Monday, June 21, 2004

Greetings from the past

I wanted to cover a few things from last week (mainly Friday) but with the chaos that was my weekend, it got passed by. I had more important things to do such as eat with Mary and a friend at a chain restaurant surrounded by more chain restaurants on a highly congested highway near another highly congested highway across the street from a mall which has the same stores as any... other... mall. No, I'm not cynical, I am just bored with the lack of variety in choices of dining in the ultra-same suburbs. I came from a town where there was local flavor, locally-owned restaurants in the true downtown only a five minute walk from where I worked. I know I often rivisit this topic of my hometown but it has a distinctness that a suburb full of houses and chain-type businesses will never achieve. After all, what niche does Mervyn's fit into? That's probably the reason they are for sale or sold or closing... whatever.

As I mentioned my hometown, it jogged my memory back to my old job. The job, where for an entire summer, I leisurely showed up wearing khaki shorts adorned with a variety of both polo and tee-shirts rounded out with an alternating selection of sandals. I had broken my toe towards the waning months of summer but had no other excuse, other than comfort, before that time. There were no objections to my slightly tanned, hairy legs. I did my job and was comfortable doing it. That's what I thought of when two evil little words popped up on Friday. DRESS CODE. I shuddered when I heard those words. Voices were rised. Questions were pondered. I voiced my opinion. Even the idea of cutting blue jeans from acceptability was explored. HELL NO. I work in an office, yes. I don't however, deal directly with customers. I am at a desk, yes. Am I viewable or accessible by the public? No. Am I upset? Yes. Will I get over it? Maybe. Will I still occasionally wear a t-shirt like I have done while at work for the past 6 years? Fuck yeah.

I am not a conformist. I will not wear DOCKERS slacks or own a selection of "POWER TIES". I don't even own dress shoes. Why would I ever want to be in an environment where this is required. Oh, competitive business environment... blah blah blah... gaining an edge... blah blah blah. Sounds like a load of cow shit to me.

Off the whole DRESS CODE topic, I became the proud owner of a ski lodege this weekend. More specifically, yesterday. It happened when we returned with a small truckload of bedroom furniture from a town far, far away. I realized this fact as I shuffled things around in my ski lodge upon arriving back at the lodge late last night. All I need now to complete this look is a fireplace decal on the wall and a pair of skis leaning against the wall by the door. I initially liked the look of the pine-style furniture. Not too nouveau, not too stuffy. The headboard (still not actually ATTACHED to the bed) is what I think sent me into the north woods. It is rather flat. Against the wall. It feels like a motel with the headboard securely bolted to the wall so you aren't tempted to make it your own. Sure, it has a metal decoration towards the top but my horrid lighting makes it feel like a ski lodge.

"Can I see your lift ticket?"

No comments: