Short and sweet to the soul.

I went to school for journalism, and I haven't had much chance to make use of my degree since graduating. Working at a corporate fashion label, I'm complimented on my clear and concise e-mails (thanks?). In my personal life, I'm that person that asks a lot of questions. One of my high school teachers told me that I should look into writing as a career at a time when I was considering being a forensic pathologist--figuring out how a person died. I'm beginning to think my true calling would be a detective. Veronica Mars-turns-30-style.

I haven't had many 'cases' to work with. If my friends start dating someone new, I'm to find out if they have a criminal record, or other unsavory facts. Have any doubts? Somebody acting shady? E-mail Jessica! Easy enough; one did and I had to pass along the headshots for multiple DUI arrests in another state. The other day my friend started reading a new blog and couldn't figure out who the blogger's vaguely referenced-to husband was (he was hanging out with famous people)--after two minutes of perusing the blog, I sent my friend the husband's Wikipedia page. Mere Googling work. Elementary, as RDJ would say.

On New Year's Eve, my best friend's husband Jon decided we should play 'Mafia' in which one person is randomly and secretly selected as a mafia hitman, and while everybody's eyes are closed he/she kills another person. The narrator, who sits out, then tells everyone who was killed and the living are left to deduce who may be the mafia hitman. I was the first killed--somebody knew my prowess in deduction--and I knew it was my best friend Kelly immediately. Smart move, Kells! In the second game, I also guessed the killer based on clues (a laugh when everyone's eyes were supposed to be closed). In the third, I had no clue because it did not make any logical sense. It was down to four of us and the hitman killed the person everybody suspected most at that moment--why would the killer choose to kill the person that could make him get away with it? Turns out, the narrator wasn't wearing her glasses and was not calling the right 'dead people.' I felt vindicated.

I know, this is really riveting detective-work.

 

On Monday at the office, I did exonerate someone from a co-worker's ire. I work in a room with three other people. Jon likes his coffee; he drinks it all day. I like my coffee too, but I put a lid on it so I don't spill between the kitchen and the office. Jon goes lid-less. When we came into the office on Monday morning there were splats of coffee along the floor. Our resident clean-freak and OCD'er Scott was miffed and told Jon he should clean that up, it was extremely messy of him. Jon was mystified that he could spill so much, as was I. But I kept out of it. Later that morning, walking down the hallway I noticed more drips. Next to my trash can I noticed a different spilled-coffee pattern. I turned to my co-workers and declared: Jon did not spill coffee on Friday, it was the janitor and a leaky trash bag. Somebody had thrown away a cup with coffee still in it, the janitor had gone from desk to desk pulling out the trash bags, not realizing he/she was leaking. Next to my desk they had put the leaky bag down, as I could see the trashbag wrinkles in the coffee stain. Scott apologized to Jon, and the office went back to normal. I relaxed in my swivel chair and crossed my legs on top of my desk, relaxing with a cigarette and ready to take a nap as I shoved my fedora over my eyes.

Just kidding about that last part.

Sigh. My job is really boring.


Photos by Berndnaut Smilde for his Nimbus series via Colossol