Cold Death Everyday is how I imagine a windowless office job. I had a taste of it today. Here's what had to come out of me to purge myself of the dread:

"I just left hell. It was in a big brownstone building. One Gojo Place, Akron, Ohio. I parked on the lowest level of the deck, and walked in just my suit jacket against a stiff cold wind up one level through a square cement tunnel to reach protection from the elements. I should have worn a coat.

Inside the building, through the revolving glass door, I took the elevator to the second floor. I was only allowed to the second floor per my plastic card pass. I came out of the elevator into a world of white marble walls and pristine glass doors. My heels clicked on the floor, Click Clack, Click Clack. My bare toes struggled against the confines of my narrow dress shoes.

Accountemps thick blue carpet portrayed a slight sense of warmth contrasting the minimalist upscale atmosphere.

Where do these people hang their coats, or wipe their feet? Where are the coffee cups, the counter sprinkled with sugar spilled from the last person to sweeten their cup of joe? Where is REALITY?

I filled out a thick stack of papers portraying my spotty work history and took three skill evaluations at a computer in the computer bank. The bank consisted of a small room lined with cubicles in which only a monitor, a keyboard, and a small white pad of paper sat on each desk. The flourescent lights overhead are the opposite of comfort. They screamed at me, "Faster! Produce! The masses are waiting! Turn little cog, turn!" I am bored already with the endless stream of numbers spilling from the fingers on my right hand. Do people really exist on this diet of mundane repitition?

I bombed the test for knowing Accounting Clerk office terms. It's been so long since I worked in SBU's small dirty construction office filling out invoices, and answering phone calls, that I'd forgotten a lot.

I have never had a factory worker mentality. I have always been allowed to dream.

The computer prints my final data. I am graded Average on my Excel and Accounting Clerk abilities. I sign a few more papers saying that I will pay the government part of my wages. I will pay out for the misery of this soulless work?

Finally, I am ushered to a room crowded with a table and 3 small chairs. I am told to sit and wait. Someone will meet with me soon. A thick man in a dark suit with dark hair comes in. He uses phrases like, "Alright!", Good Deal!", and "We'll be in touch!" These are office lingo for "We're done here. Get out, and let me get back to my facebook page." He reeked of old office mentality. I could almost hear his thoughts. "I put in my 8 hours repeating the same information to different people everyday, and that is how I spend most of my life. I am a robot."

I am reminded of the satirical picture of an army of skeletons in suits I came across on facebook the other day. All of the skeletons quote monotonously and in harmony, "I am Free. I am Free." A row of black suits in front of a second row, against a 3rd row, and another, and another. We the People, ARE those skeletons. We are shadows of who we could be. We are the products of this society. By which I mean, we are manufactured. Have you ever really thought about the two words, Human Resources?



I have been looking at the world from a distant point of view for so long that I find that I do not want to be present here. I refuse to become a clone embalmed in one of these white marble and glass sepulchres.

Yet, I need an income. Whatever will I do?