novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the receptionist's desk I am seated at a plastic-coated chipboard desk decorated by cutouts from a Simpsons calendar, a rock completely covered by beige rubber bands, a telephone, a console, and a TTY. There are four coffee mugs in varying colors surrounding the computer, all filled to the brim with paperclips. Next to a purple mug sits a half-consumed bottle of Berkeley Farms milk. The mouse pad is a cartoonish map of the Bay Area, with overlarge icons hovering near noteworthy locations. An out of porportion Golden Gate Bridge. A fiery red cable car. A bunch of grapes. The monitor is wearing a fuschia ribbon as a hat. To the left sits a small cardboard replica of a UPS truck. Behind me are shelves that match the desk. In the shelves are binders filled with outdated information, office supplies, and a box of cereal. The bulletin board resting above the telephone equipment is not cork, but some undrying glue, like the backside of an immortal post-it. Papers listing phone numbers and addresses have been slapped onto the surface. There are three different letter openers, one of which looks like the head of a two-dimensional baby bird. My landscape for an hour and a half a day while the receptionist takes his breaks or lunch. 2:20 pm - 09.30.03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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