golddiggin’
Jason posted on May 15th, 2008
My office has no real windows. My whole department is in an inner office, which occupies half a floor, in a skyscraper, deep in Lower Manhattan. I have my own office in this larger inner office, and a glass "window" behind me. I say "window" because the only view I have is to the cubicles outside my office and the people walking around in this bullpen area. As this window is behind me, if you were to walk by my office, you’d see my computer screen and my back would be turned to you. I would not see you. I pick my nose all day at work. In this regard, I’m like a 70 year old man and simply do not give a fuck. It’s been especially bad as of late, both because I am a slave to my allergies and because with this upcoming LA move, I’ve effectively doubled my responsibilities at work and thus have adapted a "Hey, if I’m going to work this hard for you, you gotta take me, nose-pickin’ and all." I really don’t give a fuck. I’m going to pick my nose whenever I want. Because I take care of shit.
About an hour ago, I was sitting at my desk, reading SI.com and really digging in - I must have had my right hand about halfway up my nose before I found what I was looking for. Nugget properly excavated, I transferred my treasure from my right pointer finger to my left, in order to flick my find into the garbage can on my left. Transfer complete, I moved my body sixty degrees to the left, still mostly facing away from the window but moving in its direction, allowing me to flick away into the trash can below my desk.
It took a couple of tries - this was a true goober, a real clinger with the consistency and density of the inside of a grape - but after a few fingertip rolls to dry it out, I finally flicked the boogie into my trash can. It was then that I angled my body even more to the left, toward the window, just to take a peak "outside." And there, maybe six feet outside my window, stood a co-worker, a co-worker who from the look on his face had seen everything, from the initial decision to excavate to the ground-breaking ceremony to the Great Exhumation to the repeated unsuccessful launch attempts. His expression said "I don’t know if I’m more disgusted or sad or did I really just watch him pick his nose?" Our eyes locked for a moment, then I looked away. Unsure of what to do next, I stood up from my chair, shuffled some papers on my desk, and walked over to my file cabinet.
Since then, I have been laughing so hard that I’ve cried on two separate occasions. Seriously. I actually started choking on my laughter at one point, so loudly that I thought someone was going to call the paramedics. What makes this especially funny is that I know this guy - we talk, we get along, we like each other. If I didn’t know him at all or we never spoke, I wouldn’t care. But I know him, not in a "let’s have beers after work"-type way but in a "we exchanges a little more than the standard pleasantries at the water cooler" way. And he just watched me pick my nose - and I mean seriously, in a borderline mentally-ill person type-way, pick my nose - for a solid three minutes. Count to 180 in your head right now - it’s a long-ass time. I’m 28 years old, have my own office, and am the perfect employee (at least lately), and yet at 3:28pm on a Thursday afternoon I’m leaning back in my chair, reading SI.com, and picking my nose like I don’t have a care in the world. Give me a raise already.
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I guess this is my way of telling you that I’m alive. I have excuses, as usual: as mentioned, I’ve been doubled up at work; I’ve been trying to pack; I’ve been saying "goodbye" to various NYC friends; I’ve been traveling a bit (last weekend was my last in Philly; this weekend is, incredibly, my last in NYC). But I’m alive and reasonably well and trying to figure out the best way to deal with such a jarring transition. Wish me luck.
(More to come.)
(And if any of you guys want to help me pack, let me know. Please bring beer.)