The Graffiti Eye is Watching You. And Judging You.

Well, I finally got up in time this morning. That’s something. My iPod didn’t go off, and I’m not really sure what woke me up. Anyway, I regretfully drug myself out of bed, and got dressed. Once I was dressed and had eaten breakfast, Dad and I left for work.

As always, when riding in Dad’s tank of a car, I got a little carsick. I  usually fall asleep, as a sort of defense mechanism, but not this morning. I just looked ahead, appreciating the random graffiti. About a third of a mile before a toll road, there’s a scaly eye that someone, probably some disgruntled teenager, had sprayed on a rock. I always look for it, because it looks like a dragon staring at you through a hole in the vortex that separates the non-excistant fantasy world from our own. Sorry, my geek pops out from time to time. Simply can’t be helped.

Eventually, we got to the design firm, and Dad dropped me off. Still a little nauseous, I went up in the elevator to my floor. I easily fell into my routine. I went to the fabric room, and found my little station from Wednesday; paper cutter, wrapping paper, envelope, and stack of ninety five envelope liners. I only had thirty more liners to make today, at least, until the new, smaller envelopes arrive, and I have to make sixty five of those. I cranked them out quickly enough. When I was finished, I found Stuart, and handed them to him. Once I had done that, there was nothing to do, but deal with the three large mountains of fabric waiting for me.

Sorting fabric is one of the stranger jobs I have to do at my internship. Their filing system is just so screwy. It rarely makes any logical sense. Coutain and Tout is put next to Glant, which is next to Brunswich and Fils. You have to look at every single container to see it’s the right one, and it never is. It just makes me want to alphabetize, but I can’t mess with it.

The fact about filing, is that it’s just so mind numbingly boring. There is a certain point, where you’ve just plain been filing too long. When I get there, it makes me do things like, talk to myself, dance places I should be walking to, and that sort of thing. And that’s all fine when you’re alone, which I usually am,  but sometimes Doyle will walk in on me. I don’t know why, but it’s always Doyle. He must think I’m crazy by now.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s