Let’s face it, Schlomo is a twat. I’ve known it for a while, perhaps I was even in denial about Schlomo being a twat. I’ve written about it a few times using a different name, a different term but I think Schlomo is the way to go.

I’ve already changed the name again since I did work with a good guy in the nineties at Right Track Recording with the same name and I did not want to denigrate him. And just checking on a previous post I noticed I used Schlomo since he isn’t a friend to Semites, just to add some sand under the foreskin.

I get hung up on names in this blog thing. Re-reading some entries from the cigar shack days or even Wanker Banker I have no idea who I was writing about. So Schlomo is Schlomo. Schlomo loves reggae music and is fond of mentioning that he loves reggae and has never gotten high.

Like he’s looking for a pat on the back or a medal. “Isn’t Schlomo special?” was never said by anyone, even when he was a child getting on the short bus in Suriname. I’ve had to listen to his bullshit for over a year now and it’s been reduced considerably since I no longer sit by his office listening to him fart all day.

The whole coat rack fiasco was the tip off and I got it then and had to deal with it. And I dealt with it admirably. Today was just awful dealing with Schlomo. Once again I was in early and set about my day. I printed out all the pdf’s. Hundreds of pages, sorted, stapled, and tabbed, with corresponding FedEx labels (yellow card).

I did it all and was finished with that task before noon. Schlomo used to set those pdf’s up and it would take forever. Now I do it, before I leave for the night, setting it up for my morning task. And if more pdf’s arrive, then Schlomo can use his sausage fingers to make those things.

In the afternoon I work on requests from various administrators. Those have gotten easy to do but one of the last ones was a request for over 200 pages. Much too much for the envelopes and I sent him an email. I sent him a text. And received no response.

About 20 minutes later Schlomo appears. I tell him the situation, that a box would be needed and I know there are boxes in the area where he sits. Not really coming out and saying it, but I am saying that this would be better off done by the Giraffe working in that area, usually the last to leave.

About a half hour later he sent the Giraffe to me with a torn, yet slightly larger envelope. I laugh as the Giraffe hands it to me and say to myself, fine. I will stuff 230 pages into this envelope and I will send it off to be mailed. And I did just that, stapled, rubber banded, and sent off with the best intentions.

I did think about running around the block to the courier store but I couldn’t really do that. And the envelopes that I do work on, are weighed as one pound. Even if it is one piece of paper, it gets registered as one pound.

These pages were more than one pound so it may be rejected or it may be charged at a higher rate than the rate Schlomo worked so hard to attain for the company (no kickbacks I am so sure). But all I can do is work with the tools they give me.

There is Sméagol who works alongside Schlomo who does most of the mail runs to the courier or the post office. He collects mail from everywhere in the office except my desk. Walks right by it and even if there is a pile of items ready to go, he will not ask about it. Sméagol doesn’t like me and I do not like stray flea-bitten dogs.

So Sméagol now has the package that I made and will more than likely complain about the lousy job that I did with the inferior, torn tools that had given me to work with. It created a manic high of sorts for me. I am entertaining Costanza-like thoughts about marching in and quitting. But I can’t do that. They have to get rid of me.

Today was alright. And I slept relatively well last night. The day at work was bearable. A couple of walk ins that were not helpful at all. “I got a phone call yesterday.” “Do you know who you spoke to?” “No.” “Was it a man or a woman?” “A woman.” “Ok. What is your name?” “Jeffrey Filling Station” “Is that J-e-f-f-r-e-y? Or G-e-o-f-f-r-e-y?” “With a J”

And so I do some detective work and find a name attached to this client. I sent a message and an email to the name attached only to find out they are not in today. And no one responded.

There was a lunch today in celebration of West Indian culture so people might have been attending that event. I didn’t attend. I knew about it and also knew I wasn’t going. My status has conferred on me a sense of being uncomfortable among these kids though a few women that I work near offered to get me a plate which I begged off.

I’d rather have nothing to do with the majority of these people, and even with the ones I actually do like I don’t mingle with at all. A few days ago Bill reminded me that I am not there to make friends, I am there to work. I told him that I have friends from jobs that I had 40 years ago, 30 years ago.

I think the cut-off was the twenty-first century—no more friends from work. I do have some hope. There was something posted about something that is going to happen in Hoboken and that was encouraging. Then reality poked its head in, reminding me that I am 61, soon to be 62.

Who is going to want to hire someone at my age? Captain Andrew Antonik? Nah, that Napoleon complex case study is not worth its height in salt. I don’t even like to go past that spot at 14th Street and Willow Ave.

There was something delightfully odd this morning. I had to participate in a Zoom call today, and as things were starting up the inhuman resources director was using the camera as a mirror, making sure its hair looked right as well as its lipstick properly applied. I don’t think it knew it was being watched and it was like I said, delightfully odd if not a bit disturbing what with the fraction of power it wields.

The assistant is much more personable and they put in the effort for a successful West Indian lunch that I did not attend. The afternoon crawled even with my cigar break. It was too damn hot outside.

In the office, various people walk by wearing hoodies, drinking cold beverages, and complaining about how cold they are due to the revamped HVAC in the office. Actually, everywhere in the office, they complain about it being too cold except where I sit where it is basically a vacuum devoid of air.

There is a small fan on my desk which provides some slight comfort but not enough to warrant wearing a hoodie.