Not so perfect, not so young

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


I am a receptionist. Just the thing for a person who almost has a masters degree in their little fist. I spend the day in front of a computer, answering phones in my fake phone voice*, filing this and copying that.

There's a certain luxury in a 9 to 5 job that isn't even remotely related to my near-future profession. I don't have to stress out, because if things aren't done at the end of the day, I'm still out of there like a shot. People just tell me what to do and I do it.

(Wait for my post next week when I tell you that I'm sick of being told what to do and can't stop stressing out about filing papers and answering phones.)

*seriously, what's up with the fake phone voice? I can't suppress it. I can't pretend I'm talking to a good friend and speak like a normal person. I'm all, "I'm so smooth and quiet and good- afternoon-would-you-like-me-to-transfer-you-to-her-voice-mail?" and it's a little bit creepy.


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