A dance of celebration!
I got the news today that I’m being offered a “Temporary Office Assistant” position at BMCC.
After three months I’ll be appointed “Provisional Office Assistant”.
After I pass the Civil Service Exam (which hasn’t been offered for at least two years) the appointment will be “CUNY Office Assistant.”
I’ve been waiting for this, and I’m happy and grateful that my co-workers (well, “my” teaching staff and Rachel, the Department Chair) have gone to bat to get this for me. But they also get a lot out of this too – namely me!
We’ve developed a good working relationship, my little flock and I. I do whatever they need done, and a lot of that they get before they realized they should ask for it. And while that keeps me very busy at times, none of that is difficult. Nearly all the tasks I’m required to do are office routines that I’ve done a thousand times before. Nothing to it.
And I amuse them with stylish e-mails that convey the information they need to know – “We’re ordering supplies – what do you need to do your jobs?” and, when the supplies arrived, I offered an inventory of the different types of supplies we’d just gotten in, which enumeration went kind of off the tracks and into an exposition regarding the appearance, in both color and shape, and a questioning of the motivations for supplying “scented” and “unscented” versions of the product.
I mean really – what kind of perversion is it to sell both? Does some urinal cake engineer (now here’s something for the kids to share in school – “My dad’s a urinal cake engineer!”) does some dude somewhere get off on the idea of other dudes walking up to the row of urinals, unbuttoning or unzipping, walking in that way peculiar and appropriate only when approaching a row of urinals, which gait is remarkably different from that style used when approaching a trough urinal.
Now that’s a completely different type of thing. Altogether. Unquestionably. Getting ready to hang the rat in front of other dudes getting ready to hang their rats, for many men, holds a particular peril.
He no uncommonly says to himself, deeply and quietly inside his own head, “Should I look? Should I not look? I want to look! What if he thinks I’m coming onto him? But I want to look! But I can’t. If I do and he smiles at me what the hell do I do then? Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” and other such inanities that, strangely, produce a flash of internal disconcerting that it takes a deliberate and manly – particularly masculine – exertion of self control to just stand there. Next to all those other dudes. Without making a peep or reflecting any sudden movements that may or may not be able to be construed as meaningfully extraneous to taking a piss. Short and sweet – that’s the way! Let her rip, shake, tuck, zip, walk, rinse your fingers for one half second and grab two paper towels, crumple them between your hands and immediately throw them into the overflowing trash bin, open the door and walk out. Bing! Bang! Boom!
That scenario is, of course, what occurs when the other guys are strangers. If it’s someone you’ve met that evening while drinking at a bar, a hearty greeting of two or three words is appropriate. Utterly meaningless urinal chat with dudes you’ve been drinking with and you’ve joined tables and are jabbering about the game, or how and why you know exactly the words heard by someone who knew someone who was related to someone who dated the hipster gopher at production company who heard every single word when Julie Taymore was fired from Spiderman! – well that’s also completely different. A most of the guys in that group are perfectly able to say, “takin’ a piss”, walk away, and show up three days later as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. I LOVE that kind of guy. Reminds me of myself in the days of my misspent and gloriously enjoyable youth… as ironically timed as that actually turned out to be. >Fester shakes his head in a moment of “God damn! I miss those times! Slut – a damned proud slut! Can’t do that shit anymore!”<
And there are other urinal scenarios that cover, shall we say, a gamut of actions and responses to them that’s a rather wide and inclusive array of many tastes which are, of course, located somehwere on their own continuum. (I just love words that have double u’s. It’s fun to type. vacuum vacuum continuum continuum uum uum uum uum)
Anyway, these e-mails to my flock are meant to be and are considered humorous. Some say hysterical which is, of course, an exaggeration.
And we have fun. We dare to have cocktails with lunch. So far our limit is two. I think a couple of the girls are working on three. And we make fun of each other, and laugh a lot and vent with each other and bitch and moan and complain and then laugh some more and make fun of each other some more.
These are good people – and very intelligent people – college teachers and professors. Most of them have at least one PhD or two Masters. They’re written text books and been published in prestigious peer review journals. They teach remote graduate courses – all on line! They speak at conventions and give papers and lectures. They’re on the cutting edge of teaching technology, psychology, developmental psychology, development, observation – it’s amazing. I’m learning a lot, and I find myself impelled more and more toward finishing that degree and moving on to graduate school.
I can hold a decent conversation about psychology and science and philosophy with these people and it’s a delight to have that. Reminds me of those happy days at University. I’m really ready to go back to school.
And we all respect each other – and know how to take a joke. That too is very enjoyable.
It’s going to be a good fit.