What happened. . .

Some days when I'm at work I find myself snapping out of a daze to the realization that I don't really know where I am. This sounds serious, but its not. In a moment or two I return to reality and remember that I am sitting in the chair I've occupied for three years, staring out the same sliver of a window with the same parking lot view. The usual humming noises of an office in the throes of work resonate behind me. I instantly feel crushed by the monotony of it all. Even my walls are cream colored in keeping with the hideously mundane paint theme of the building. It's almost like they want to color code things so you'll know how to feel.

"Here is your office . . . it is taupe . . . which is the universal color of boredom"

Cars drive by my window and for a moment I feel like one of those people who find themselves stranded on an island when a plane flies over and they desperately wave for savior. Someday I want to spell out "SOS" in office supplies on my floor in hopes that help will come. It is equally futile. Those people - not unlike the people in the plane - are not paying attention. They are probably on their way to their mind numbing job.

This office I work in is located in the heart of an upper middle class suburban nightmare - complete with Range Rovers, 50 year old mother's attempting to look like their teen aged daughters, McMansions and swanky, expensive grocery stores. I feel like someone has surreptitiously placed me in an episode of "The Real Housewives" and I have awaken and been forced to survive among people who, for all intents and purposes, probably hate me. They should too - I voted for tax increases for the rich.

No new Lexus this year, ladies - sorry!

The company I work for is relatively small but we do a good deal of business in an industry that can best be described as "Construction-based". The owner works in an office down the hall from me with the three other women who work full time. The other part timer is the boss's wife, Crystal, who works in the office that shares a wall with mine. We'll get back to her in a minute. There are technically three men working here - the owner and the co-owner (I'd like to say sub-owner, really) and the head of our CAD department. That's it. Against seven females. And two additional female employees who work in our satellite offices out of state. There may be some level of pity that is technically necessary here but I can't really find it. The men in this little slice of hell are as ruthless and underhanded as the ladies. Think of it like "Mad Men" but not as sexy or as pithy. . . or entertaining.

Don't get my wrong - the ladies are nuts. And this is coming from a woman who finds the whole "ladies are nuts" mantra to be more than a little annoying. Personally, I like to think my crazy exists independent of my gender. I've nurtured it, fed it, raised it and I want credit for it. Chalking it up to my sex is a little insulting. But, I digress . . .

The lead "Crazy" in this circus is Crystal. Crystal is what you'd get it if your 100 lb. grandmother got a huge boob job, put on a hideous wig and spent most of her day boozing and sun bathing.

Yeah just like this . . . Oh Dear God.

Crystal is married to the owner which is literally her only qualification to be our Accounts Payable Manager. When she is not working (which is often) she spends most of her time yelling into her phone, yelling at a member of the staff or yelling at a member of her family. Remember, this one is a drinker.

The next crazy is a strung out, perpetually drugged disaster named Judy. She is the unholy offspring of Courtney Love and Lindsey Lohan - on crack.

This brings us to Megan. Megan is the bane of my existence. She spends her days either staring out her window, delegating tasks to others or complaining about how busy she is. Note that I never once mentioned working. She has not once, in her 10 years of employ with the company, worked. This is a documented fact. Her age is a company mystery although I've heard tell that she is well into her forties. Although the rabid alcoholism and inability to focus for any period of time make her look much, much older. When I speak to her she stares right through me as if I'm not even there. Barely registering her location.

Megan: Artist's Rendering

Finally this brings us to Jamie. This one was a theater major in college. She believes that this entitles her to wear whore's makeup and throw herself around the office in the most dramatic fashion possible. In reality she is a cautionary tale to those thinking of majoring in Theater. You will end up with the same boring, dead end job as the rest of us, kids. Don't kid yourself.

Or you'll end up like this. But seriously, which is worse?

There are other characters in this fucked up scene but we'll have to get to those later. Because I need a drink . . . or three.