Something occurred to me today as I was sitting at my desk at work and having conversations about blueprints mating and making baby blueprints, and all of us having personal assistant Oompa Loompas….
My job is my Cheers.
Not that we all sit around and drink all day long, although we do, admittedly, discuss it at times. Nope, it’s not like that. It’s a feeling. A feeling of belonging to a weird, funny, dysfunctional family. A feeling of kinship. Of knowing that I can say and do the dumbest shit of all time and these people will love me for it. My job is not glamorous. It’s certainly not making me rich. But I’m good at it. And I laugh more every day at the silly, random conversations we have than should really be allowed at a workplace. These people are my Sam, my Cliff, my Coach, my Diane… Although, I guess I’d be the Diane since I’m one of the few chicks there. I’m far more Carla-like, though, except with a larger ass. But you get what I mean. To some, my job could probably be seen as pointless, and as nothing special. But to me, it’s one of the most stressful, fun, and special places at which I’ve ever had the honor of spending 5 days a week.
Plus, my boss buys me vodka and stuff.
Greatest. Job. Ever.
It’d only be better with a personal assistant Oompa Loompa. I’d name mine Norm. Normpa Loompa.
Ha! See what I did there?