THANK GOD I no longer enter underground tunnels daily just to get to work, to CubicleVille…
— to the fax machine I’ll stand at while having my ears pierced by a screeching “transmitting” noise
— to the copier machine where when the toner level is near out, 55 year old men who make $48,000 MORE than I do will come to my desk and ask me to “fix” the copier machine even though the toner box containing NEW toner is painfully visibly right next to the copier machine and my cubicle is miles away
–to hear annoying coworkers chew bubble gum as if its a new discovery, as if they’ve never ever in LIFE chewed a piece of gum before, as if it’s a sheer wonderment that has entered their mouths and is crashing against their very teeth
–only to arrive and realize I’ve left my walkman (circa 1994) on the train, in that tunnel for someone else to enjoy with new batteries
— to find that I’m wearing one navy knee-hi and one black knee-hi. With a long skirt
— to wait out eight long hours before I can leave and re-enter the tunnel and return home to my 530 square foot apartment–a one-room joint–only to return to the aforementioned underground tunnel again in approximately 12 hours. What a hump.
Dudes, it’s unnatural to ride in tunnels. Unnatural, I say.