>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
December 14, 2003

One of the big selling points of Northeastern University for me, or at least for my parents, was the co-op/internship program. (I was more like, “Wait, we're that close to Fenway?!) I started my first co-op in June at the Boston Globe. Six months later, I am happy to report that life in the office here is no different from life in the office anywhere: utterly laughable and equally baffling. Here's a look at the usual highlights/lowlights of life in the office as an intern.

My favorite move in the workplace is the Minimize-Non-Work-Related-Webpage-When-Boss-Comes-Over move. Say, you're looking at a lovely little site involving lesbian schoolgirl scheizer porn, surely that has nothing to do with work. (And if it does, I'm sending over my resume.) But don't you hate when your boss blatantly sees you minimize the page? Like you've got something to hide. Screw that, from now on, I'm keeping my webpages wide open. Oh, hold on, my boss is coming over. Can't let her see this.

Is there any worse feeling than taking a blazing dump in the company bathroom only to come out of your stall and see a shellshocked co-worker? Embarrassment dictates that you must avoid them the rest of the day hoping they'll forget you. But they don't. And from then on, they will always associate you with that stench.

There's always one person at the office who consistently calls you by the wrong name. Over the past 3 months, I've been Jason, Kevin, Paul, Jarvis, Jonas, James, and Shirley. I'd rather not tell the story behind Shirley.

How come on days when I go casual (jeans and a polo shirt) everyone else wears a tie and khakis? But on days I look nice, everyone comes in wearing goddamn Iron Maiden t-shirts and faded cargos?

Have you ever once checked your company e-mail?

I love skanky Fridays. This occurs when all the college girls in my office wear their party clothes to work so they don't have to change later on. Give these girls a promotion!

In my “Legends of the Call” article, I mentioned how my parents never answer the phone. This must be hereditary, because I never answer the phone at work either. Some of the other employees have tried mind games to see how many rings they can wait so I'll have to pick it up. But I don't budge. I am a wall.

Have you ever been training someone how to do your job, and you suddenly realize, “Wow, my job is fuckin bullshit!”

Nothing makes me feel worse than when I'm archiving obituaries, and I see the headlines for them. They read: Dorothy Blair, went to high school; and John Westbrook, septic tank cleaner. You can tell a lot about a person by their obituary. I want mine to read: “Justin Rebello, got lots of ass. He will be missed.”

Here's a rundown of the various commuter characters I come across during my day:

Mrs. Mother of Five. There's always some lady with a whole flock of delinquent bitch kids on the subway, and they are always running amok, til I kick them in the head with my Timberland. On a side note: ever tell someone about a woman who has 5 or 6 kids? And they reply: “God bless her” God bless her? The woman can't keep her legs closed.

The really hot girl I stare at. There is this girl who gets on South Station T stop who is just fiiiiiine. She looks like a blonde Avril lavigne, which is a wicked turn on for me. If by some miracle she's reading this, my name is Justin and I think you're swell.

The Old Bitch. I consider myself a polite guy. When an old or handicapped person gets on the train, I give up my seat for them. But what's with these people who don't thank you or even acknowledge you, like it's your civic duty to give them a seat? I think old people are getting a little too complacent nowadays. They cut you off without a turn signal, take hours to walk ten feet, and hold up the CVS pharmacy line for days because they can't hear, have no understanding of their HMO, and refuse to pay a dime for medication. Hey lady, hurry it up, would ya please? I'm just picking up some rash ointment, errr, I mean, uh, manly pills. Yeah, manly pills.

The Crazy. You know the guy. When I took the commuter rail to Boston every day, there was this one dude with long scraggly hair, two, maybe three teeth, a cowboy hat, and a face that made him look like the creature in Alien. For all I know the guy's real nice, but for now he scares the bejesus out of me.

The older person who's been there pretty long but still hasn't been promoted. My personal favorite, this is also the same person who gets violently pissed off when I tell them I'm just a college student, and essentially doing their job without the 25 years of experience. Always a good time.

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