Tuesday, August 31, 2004
The Agony and the Ecstacy
There’s a man who plays your pop favorites of the ‘70s and ‘80s on a flute on the plaza 16 floors below my office window each Tuesday. It’s terrifyingly Muzak. For the first few weeks I was in this office, I thought there might be a dentist’s office directly beneath me. And today, August 31, 2004, he broke out "O Holy Night" by my calculation some four months early. I’m not saying that if he doesn't stop I’m going to go insane and slice my ears off with the paper cutter; I’m just saying that, if I do, it won’t take Marg Helgenberger and her crack CSI team to figure out why.
On the other hand, I’m actually experiencing a strange and unprecedented feeling I believe they term "job satisfaction" right now. I didn’t recognize it at first; I thought it might just be more puberty. But my doctor assured me that a) those dreams I’m having are completely normal, even for a grown man and b) it is possible to enjoy what you do, especially if you’re a doctor and you get to randomly stick people with sharp objects whenever you feel like it. Although my job is sadly free of the recreational infliction of unnecessary pain, it is suddenly a lot more active, diverse, and interesting than I remember it being. I’m making it through entire days without naps or caffeine injections, and yesterday I even finished five or six tasks without checking my e-mail in between. I’m fairly certain that this must all be the result of some horrible mind-control experiment secretly conducted by my employers in violation of all international standards of ethics and personal hygiene, but for now I’ll take the ignorance and the bliss with my afternoon flute concert, thank you very much.
There’s a man who plays your pop favorites of the ‘70s and ‘80s on a flute on the plaza 16 floors below my office window each Tuesday. It’s terrifyingly Muzak. For the first few weeks I was in this office, I thought there might be a dentist’s office directly beneath me. And today, August 31, 2004, he broke out "O Holy Night" by my calculation some four months early. I’m not saying that if he doesn't stop I’m going to go insane and slice my ears off with the paper cutter; I’m just saying that, if I do, it won’t take Marg Helgenberger and her crack CSI team to figure out why.
On the other hand, I’m actually experiencing a strange and unprecedented feeling I believe they term "job satisfaction" right now. I didn’t recognize it at first; I thought it might just be more puberty. But my doctor assured me that a) those dreams I’m having are completely normal, even for a grown man and b) it is possible to enjoy what you do, especially if you’re a doctor and you get to randomly stick people with sharp objects whenever you feel like it. Although my job is sadly free of the recreational infliction of unnecessary pain, it is suddenly a lot more active, diverse, and interesting than I remember it being. I’m making it through entire days without naps or caffeine injections, and yesterday I even finished five or six tasks without checking my e-mail in between. I’m fairly certain that this must all be the result of some horrible mind-control experiment secretly conducted by my employers in violation of all international standards of ethics and personal hygiene, but for now I’ll take the ignorance and the bliss with my afternoon flute concert, thank you very much.
