noticing people

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Dress code 1

The dress code for my job is, "don't be naked." On one hand I love this, I do my best to find clothes as comfortable as PJ's. No one can tell me to wear heels and hose. I don't own a blazer. It is a serious perk. On the other hand, I have colleagues who could use sprucing up or at least covering up.

"Don't be naked" is subject to interpretation. Who knew? It seems so clear, so minimal. I have a colleague who is a rabid exerciser and wears these tiny little running shorts around the office during the summer. Now, he is an old guy and in great shape, so I don't begrudge him the short shorts. But guys, when you wear those things, you really need to keep your feet on the ground. Squat down to tie your shoes. Don't lean back in a chair and put your feet on the table. In fact, all of the mini skirt rules apply to men in short shorts, at least to men in short shorts at work. When you get out of a car, swing both legs out the door together and then stand up. If you pick something up off the ground bend at the knees not at the waist. I learned these rules in high school without any problem. It just isn't that difficult to avoid exposing yourself.

In my second year on the job, I was chatting over drinks with a different colleague's wife. After the right number of G&T's she leaned over to me, "So Carla, you've been here for a while now, what do you think about X's testes?"

I learned a small life lesson: 'single malt scotch hurts just as much as the cheap stuff when you snort it out your nose.' Aside from the nose pain, her question had comforting implications, sort of. "Really, you mean that those little shows weren't just for me? Now I don't feel special at all."

"I'll give you a hundred dollars for every person in this room who hasn't seen X's balls, he just can't seem to keep them to himself. About 10 years ago, the department chair had to point out to him that it wasn't such a hot idea to sunbathe in a speedo on the lawn in front of the office?"

Now, this seems like a problem to me. I feel confident that it isn't normal to glimpse coworkers' genitals. I am not sure how to fix it. Maybe change the dress code to "Don't be naked, EVER." Maybe the university administration could specify that professors to wear snug underpants. Maybe there could be some sort of warning policy: Faculty Handbook section 1 subsection 5 paragraph a, "Before exposing oneself advise people in the immediate vicinity allowing them time to look up or carefully study a book or other document." There are options out there. I just need to waste more time thinking about them.

Monday, March 06, 2006

smartest thing I've read in a long time

"Sadly, what you see is what you get. If you can't "see it", you don't get it baby."

My sister thinks it's pretty damn smart too.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

men in my house--1

There is a Slovinian poet in my basement and I have never seen him. Someone pointed him out to me on the street once. But all I could really see was a fedora and trench coat. As Descartes wrote, you don't really ever know if there is a person under that sort of attire. It could have been a five foot nine robot or scarecrow or a woman or some other guy. My house is pretty rickety. There are places in my bedroom where I can see strips of light through the cracks in the floorboards. I bet if I set my mind to it I could find a place where I could peer into the basement apartment. So far I have resisted. I know that he is down there because I can hear the door to his apartment squeak open and closed. Trash appears in the garbage can that we share. Sometimes his parking spot is empty and sometimes the car is there. Late at night I can hear a TV from down in the basement. Not loud enough to make out the dialogue, just that comfortable thrumming of an indistinct voice. Occasionally I even hear him, I suppose, talking on the phone in, I suppose, Slovinian. Then I strain to listen. I love listening to the music of someone speaking in a language I can't understand. I could run into this man, this Tomaz, in the supermarket and look him in the eye without ever knowing it. Maybe I already have. I could have sat beside him on a bus or at a lecture. I could have smiled at him in a coffeeshop and hoped that he would stop to say hello.

Friday, March 03, 2006

it ought to be clear enough


“Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin latte, medium.” The p’s were louder than the other letters.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin latte, medium.” A little bit louder, but without rancor.
“You want four medium lattes, one with each of our flavors?”
“Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin latte, medium.” Lots of spit.
“People only order one flavor at a time.”
“Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin latte, medium.”A little bit faster.
“You want one latte with peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, and pumpkin syrup in it?”
“Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin latte, medium.” Big smile.
"$4.25."