There are little things that are odd about working in an office. There's a garbage can and a recycling bin by the front desk, the garbage can has a bin liner. I remember that yesterday I threw only a plastic cup into the garbage can and today it's totally empty! In total fear that somebody emptied the can with the bag and just one cup, I've decided to never use either of these bins again. Also, the dishwasher is out of soap packets and I have no idea how I'm going to run the load of dishes at the end of the day. On top of that, somebody emptied the dishwasher this morning and that's my job! The anxiety is heaping onto more anxiety, thank God it's Tuesday.
Spencer Moody came by earlier to drop off some things for James Bertram. He was with a guy who I'd never seen before, but I nodded and he nodded back. After chatting with Spencer, he wandered down the hall to say hello to somebody. The guy with him stayed behind, looking at the walls. Eventually I said hello and discovered that he wasn't with Spencer at all, he was just some guy who found the address and snuck his way in! His name is Kevin and he lives in Japan, but he's originally from North Carolina. Our small talk revolved around boiled peanuts because that's usually what I talk about with people from the South. We also talked about Earth and Six finger Satellite for a little bit and then he left to find food. I gave him directions to Chipotle, that place is pretty good.
Today's mail was pretty uneventful. There were a few demos and some official business looking things. Sometimes I get so confused at the employee mailboxes that I just close my eyes and blindly jam the mail into wherever it will fit. Other times, I just put everything into Jonathan Poneman's box. That thing is nearly full, he never looks at his mail.
There was one letter that appeared to be from a lunatic. The postal carrier was confused about it being for us, since it was addressed to "Jaill." I told him that Jaill was a band on the label and then we both talked about the handwriting. I curiously held the letter up to the window to reveal a very small message in the bottom corner of the envelope. "What could that possibly be?" the carrier asked. "I'm not sure, but it was obviously written by a maniac!" I answered. The carrier and I fist bumped (not really) and I took the envelope to Tony K., who is the Vice President of Envelopes. He examined it and I told him that I was dying to see what was inside. He opened it! It was a message asking for an autograph! We decided it was from a child, not a maniac. That's the best!
Near the end of the day yesterday I was pretty bored out of my gourd. Since I had time to lean but wasn't interested in cleaning, I decided to have a listen to some demos. I'm not even sure I'm allowed to do this, so I'll probably get fired because of it. I got so into it that I ended up staying later than I was supposed to. I wrote a few encouraging emails explaining that I was just the fill-in receptionist and certainly didn't make any decisions, but I perhaps liked a song or two. One band didn't include any info except for their band name, so I had to do some interweb research and stumbled onto this:
Somehow, I've watched that video at least 15 times. There's something about the singer that makes me think that he's really mad at me. I'm also a really big fan of the stuff he does with his fingers at the 2:30 mark.
Other great things at work: Land Grab by the Unnatural Helpers, Boredom and Terror by Intelligence, In Limbo by Teen, and Hospitality by Hospitality. Also, there are still a few copies left (I think) of the Deep Time LP on colored vinyl, which is such a brilliant record.
There's a sign that says 'SUB POOP' outside of the women's bathroom that they use when somebody is using that room in that way. Women are so weird.