Veg requested I reinstate this from the previous post, but it didn't fit in right, so I'm placing it here. I work at a company that manufactures stuff that forms a vital plot point in the film American Beauty.

Longer delay than I intended, mostly because I was getting sick of talking about myself. In a bit I'll post my thoughts on the finale of 24 and Buffy (in the mean time, you can read Charley Taylor's hysterically overwrought piece on 24.

Anyway, on Monday, which already seems like a million years ago, I stepped into it again. My friend Veg, whose blog I'd link to if she hadn't taken it down a couple months ago, e-mailed me at work to tell me that my name was misspelled on the company website. Also she pointed out that the site was unintentionally hilarious in its windy mangling of the English language. I decided it would be good to forward a polite version of Veg's criticism over our office manager, who I'll call Brent. I knew that the person who wrote and designed our website, a grumpy but fundamentally hard working guy in the art department who, like a good portion of our company, does not understand the fundamentals of English, might take offense, but I figured it would be short lived. I also suggested in the e-mail that we hire a freelance editor to rewrite the site. That appealed to me for a number of reasons, the main one being that I used to work at the web division of a publishing house and I've found myself missing the atmosphere that the freelancers provided. Even though they were doing mind numbingly dull work for peanuts, they seemed livelier than anyone else at the company, because they had lives outside of the office. One was a rabbi in training, another an actress, someone else a bassist who went on tour with a band opening for Jewel one summer. Here, no one seems to have a life outside of the office, and I work at a company that manufactures the dullest stuff you could possibly imagine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I imagined the downtown hip freelancer blowing into our office, and bringing with them the cool, insouciant wind of freedom.

Anyway, I'm sure you've guessed the twist already. Cajun Christ (new name for C), brought it to my attention that actually Brent wrote the text for the website himself. Brent is very proud of his skill with the English language and he makes a great show of giving every new employee a grammar test and mentioning how he used to teach English to immigrants. At this point, like Veg, you may consider my e-mail a faux pas, but not terribly bad. After all, he's an office manager. "Aren't they the people who requisition pens?" Veg asked. However, here the Office Manager is more like a COO and takes joy in micromanaging every department he can. He is also known for holding grudges. So I spent a few hours pondering how Brent would make life unpleasant for me, and finally decided to see him to explain that I meant no offense. He said he took none, and used the opportunity to lecture me that true maturity meant "being able to see yourself not as you would like to be perceived, but as you actually are perceived. And that is what differentiates me from you people." Yes, he actually talks that way. I'm told to expect the other shoe to drop in a few weeks or so.

I stepped in it twice today.

First I came into work, and Sparky walked into my office and asked me how my weekend was and if I'd seen The Matrix: Reloaded yet. Sparky had of course planned that the three of us see the film together on Friday, and C. had pocket vetoed it, saying neither saying yes nor no until Sparky left for the evening. C. and I made plans to see it in Astoria on Saturday. We consciously didn't invite Sparky- C. said to me "I've had about all I can take of the boss's son."

Quick note: C., Sparky, and myself went to the same alternative(and then some) high school, and have known each other for the past decade. Sparky got us jobs at his father's factory in this crappy economy, and he is in fact my supervisor in the IT department.

I didn't lie. I could have lied, I'm not a bad liar, but I hesitated for a split second too long, and I could feel the edges of a shit-eating grin forming, and knew I couldn't make it- there was a distinct possibility of a giggle.

"Who'd you see it with?"

"It sucked."

"Who'd you see it with?"

Grin still forming-

"With C."

That led to a barrage of yelling, calling us assholes. It's hard to know when Sparky's kidding and when he's not- he always pumps his rhetoric like a balloon, and when he's in a good mood, he'll invite anyone around to pop it. I heard more yelling towards C.'s office, and then I got a forwarded e-mail from him, telling C. that he hopes C. gets divorced, dies of AIDS, and rots in hell, and calling me a pig. He also indicated that life was going to become more difficult professionally for the both of us. C. wrote back saying that Sparky was way out of line. Sparky asked why C. couldn't take a joke anymore, and it went on like that for a while, until they settled it by a combination of an athletic challenge and a get-rich-quick scheme. By noon, we were all relaxed about it, but C. had come within inches of seriously telling him off. As for myself, I'm on the two year plan- I've basically worked out that I can work with (and more gallingly, work for) Sparky for about two years before I'll have to leave or never want to see him again. I'm into one year so far. I'm tired now- I'll list the second way I stepped in it in the morning.

Words of warning, and why I'm pseudonymous here.

Edit: Spelling corrected.

Go read Dwight Meredith's post Tell His Parents right now.