Blue Monday

 This is Monday where I work. Well actually, every day looks about like this anymore, but especially Monday. We always start the week like this. 
  Quite often at least a few of these folks are waiting in their cars when I pull in at 7:50 or so. They have at least a 40 minute wait--but as the day goes, it may be an hour or even two, so I can see their point. Get in, get off, get out. 

It used to be that I hated seeing people sitting in their cars out front when I pulled in to work in the morning(it's like they're giving you a 'sneak preview' of the shit you're gonna have to deal with in about 40 minutes!)but I almost wish more folks would follow suit with this first-in-first-out business. Get in, get off, get out. From our standpoint, the day would start out gangbusters,but taper off signifigantly, to where you might even have little-to-no traffic in the afternoon. Ugh changing to ahhh, rather than one steady ugh. 

    But you're going to have a lot of folks to take care of, regardless of how it's managed. And the minute the doors open, you have at least a couple people to deal with right off the bat.The day always starts off with a bang. 
  
  Most people who read this(if if even gets a readership)will identify with the folks standing in line in these pictures(maybe--probably--having been there themselves at some point), but I'm writing it from the perspective of the people working behind the counters, the people whose job is serving the long lines of customers.

 It's a necessary function, the reception area- somebody's gotta be there!- but it's the shittiest job in the office. Why? Well just look to your left and there's your answer: because you have to deal with all those fucking people, that's why!! 

Pardon my French here, but it's very enervating having to tend to a steady stream of humanity like that, one after another after another. It would be draining enough under optimum conditions, with each person you get being blissfully happy. You'd still have one person after another planted right in front of you.

And of course they're anything but blissfully happy(if they're blissfully happy and standing in our line, then there's really something wrong with them!) Each one of the folks standing there, every single person you have to deal with  has a bad situation, a bundle of misery to dump "your way ward". Either they just lost their job(or they lost it 7 months ago and are just now getting around to coming in) or has some other kind of financial crisis they're coming to see if they can alleviate. They're in pain(sometimes very mild pain**, but pain nonetheless..). 
   Unlike the lines at movie theatres

and restaurants, they're not coming to see you to feel good, to have an enjoyable sensory or gastronomic experience. They're in to see you because they don't feel good, because they've got a boo boo that you can hopefully repair. 

       Understood. Thus I try not to take too much of their sometimes less-than-good humor personally, and see what I can do to help. Still, all the bitching, all the moaning and  groaning- however justified- wears on you. I used  to refer to the aural atmosphere of our office as the PPC Level. Phones, printers and complaining. Those were(and still are)the sounds filling the air. Most heavily, unfortunately, on the 'c'.

  These days, we have lines of folks in our lobby much like those in the pictures. There are lulls(mercifully)but mostly long periods with a seemingly interminable and querulous queue of customers(no meals or movies here *). Like I said, it's the shittiest job in the office. 

  At this juncture in my 19-more-months-to-go, I am not working in that enviable position, but have spent much time there over the past 21-almost-22 years. Much time. 

 I know there are those out there with personalities such that this kind of job just rolls off their backs, but for me it was always the most draining. Absolutely hate every minute of it. Worked many a Monday up there, and for a good while this last year, just about every Monday: the shittiest job in the office on the shittiest day of the week = compounded shit! And it was always The Big Obstacle to get through for the week. I must say, though, it did make the rest of the week seem easier, but was something to dread on Sunday. So you got your good with your bad. 

  I hope to never have to work up there again in my 19-more-months-to-go, but if I do then so be it. But then it might raise the PPC to a dangerous level of toxicity(at least deleterious to my working health!)and drive me to an early exit. Not from life but from working--at least the counter(if negotiable). 

Thanks to good old vacation time, I am excused tomorrow from the rigors of daygig(a musician reference to one's job, can't help it), and will miss the experience of Monday morning- which for our office will be pretty close to the pictures above. A long line of folks who just want to get their boo boo fixed(sometimes this involves a band-aid, others the systemic equivalent of quadruple bypass surgery). And not nearly enough workers on the other side of the counter to help make that happen. 

   With even a few more of us, of course, there'd be a lot  less of them, but this is something only we seem to see. And that's the problem right there. It's a shame. 

  But for now, I'm going to enjoy- well, now!- and the rest of my 4-day weekend--which, having the next two days off, is sans dread-of-Monday, something that usually colors(or should I say discolors at least the latter part of Sunday). My condolences to those who are working tomorrow. 

   As for me, for these next couple of days, I aspire to be like a movie theater or restaurant customer and enjoy myself. Food and movies are available here as well as out in the retail world of course.   



* Movies have never been a part of our "backstage" life at the office, but food is almost always available. We celebrate the usual events with some sort of chow offering , and there is usually something to munch on around our desks, courtesy of our supervisor. One of the perks of working there.  


** I got these bass-ackwards, somehow. An example of mild financial pain might be something like "I don't need the money, but it wouldn't hurt".