employablog

So, my first and last office job is almost done, and along with it the most intense year of my life.

I studied Hebrew and Judaic Civilization back in collegeschool, it was a lot of anthropology and sociology using the Bible, mostly the first half, as a primary document. What was underscored, was that when times got rough, the Jews were waiting, a long, sad expectancy. Their temple got knocked down, and afer getting split and trampled there was finally the exile, and then waiting, the world seemed as bad as it could ever get, worse even, and getting ever worse.

That’s what this year became. I’d work feverishly on an application, a cover letter, a resume, a phone call, send it, make it, and wait. Hell, I waited so hard that I even waited tables. And now the waiting is over. I archived my med school applications folder, I made copies and filed my immunization records, and I drafted, stamped and sent the last of my “sorry, but no” letters to the med schools I’m withdrawing from.

That’s right, after a year of interviews—job and school—I got to write a few rejections of my own.

And now its done.  There’s no more waiting.

So why can’t I sleep?

And no more snarky Scrubs comments, I buzzed my head and grew a beard, so I in no way look like J.D.

I got rid of my backpack too.

Taking it back to Freud, back to basics, there are two kinds of people—those who hold it in, and those who fling it at the walls of their cage.

I am expulsive, or more palatable, exceptionally regular. And right now this is my salvation. I go to the bathroom fingers crossed that the handicapable (though their capability is lacking ability) stall is free. And if it is, I am set. This stall has it all. Room, a sink, a mirror and paper towels, though, curiously enough, no soap. So if I ever see some relieved guy wheeling out of the men’s room, I’ll know not to shake his hand.

So I wash my hands outside of the stall.

But I have learned two tricks to deal with slow times at work, and they have two logical handles:

No. 1

No. 2

Number one is an easy game.  I drink as much water and coffee as I can and see how many times I can urinate in one day, and as I am a runner, it’s also logical.  Number two, well, I’m just really, a really regular guy.

My twosies have become a form of yoga.  Western yoga.  I zen out, punching the middle out of the toilet paper seat guard and TPing up any other yogi’s leavings.  Then I sit, and think, and push a little until inspiration hits.  Sometimes it’s a way to wake up, sometimes it’s an excuse to leave the chair, and sometimes it’s a way to just get out when my area is too hot, too cold, too crowded, too something.

And the best part is, that legally, technically and morally I am getting paid to do this.

So for five to seven minutes a day, I have the best job ever.

And I drink a lot of coffee, see No. 1 for more information.

For the previous four years, the few of my high school friends who wound up on the East Coast for school (including, of course, Employee Too), met in Boston or NYC to hold a Thanksgiving away from home. “It’s cheaper,” we said. Well, it was cheaper than flying home but I don’t think that’s why we did it that first year, and it’s probably not why we kept doing it all through college. It is definitely not why we gathered in Employee Too’s converted warehouse loft apartment in Brooklyn this weekend, as most of us are now holding down pretty respectable jobs.

These Thanksgivings are epic; they are grown up and immature, drunken and philosophical, warm and complicated. I am continually amazed by my friends from home and the relationships we’ve been able to maintain. There are some guys who know my entire history, and whose whole histories I know. We get together to keep ourselves updated on the twists and turns of each other’s lives, so as not to lose track of the narrative. It’s what make these Thanksgivings so important.

I’m sure at some point we’re not going to be able to hold these annual Thanksgiving reunions… other obligations will almost have to interfere. But I hope they don’t interfere anytime soon because the past five Late-Novembers have been incredible.

At least when the time comes that we are responsible for our own Thanksgivings with our own families, we are going to have a pretty significant head start on the rest of our peers who spent their early-twenties dutifully trekking home to their parents or their girlfriend’s parents or whoever most people have Thanksgiving with. We’ve got three pretty successful Turkeys under our belt, an amazing stuffing recipe, vegetarian know-how and well-honed sense of how much wine to buy. When the time comes, I will be sad and ready.

5:55 PM — Brendan is choking down the last of his plate. Employee One is recumbent in bed (non-responsive; potentially dead). David has accidentally spackled a floorcrack with a wayward blob of stuffing. Employee Too is delirious with food (or potentially, just himself - who can tell?). The Visa Halftime show ™ features Carrie Underwood. The dark side of Thanksgiving has reared its ugly, indigestive head.

Thank god pie goes in a separate stomach.

5:20 PM — fox football celebrates the holiday with a robot turkey that dances about the scoreboard before commercial breaks. some may think it’s to make turkey tough like football. but i think it a look into the future, when we all become robots and eat robot turkeys that robocook themselves. for now, while i am still bionic free, real turkey tastes real good.

4:58 PM — As our future immunologist, Charlie is worried about the potential for E coli infection. Something about undercooked breasts and whatnot. As a psuedo-vegetarian, Employee One is unconcerned. We’ll see how smug he looks when he realizes how delicious the gravy is.

4:51 PM — It’s a Thanksgiving miracle! We are putting on the finishing touches. The turkey is not dry (thanks mom!), the stuffing is delicious, Employee One’s chickenless pot pie is bubbling over, the salad is dressed, the wine is open, the pies are en route from Jersey, the gnocchi is simmering and the Dallas game is on the slingbox. I am proud about what this says about our professionalism.

4:03 PM — Is it too early for wine?

First, that looks like my hand, but it’s actually Employee One’s. Don’t ask.

Second, it’s definitely not too early for wine. Let’s hope it’s not too late.

3:35 PM — I’m surprised this hasn’t been mentioned. But there are rorcharch “boob” drawings painted on the loft’s steamed window pains. Steamed from the heat of fresh baked T-day turkey.

That was almost a haiku.

3:11 PM — We heard that the turkey is supposed to be at 160º throughout before it is edible. We don’t have a thermometer, so we are going to eyeball it. I’d say we’re at about 130º.

2:17 PM — So young. So professional.

2:11 PM — An unexpected guest arrives at the apartment . . . it appears to be the first female guest of Thanksgiving, here to steal our pie crusts. Ryan holds down the domesticity while the rest of us pretend to watch the football game on the wall. How did it get on the wall? It was epic - more that tale in time. Stay tuned . . .

1:58 PM — An added benefit of working in a restaurant that Employee Too didn’t mention was getting awesome recipe advice from the chef. Our stuffing is delicious.

1:54 PM — The turkey went in about two hours ago. Employee Too just made the call to put foil on the bird, so as to prevent burning. So far so good.

1:50 PM — We have just decided we are going to live-blog Thanksgiving. Nice.