All of this is going to be unfair isn't it? I can already tell what this blog will become: A panoply of caricatures, a hitlist of colleagues whose idiosyncracies are exaggerated and redefined as flaws. The stretching of bumpy Jewish noses. The amplified accent of syncopated Latina chatter. The rotting-Ganges stench of microwaved Indian lunches.
But this is where the resemblance to one icon stops and another begins. Red's voice, much like the Fraggle now, is also quite sharp and grating, the way air sounds as it is released from a balloon whose opening is pinched and stretched tightly. The sound is unique in the animal and musical kingdom. Perhaps a warbly reed instrument, like a bassoon made of rubber.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
We'll call her Angela. And I'm pretty sure Angela dislikes me. I've been here two months now, and am acutely aware that she can hear all the goings-on inside my office. Like all the rapid typing, as fast as torrential rainfall, that can only mean that I'm chatting or blogging. Like when my phone goes off for personal calls and non-work-related text messages. Angela is a pro, and she doesn't just guard the doorway to my office, she guards this office as a whole. I'm sensitive to the fact that Angela keeps accurate tabs on the lost productivity to the company occurring inside my office.
I wish Angela liked me. I'm not sure why she doesn't like me, even if I have my hypotheses. Initially it was disappointing, turned unsettling, turned irritating, evolved into an unnatural fixation to find out why, once and for all.