The People I Work With

Well, I must clarify that I shall only be working with them for another week. Plus one day. 6 days, all together – 8 if you count the weekend (which will not, I repeat: not!, be spent at work.). Eight and a half if you count today. Today isn’t over yet.

Anywho.

I keep making threats that I’m going to write about what they say and do in my TV show (that has yet to be written). In turn, they threaten me with a law suit if I do. Ah, what lovely banter! What I don’t think they get though is just how serious I am about the whole thing. I have to write about my boss’ boss who yelled at me and made me go all panick-attacky. I also have to mention our Fabio lookalike. He just started a few weeks back, so I don’t have much dirt on him (other than the fact that he’s some cougar’s boyfriend. Or they broke up. Who cares really.). But, I figure the less I know about him, the more I can make up. For example – he’s a true egotistical, narcissistic asshole. That might be true, but chances are it isn’t (oh, the lies!).

I also have to mention the general idiocy and crap we have to put up with. I hate working in an office.

Why, when I watched The Office (UK), didn’t I think to go “Oooh, fancy that, working in an office is really kind of… crap.”. But no. I discarded it as a funny TV show. “It’s just made up”, I thought to myself. No, it is not! It really can be that bad. Not every day, obviously, but in general it’s pretty shitty.

Memo to self: never work in an office ever again. Hate it.

Oh, and I have a new dream now too. I want to make a documentary and win an Oscar for it. So all I need now is a camera, something to film, learn how to edit and get a microphone for voiceovers (and figure out to put my voice on top of images), get an agent, market and publish it, make people love it and think it’s the most genious thing ever, make lots of money, donate the proceeds to a charity (liar.), get nominated for an Oscar and then…. win it.

Does Michael Moore need an intern?

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Making a Long Story Short

About one year ago I had the genius idea of moving to the US. Little did I know then that it would take me an entire year of waiting and preparation before I could go. Since making the decision, I’ve had shots, taken tests, interviewed for a visa, gotten a visa, booked a plane ticket, gotten a place to stay, and obviously… applied to a school – and gotten accepted too.

So now it’s almost July again. 2010. Two more weeks of work and I’m off. Of course, now I’m scared that they won’t let me in. No reason for this, of course, it would just be my great luck to be dismissed after working on something for a year. I’ve got my fingers crossed that this won’t happen, and I plan on keeping them crossed for another 15 days.

My main motivation all along has been to find myself. To figure out what I’m supposed to do with my life in order to achieve some sense of contentment and/or happiness. Either or. Whichever one comes first.

I still believe I’m born to entertain, so we’ll see how that pans out. Speaking of which… I found the first two pages of a script I wrote a few years back today. It wasn’t great, but I did like that my first thought was “Did I really write this?”. I had forgotten all about it. I try writing lengthy pieces that are funny, but they end up as a drama two or three chapters or episodes in. Luckily I hadn’t gotten that far with this script, so it still had some funny bits, but I think I’m going to leave that behind and start fresh. I like starting fresh. It’s… refreshing.

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Same day, still August, 2009

I just remembered that when I was 18 and first had  to make a decision as to what to study, I wanted to go for Journalism. However, where I’m from you need like a million points to even be considered for that. So, already I love America, because guess what? They’ll let me study Journalism! And that at a Master’s level!

I’m amazed at that. Now I just need to find out what I need to do in order to make this happen. And I need to figure out where in the US I want to live. It can’t be too hot. So we’ve narrowed that down already. And a school where furnished apartments are available will be a plus. I can’t schlepp my furniture across the Atlantic. Nor do I have the funds to decorate an apartment. Or friends to help me move in should it come to that.

Must do more research.

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The next day, August, 2009

I told a colleague that I want to go to America earlier today. I told her it was a hassle. She said that I should study something. Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that? Be a student.

OK. Upwards and onwards. What would you like to study, Annie?

Oh God. More choices.

