to see them everyday? Could you do it? I can help. Been there-done that. Just let me explain.
Here’s how…
One: deny eye contact. All eye contact must and will be denied. Look at the floor. Study the cracks in the linoleum and the stains on the carpet. Memorize the thick, yellowing varnish on the hardwood floors in the hall and try to come up with a number for how many times they’ve been sanded and sealed up again. There’s so much to see (on the floor) if you only look hard enough.
Two: sex—have a few one-night stands with dudes who are sufficiently attractive enough for you to get a lady boner going after a couple of drinks. (Does this, perhaps, sound kind of repulsive to you? Believe me, it can be if you don’t have the right attitude.) They’re of age, adults, consensual, informed, blah, blah, blah (but please, do note that those things are important). This stops your body from pleading with you for just one more kiss from the person you’re dying inside for and trying so desperately to avoid. It works; just make sure you use protection so you don’t end up with any diseases or a case of the babies. What? I’m gross you’re thinking? I’m telling you, releasing sexual tension is of utmost necessity.
Three: throw yourself at someone else. Do you have a Gunnar Anderson who frequents your office? Use it to your advantage. Peel your eyeballs off of the dotted ceiling board and flirt with him, ruthlessly, aimlessly until you’re giddy from so much stupidity, until your face fucking hurts from being such a ventriloquist’s dummy. Don’t sleep with your Gunnar. That would complicate things. This needs to remain fairly easy. We’re trying to get a job done here, aren’t we?
Four: drink. Not just get blasted on Fridays but every night of the torturous week. Drink wine out of a box on Wednesday while you binge on Chinese take-out and watch terrible TV. Then accidently let out your neighbor’s cat—the one you’re supposed to be feeding. Spend all day Thursday making missing cat fliers at the office in between puking sessions in the communal staff bathroom. Done!
Five: last but not least, stop trying. Look like shit. Don’t even wash your clothes. How can anyone be attracted to you when they are starting to suspect that secretly you’re homeless? You can bathe, but do it without enthusiasm. Leave a ton of conditioner in your hair, so it takes on that dull, greasy sheen that Daisy’s fur had when you finally found her after work one night, meowing outside the Lavateria six blocks from your house.
It’s effective. It works. It hurts like a bitch. Especially when you have to stare at the beautiful painting he made you every time you step foot in the office. You have to remember he thinks you’re an impenetrable prickly pear when all you want in the world is for it to be him who penetrates you. On (oh!) so many levels.
Then you decide to go home because you have to and because you can. It’s time to make one last ditch effort to save your family home and take a breather from Lana Finch. Because, let’s be honest here, that bitch is bringing you down. You can go be yourself, whoever that is, with you mom and dad and your extremely difficult younger brother. You can take a break from trying to save the world at large and concentrate on saving your world—the one you came from, and the one you couldn’t wait to escape. Detroit in February is a wonderful thing. Your family is devastated. Housing court is a cheery and rewarding place. Hey, you’re using up vacation days so try to enjoy it!
Then as luck would have it, one Wednesday night you stay late at the office, trying to work ahead into next week so no one will even notice you’re gone. You don’t want people to say you’re not pulling your part. It’s you who locks up and turns off all the lights. You’ve done this only once before because outstaying Amir and Pedro who work the front desk is nearly impossible. You take the bus home because
Here’s how…
One: deny eye contact. All eye contact must and will be denied. Look at the floor. Study the cracks in the linoleum and the stains on the carpet. Memorize the thick, yellowing varnish on the hardwood floors in the hall and try to come up with a number for how many times they’ve been sanded and sealed up again. There’s so much to see (on the floor) if you only look hard enough.
Two: sex—have a few one-night stands with dudes who are sufficiently attractive enough for you to get a lady boner going after a couple of drinks. (Does this, perhaps, sound kind of repulsive to you? Believe me, it can be if you don’t have the right attitude.) They’re of age, adults, consensual, informed, blah, blah, blah (but please, do note that those things are important). This stops your body from pleading with you for just one more kiss from the person you’re dying inside for and trying so desperately to avoid. It works; just make sure you use protection so you don’t end up with any diseases or a case of the babies. What? I’m gross you’re thinking? I’m telling you, releasing sexual tension is of utmost necessity.
Three: throw yourself at someone else. Do you have a Gunnar Anderson who frequents your office? Use it to your advantage. Peel your eyeballs off of the dotted ceiling board and flirt with him, ruthlessly, aimlessly until you’re giddy from so much stupidity, until your face fucking hurts from being such a ventriloquist’s dummy. Don’t sleep with your Gunnar. That would complicate things. This needs to remain fairly easy. We’re trying to get a job done here, aren’t we?
Four: drink. Not just get blasted on Fridays but every night of the torturous week. Drink wine out of a box on Wednesday while you binge on Chinese take-out and watch terrible TV. Then accidently let out your neighbor’s cat—the one you’re supposed to be feeding. Spend all day Thursday making missing cat fliers at the office in between puking sessions in the communal staff bathroom. Done!
Five: last but not least, stop trying. Look like shit. Don’t even wash your clothes. How can anyone be attracted to you when they are starting to suspect that secretly you’re homeless? You can bathe, but do it without enthusiasm. Leave a ton of conditioner in your hair, so it takes on that dull, greasy sheen that Daisy’s fur had when you finally found her after work one night, meowing outside the Lavateria six blocks from your house.
It’s effective. It works. It hurts like a bitch. Especially when you have to stare at the beautiful painting he made you every time you step foot in the office. You have to remember he thinks you’re an impenetrable prickly pear when all you want in the world is for it to be him who penetrates you. On (oh!) so many levels.
Then you decide to go home because you have to and because you can. It’s time to make one last ditch effort to save your family home and take a breather from Lana Finch. Because, let’s be honest here, that bitch is bringing you down. You can go be yourself, whoever that is, with you mom and dad and your extremely difficult younger brother. You can take a break from trying to save the world at large and concentrate on saving your world—the one you came from, and the one you couldn’t wait to escape. Detroit in February is a wonderful thing. Your family is devastated. Housing court is a cheery and rewarding place. Hey, you’re using up vacation days so try to enjoy it!
Then as luck would have it, one Wednesday night you stay late at the office, trying to work ahead into next week so no one will even notice you’re gone. You don’t want people to say you’re not pulling your part. It’s you who locks up and turns off all the lights. You’ve done this only once before because outstaying Amir and Pedro who work the front desk is nearly impossible. You take the bus home because
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