly projections. The boss was talking about "vision" while he had a piece of mustard on his tie. It's embarrassing. We're all just waiting for the light to finally stop twitching.
The mustard was probably old. He didn't even notice. That's the thing—they're too wrapped up in their own vision to see the mess on their chest. I've got a stain on my desk that won't come out, I just stopped around it. The light will keep twitching until the bulb burns out. Until then, we're just sitting in the dark. No point in fighting it.
The bulb will burn out eventually, but they won't replace it. They'll just leave us in the dark until someone else notices and complains. That stain on your desk is probably part of the furniture now. If you try to scrub it, the wood just gets ruined. It's better to let the mark be there. It's a record that something actually happened, which is more than those spreadsheets can provide.
The stain is the only thing in that room that has a history. Everything else is so sterile and temporary. If I scrub it, I'm just helping them maintain the illusion. I'd rather have the mark. When the light finally goes, the silence will be louder. I'll probably just sit there and wait for my eyes to adjust. It's the only thing left to do.
The silence is the heavy part. When the humming stops, you realize how much noise you've been tolerating. It's not peaceful, it's just empty. I once sat in my car for twenty minutes just before I had to go back inside because the air felt thinner. You just wait for the next thing to happen. It's the only honest way to live.
The air is always thin. It's like the building is breathing all the oxygen before we can. I sit in my car too, but I usually turn the radio on so I don't have to hear the silence. Even the static is better something. You wait for the next shift, the next bill, the next time the light goes out. It's a cycle. There's no prize for the waiting.
There is no prize. That's the lie they sell you—that there's a finish line at the end of the shift. But it's just another shift. I saw a guy at the gas station buying a pack of batteries for a remote that was dead. He didn't even look surprised. He just kept walking. We're all just going through the motions, buying dead batteries.
The batteries will probably be dead in the box anyway. It's always like that. I bought a flashlight last month and it flickered out after two days. I didn't even take it back. Why waste the energy on an argument? You just put it in the drawer and accept the darkness next time. We're all collecting things that don't work. It's exhausting, just watching it.
The drawer is full of it. I have a box of keys to locks that don't even exist anymore. I keep them because if I throw them away, I'm admitting the door is never coming back to open. It's easier to just have the weight. You see the flashlight fail, and you get used to it. Nothing actually changes, it just gets heavier.
The weight is what keeps you grounded. If you dropped the keys, you'd just float away into the nothing. I have a drawer full of old cables that don't fit any phone I own. I keep them because the space feels too empty without them. It's a graveyard of things that used to be useful. We just keep adding to the pile until the floor gives way. It's the only way to measure.