Coffee Table Declarations
Monday, April 14, 2003
I had been feeling really out of sorts with myself the past few days but I'm better now. The weekend was not long enough, as usual. Saturday was dedicated to taxes. An especially patient friend helped me to sort the whole thing out. Taxes are confusing when they're straightfoward. Imagine my cluelessness when you factor in that I didn't hold a real tax-deducting job for the entire year of 2002. I was collecting unemployment for part of the time, which I could've opted to have taxes taken out of, but I needed the money more than the government did at that time. Then again, I usually would be of the opinion that I need my hard-earned money more than the government does.
I spent the majority of the year working on a political campaign which considered me self-employed for their own greedy, lazy, selfish reasons that served only to screw over the hard working staff. But that's another story! Anyway, the reason this was to my detriment is because, if you are self-employed, you have to pay 15% of what you earn as a "self-employment tax" in addition to regular taxes. Again, I felt that at that time, I needed my money more than the government, and therefore I now owe in taxes a sizable percentage of my earnings last year. Funny how that works, isn't it?
* * * * *
Anyway, above mentioned helpful friend and I, after tackling the large and overwhelming job of doing my taxes, headed out for a very late dinner of Indian food. We love this particular restaurant for it's location and cuisine, but I must confess that I'm now a bit creeped out and considering never going back. I think in a period of maybe, the past year, we've been there for dinner 3 or 4 times at most. The first time we were slightly uncomfortable about the waiter's attention but hey, as charming and attractive young women, uninvited male attention is certainly not something we are unaccustomed to during a night out on the town. Unimpressed by, yes, but unaccustomed to, no. (Actually, I could probably write a whole additional entry about this and I could tie it all in to a commentary about sexism in today's society. Maybe I will.)
Things took a turn for the weird the next time we went. The waiter remembered us in detail - down to what we had ordered before. He had written down that I wanted the Chicken Tikka Masala before he arrived at our table to take the order. I know because he showed me that it was already written on his little waiter-order-writing pad. That was strange considering it had been at least a couple months since our last visit and surely they must have plenty of other customers, right? Anyway, I can't remember if we went anytime between then and this past weekend, but we certainly hadn't been there in a good long time. We were immediately greeted by the waiter with a "Nice to see you ladies again". Again, he remembered us. But this time he was a little more bold. As we were leaving he was pushing for phone numbers and we left in a big hurry. I don't know, he's probably harmless, but I'm sure there are a lot of conveniently located, good Indian restaurants around.
* * * * *
So here it is, Monday again, and I'm back at work already. Part of my complex and highly specialized job description is to distribute the mail. Monday morning mail is always the worst because it's usually two boxes filled to the top. Today, the woman who sits right near me is not here and she usually covers the phone for me during Monday morning mail. I was interrupted a total of 11 times to run back and answer the phone. At least I got some exercise.
* * * * *
I'm once again amazed at the small kindnesses bestowed upon me here at work. One guy was bringing a new guy around introducing him to people. He told him who I was and said "she's nice." That made me really happy. Hey, I'm getting paid to be here. If people think I'm nice, all the better. If I can make a positive difference in the lives of others, then it's all worthwhile.
The second nice person of the day was a guy who came over for some candy (there's a big bowl of it on my desk for people). He asked what was good and I pointed out that we have Butterfinger Eggs in honor of Easter. He found one caramel egg and exclaimed it was his favorite. I agreed that it was mine too, and he then gave it to me. What a considerate gesture. Little does he know that I keep a secret stash of all the good stuff in a mug on my desk. Hey, I tried to get him to take it back but he insisted.
* * * * *
All's well that ends well.
I spent the majority of the year working on a political campaign which considered me self-employed for their own greedy, lazy, selfish reasons that served only to screw over the hard working staff. But that's another story! Anyway, the reason this was to my detriment is because, if you are self-employed, you have to pay 15% of what you earn as a "self-employment tax" in addition to regular taxes. Again, I felt that at that time, I needed my money more than the government, and therefore I now owe in taxes a sizable percentage of my earnings last year. Funny how that works, isn't it?
* * * * *
Anyway, above mentioned helpful friend and I, after tackling the large and overwhelming job of doing my taxes, headed out for a very late dinner of Indian food. We love this particular restaurant for it's location and cuisine, but I must confess that I'm now a bit creeped out and considering never going back. I think in a period of maybe, the past year, we've been there for dinner 3 or 4 times at most. The first time we were slightly uncomfortable about the waiter's attention but hey, as charming and attractive young women, uninvited male attention is certainly not something we are unaccustomed to during a night out on the town. Unimpressed by, yes, but unaccustomed to, no. (Actually, I could probably write a whole additional entry about this and I could tie it all in to a commentary about sexism in today's society. Maybe I will.)
Things took a turn for the weird the next time we went. The waiter remembered us in detail - down to what we had ordered before. He had written down that I wanted the Chicken Tikka Masala before he arrived at our table to take the order. I know because he showed me that it was already written on his little waiter-order-writing pad. That was strange considering it had been at least a couple months since our last visit and surely they must have plenty of other customers, right? Anyway, I can't remember if we went anytime between then and this past weekend, but we certainly hadn't been there in a good long time. We were immediately greeted by the waiter with a "Nice to see you ladies again". Again, he remembered us. But this time he was a little more bold. As we were leaving he was pushing for phone numbers and we left in a big hurry. I don't know, he's probably harmless, but I'm sure there are a lot of conveniently located, good Indian restaurants around.
* * * * *
So here it is, Monday again, and I'm back at work already. Part of my complex and highly specialized job description is to distribute the mail. Monday morning mail is always the worst because it's usually two boxes filled to the top. Today, the woman who sits right near me is not here and she usually covers the phone for me during Monday morning mail. I was interrupted a total of 11 times to run back and answer the phone. At least I got some exercise.
* * * * *
I'm once again amazed at the small kindnesses bestowed upon me here at work. One guy was bringing a new guy around introducing him to people. He told him who I was and said "she's nice." That made me really happy. Hey, I'm getting paid to be here. If people think I'm nice, all the better. If I can make a positive difference in the lives of others, then it's all worthwhile.
The second nice person of the day was a guy who came over for some candy (there's a big bowl of it on my desk for people). He asked what was good and I pointed out that we have Butterfinger Eggs in honor of Easter. He found one caramel egg and exclaimed it was his favorite. I agreed that it was mine too, and he then gave it to me. What a considerate gesture. Little does he know that I keep a secret stash of all the good stuff in a mug on my desk. Hey, I tried to get him to take it back but he insisted.
* * * * *
All's well that ends well.
