I have a job. It isn't a job that I like, really. It doesn't fulfill me. Luckily, I do not expect it to. What I actually do (or am paid to do) and where I find the fun in my work day are two separate issues.I have an office. In my office, I have a collection of things that I like. They are not at all related to my job; I just like them. My coworkers find these things fascinating and will often stop by, just to look at them. They pick them up, bringing them close to their eyes, turning them over and over in their hands. 'Where do you find these things?' They always wonder. I can tell that they want to ask if they can keep this thing that they have in their hands. They never do, though. Because as adults, we are trained not to ask those kinds of questions.
People also come into my office to ask me to tell them a story. I guess I am that person at work who thinks about the world and then will make a joke about it. Or, at the very least, a Lake Wobegon observation. Most of the time, the only person who laughs at these jokes is me. I don't mind admitting that I think that I am the most entertaining person I know; I feel sorry for other people who have not yet realized this fact.
Today is a particularly boring day, one in which I have a reduced amount of energy due to reasons that, themselves, are tedious. I find myself waiting for something interesting to happen. As is often the case, nothing does. So, I'm forced to imagine myself stuck in a ditch, with nothing to do, and many hours in which my only source of amusement will have to be self-generated.
A coworker stands in my doorway. 'Isn't today just so painfully boring?' She asks. 'I know that you have been thinking about something. Just don't tell me that story about the tree trunks again.'
She was alluding to a story I'd told her several months ago about some rather shapely tree trunks that I had noticed while driving down a particularly well manicured street. I had rhapsodized about these trunks on more than one occasion. Apparently, she was not as enamored with sexy tree trunks as I was.
'How about a song?' I offered. Not just any song. One about the bald/hairy pattern of Russian leaders. 'This entertained me all day yesterday!' I told her. ALL.DAY! But NPR didn't stop there. No, they then decided to wrangle up a pig farmer with a tube of Ruby Red lipstick, and send him out into a field. It was a fantastic day to be in the car, even if I was bereft of my cd book.
She continued to look at me expectantly. Apparently, I was still on the hook.
Much to her likely chagrin, I can always talk about how much I love to take photos of older people. For some reason, I am emboldened to do this only while I travel. I began to show her some of these photos, telling her the way that I had sneakily snapped the picture without them noticing me.
In Rome:
In Athens:
On Mt. Pilatus:
In Burano:
In the harbor, on the Island of Capri:
In the lagoon of Venice:
In Murano:
In Lucerne:
In Las Vegas:
In Ski Valley, on Mt. Lemmon:
Rocking Oktoberfest:
Making sauerkraut:
After her eyes started to water, I sent her on her way. She just thought she wanted to hear a story.
