Not thinking things through is sort of the story of my life. I prefer to call it charmingly impulsive, others (the glass half-empty gang) call it recklessly impetuous. Either way, I’m here today with all limbs intact, so who are you going to side with?

When I was setting this blog up, my friend Nichole was my model and I pretty much fashioned everything after her site. This meant being very open about who I was, no mask of anonymity for me to hide behind, no sirree bob. I’ve regretted that once or twice since then largely because I have to be nice. I can’t slag people off like some of you are prone to do. I can’t moan about my family, or Dr. O’C’s family, or Dr. O’C for that matter – not that I would want to, of course. It would just be nice to be able to do so with immunity. Alas, in addition to not thinking things through, I’m also just lazy. That is why I can’t be bothered to change things up to become reasonably anonymous. One day…

My letting it all hang out style also means that I don’t blog much about work. As that is pretty much all I’m doing these days, it means my material is fairly limited. I really don’t know how either of my employers would feel about being the subject of a blog post. But I do know that some employers have been rather humorless about their portrayal on the interwebs.

Which is really a shame, because I would love to tell you about one of my employer’s (not mentioning any names) recycling policy. Before you think I’m some sort of vandal or Republican, let me just say that I’m all for recycling. In fact, I spent most of my time in Britain digging out all of the non-recyclable things that Dr. O’C used to put in our recycling bins. She’s got many gifts, my lady, but reading the side of recycling bins isn’t one of them. She didn’t seem to be able to grasp that putting a shitty nappy in the plastic recycling might gloop the system up a bit. (Brings a whole new meaning to the “This Bottle Made from 100% Recycled Consumer Waste” label, doesn’t it).

But I think sometimes people take the whole recycling thing a bit too far. At this unnamed employer, they basically run a zero tolerance recycling program. You recycle. End of story. The cleaners double as detectives and if they find anything in your trash can that could have been recycled, then a yellow card is placed on your desk. As well as the offending item, presumably. If it happens again, you receive a red card. It’s not entirely clear to me what happens then, but I’m fairly certain that I’m going to find out. I mean, in the spirit of scientific inquiry and all.

If I had a little bit more of a veil of secrecy in place, I could also tell you about another one of my current employers, who operates a strict no food or drink in the lobby or elevator policy. Strict to the point that some of my new co-workers have regaled me with stories of being called to the building superintendent’s office where they receive mind-numbing lectures on the costs of cleaning dried cola beverages from marble floors. Each of the employees have asked the obvious question – how did you know I was eating in the elevator? The answer – surveillance. Surveillance that makes the Bush Administration drool. Security at this building is not watching for thieves and terrorists, they’re watching for people eating lunch on the fly. So, now when I go to work I get that same warm feeling as I do when I’m unlucky enough to have to fly through the U.S. – that comfort that comes with excessive and ineffectual surveillance. The same part of me that wants to shout “oh my god he has a gun” in the TSA line at the Orlando airport wants to take a big old bite of a jelly and cream filled donut as I’m stepping into the lobby.

Actually, jobs aren’t easy to come by these days, so I’ll probably repress my spirit of rebellion and just accept. The problem will come when I get them confused. With two jobs I run the risk of forgetting where I am at any given time. I’m pretty sure it’s all going to blow up in my face on the day I dump my recyclable food waste in the elevator.

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