Because I'm paid by the hour

I have been at work since 10am, it is now nearly 5pm, and I have probably done at most 1 hour of real, actual work.

These are the work-related things I did:
-Typed up staff meeting minutes.
-Called some guy about some paycheck problem.
-Shredded a bunch of papers.
-Deposited 3 checks at the bank.
-Opened the mail, then sorted all the mail piles into neat stacks according to size.

These are the non-work-related things I did (notice how nearly all of them are on the internet):
-Dreamed about pizza with roboppy.
-Laughed at bad celebrity fashion.
-Found my new dream friends/social activity.
-Read the latest culture news from the NY Times (but didn't read the real news).
-Browsed Craiglist for free/cheap furniture, cheap bikes, writing opportunities, pictures of apartments I wish I could afford, and "Missed Connections" headlines to laugh at.
-Bought two wee heads of garlic and a vegan cinnamon roll from the Union Square markets.
-Further considered the merits of veganism, or at least considered some vegan cooking.
-Peed FIVE times (I guess I drink a lot... or have a bladder the size of a golf ball)
-Evaluated my checking account and current expenditures and questioned if I can afford to run back to Europe. I can't.
-Chewed THREE pieces of gum... gonna get TMJ.

This is what happens when The Boss is gone for two weeks and I run out of Things to Do on my "Things to Do" list. At least right now when people walk by the office they hear the pitter-patter of typing and think I'm being productive. Hopefully The Boss won't read this. If he someday is... well... Boss, you were in BRAZIL. No pity.

*Sigh*, 46 minutes to go until I can consider jetting out of here. Unless I try to "work" some overtime. That might be pushing it.

"East Village, Circa Midnight" (a true story adapted for the stage)

SETTING: A sidewalk, some scaffolding

AT RISE: A dirty-looking, drunken GUY is standing by the scaffolding. MOLLY enters, carrying two large bags and a large posterboard.


GUY: Spare a penny for the Church of Malt Liquor?

(MOLLY smirks, but continues to walk past him.)

GUY: What does your sign say?

(MOLLY stops and turns the sign around to face him.)

GUY (reading): "The sound of wind or whales." I don't get it.

MOLLY: Neither do I.

GUY: Did you find it?

MOLLY: No, I made it.

GUY (smiling): Even better.

(MOLLY gives him a thumbs up and exits.)


BLACKOUT