Spider Prophet

Within my first two days of working in Office I was obscured from sight about four times. By the end of my first week, I totaled at eleven. Two weeks: nineteen. Three weeks: thirty-two. “Are these accurate numbers?” the reader may ask. Did I create an excel spreadsheet to properly track my instances of invisibility? No. But you should still take my word on the figures, since I probably down-played how often it actually did (and continues to) occur.

And let me tell you reader, no Disillusionment Charm or Invisibility Cloak borrowed from Potter could work any better.

I’ve been working for four separate offices for a little over a month now and it seems to hold no end. Their power either rises from the fact that they’re in a foul mood or that they’ve decided that whatever bochinche they’re about to spill is so important, that it will block my ears as they speak it.

This was the most recent scene:

I’m standing at a filing cabinet and am putting away some books. As I slip the last book into it’s place, I turn to see the head of the department walk into the office. I say good morning and he responds with something between a grunt, word and mumble. How one could manage so many different tones is beyond me. I ignore the near-response and return to my seat. He begins to speak with the person I share the office space with. I go about my checking my packets and reading e-mails until my ears pick up on:

“… and you should have Miguel go around the building and ask everyone for their copy.”

I’m sitting right there. Less than two feet away from him. I just finished saying good morning to the man and he talks as if he can’t see that I’m there. Once he began talking, I somehow spontaneously teleported out of the room so that he could speak freely.

At these moments, all I want to do is shout out in the name of self-respect and common decency, but I know that those are not currencies that run very well in the publishing world. Or any office for that matter. You’re built up on careful plotting and precise execution.

Personally, I’d worry more if my underlings developed cruel streaks, as should others.

- Spider

I’ve been working in Office for three weeks now. So far, it seems that my days are spent sitting at a computer desk, shredding papers, sorting other people’s mail and trying to shine and keep low at the same time. I’m still waiting to see if this is all that the days wil add up to. I’m banking that it won’t, and so here is this record of it.

Perhaps this is not the most gripping beginning to a tale, but one that the reader will have to accept. No, this does not begin like some sort of biographical film of a life. A close up of the writer sitting in a dark room in his post-college-hole-of-an-apartment, typing away madly at the story he both promises and denies will be the best story ever written (All depends who’s listening). No, this is the beginning (in medias res) of a planner. This story begins in semi-bright florescent light.

- Spider