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A Day in August, 2009

Random thought; I want to live in America. Another random thought; I want to do something fulfilling, something that makes me happy. OK, so that last thought is not so random. What do I like to do? I like to write. And make people laugh. Am I born to entertain? Perhaps. So why then am I stuck in an office? Choices. You make choices in life. I’ve definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, made a wrong one. I’m not happy. Or content. It’s time to make a change. I’m moving to America.

OK, Annie, I like your determination, but how do you see this happening? I don’t know. I looked online for ways to get a visa. There is obviously the standard tourist visa-waiver-thingy, but they don’t allow you to do anything with that – except be a tourist. For 90 days or less. The other visas seem like they’re impossible to get.

I’m sure there’s a smart guy out there who once said that “Dreams – they’re worth working for.”. If no one has said this ever – feel free to quote me on that in the future. Of course, there’s no way of knowing if this is true or not. I might have an awful time in America. Be hated on. Not make any friends. Go home after two months hating that I even thought of such a ridiculous idea… America. Psssh.

Memo to self: must stay focused. You want to go the US. If only for a little while. Find a way to do it, and then do it.

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Monday, that following week, still in 2009. Spoiler alert; it’s July!

I make good money. For a twenty-five year old I’m doing pretty well. I’ve gone to school, studied something I couldn’t care less about (because it felt like the right thing to do) – and thus getting awful grades, I’ve been an exchange student, travelled to a few countries, kissed random boys that I have never seen again. I have good friends and a loving, supporting, family, and I’ve been so drunk I couldn’t see or feel. I’ve written and produced school performances, acted, sung, even danced (believe it or not – you might believe it if you don’t know me) on a stage – loved every minute of it too, except that time I did karaoke sober (stage fright kicked in, and I’ve stayed away from anything that could end up with public embarrassment ever since. Not good, as I think I would be a wonderful public figure.). The karaoke thing happened when I was 19. Seeing as how I’m 25 now, I probably should get over it sometime soon.

With all this talent in my bones, what do I do for a living now, you ask? I work in finance. You know; the big scary industry of nothingness.

If Finance was a contender on Big Brother, he’d be the mimbo (male bimbo = mimbo) running around flexing his muscles every chance he’d get. Always telling everyone how wonderful, strong, hard-working and confident he is whilst never giving up his straight and very intimidating face.

On the inside though, he’s a pussy. A soft man with a gentle soul who wants to cuddle. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but it might look as though Finance has been cuddling and holding hands with the wrong crowd for some time now. I enjoy a steady income just as much as the next average person, but I can’t help to sometimes think that this Financial Crisis should hit me with some sort of force. Is it too much to ask not to be swamped with work? Or to maybe get downsized just a little bit? Saying that, I realize, is like swearing in church. Here I am – a member of a fine financial institution which is suffering from hardship asking for the crisis to release me from employment. At least a little bit.

There might be a financial crisis going on in the world, but you certainly couldn’t tell by the paper heaps surrounding me at work. If the paper on my desk could talk, it would be crying. Purely out of neglect. I left my desk today for a few minutes, just to get some coffee, and when I came back, a mere two minutes later, 19 people had decided to e-mail me. 19! In two minutes! Did they all want to say ’hello, how are you, please enjoy your coffee.’? No. They wanted me to fix something – to snap my fingers and make something wonderful happen. And I did.

The last couple of weeks has been crazy. Crazy good for the company, crazy bad for me. On a more positive note I can’t wait to find what I’m looking for in life. I don’t think I’d mind working as long as work is enjoyable and rewarding. And it pays extremely well. And I get an assistant who does things for me. The things that’s simply beneath me to do. I would love that. Ah yes, dreams! What would we be without dreams?

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Thursday, still July, same week

7:29: Wake up, one and a half hours too late. Shit.

8:42: Arrive at work – 42 minutes past what is considered acceptable

8:43: Spill coffee all over my white top. Fuck.

Some days are not meant to be lived. They’re suffocating, awful days that consists of surviving. I don’t want to be a survivor.

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