People seem teeny-tiny on the east coast. So petite. Little wiry knots of vim and vigor. Me, I GIGANTIC. I FROM CALIFORNIA. People expand to take up the available room in their state, is my thinking. Which reminds me of Richard E. Grant’s autobiography where he describes going to LA for the first time and being astounded by the huge servings in restaurants, and the enormo glasses of soda. With free refills!

I just did a lot of research to learn how much the biggest Big Gulp holds, and then how to convert that amount into something I could understand, which is how I ended up with “about half a gallon.” And then I decided to abandon my whole jokey interlude because half a gallon didn’t seem like such a ridiculous amount. I’m learning a lot about myself today.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got no work to do. And I haven’t, really, for a couple of weeks. And that’d be fine if I’d been working here for a year, say, but I’m still pretty new and so I’m unclear on what a normal workload is and what acceptable forms of non-work are and if, god forbid, I should be seeking out work when I find I’ve been given none to do. Isn’t that the pro-active thing to do? Doesn’t that make the higher-ups raise their eyebrows appreciatively and nod at their leggy secretaries as secret code to “make a note of this refreshing excellence and/or come service me sexually in about five minutes”?

But the fact is I’ve waited too long. I can’t waltz in there and be like: “Hey man, I’ve got nothing to do. Where’s the challenge? I’m young, I’m hot, I’m ready to judo-chop. Who here is ready to tame my wild creativity?” Because they’ll go: “Why didn’t you come to us sooner?” And I’ll have to say: “You know that webcam site where the girls write your name on their boobies if you send them Barbie playsets from their Amazon wishlists?” And it all ends with me being the guy who replaces the scent cartridges in the auto-spritzer in the men’s room.*

Which reminds me of when I was a temp and they gave me something to alphabetize and it took ten seconds and I had to come groveling for more work and they were all surprised I was already finished and had to think up more busywork for me to do because they certainly never expected such an alphabetizing prodigy to come marching in here, like some freaky Rain Man Bobby Fischer Shine shit. And that’s when I learned the Third Lesson of Temping, which is Never Quite Finish Anything, and I guess I’m bringing that lesson with me to this treasured perm job. Not that kind of perm job! Oh ho ho! I wish. I wish.

*On further thought, that might be a pretty sweet job, as long as I was more of a journeyman, traveling from place to place, bringing fresh scent cartridges — and smiles! — to every office I visited. I could apprentice for a few years, learning the ways from my master, until the exciting, scary day when s/he finally says: “There is nothing more I can teach you. Your wings are fully formed. All that remains is for you to fly.” Which sounds easy, right? But that’s the final lesson: Just because you can fly, doesn’t mean you will. It’s all about overcoming fear and giving yourself permission to soar.

I’m just not sure if I’m ready.