Q: Who is the pickle’s favorite artist?

November 15, 2007

A few reasons why I enjoy my job:

In the afternoon, the elevators smell of coffee. Good coffee, not stale office coffee. There is a Caribou near the elevator lobby. I don’t think I would enjoy my afternoon breaks as much if a Subway was in its stead. I’ve pretty much avoided mochas for months and months now; it’s the only kind of coffee drink I like but it gives me the jitters. But the aroma is still heavenly. Marshall’s hair smells of coffee when I hug him close. I wonder if my hair ever smelled of tea. (My clothes certainly did. I loved unfolding a pair of jeans from the closet and sniffing them…)

Marshall woke me up at 4:45 AM the other day before he left for work. I asked him how to make my Mint Condition less sugary. I’ve never bought a Mint Condition. I must have been dreaming about one, apparently. He said, you could order a hot chocolate with a shot of mint. So no coffee would be involved. I was so happy! I did my morning hug and kiss good-bye (always groggy, and usually with my arms half bent under the blankets) and promptly fell asleep again.

I’ve had two dreams about TeaSource, ever. The more notable one is where tidal waves of berry iced tea approached my homeland.

I guess dreaming about tea and coffee is better than alligators (I and my family had two days to live before the alligators would eat us. The only way to kill them was to take an elfin sword and jab it deep into the mouth. I remember as I stuck the glinting metal between the alligator’s mouth with precision; its tongue was a nice, pleasant color of bubble gum. I thought it was a striking color palette, forest green, silver, bubble gum pink. What I don’t remember is if my loved ones had the same luck as I did).

Oh I completely got off track from why I like my job. Another reason is, the design team is friendly and genuine, and often funny. On Halloween, we had a long discussion on pickle jokes. Eileen had brought in a joke book, one of those cheesy ones my brother would’ve loved when he was eight, and kept popping over to John’s cube to share a couple of them. She’d always, always, follow the punch line with something between a giggle and a cackle. John would groan at the cornyness. This morning, the three of us talked about optometrists for a good half hour. These days are not typical; we all usually eat lunch at our desk, stick to our Macs, exchange brief greetings. But when the days come where someone’s in the mood for a good chat, it can easily draw two, then three more people into the aisle, and I’m sure HR can hear us loud and clear.

(A: Salvador Dilly.)

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