Being a receptionist is actually pretty… okay. It’s not an interesting job, but the social observation it affords is lots of fun. Okay, fun is a relative term. The moments I enjoy each day are probably only so rewarding because the rest of the eight hours I spend behind my tiers of black granite are rhythmed to the buzz of fluorescent lights.
BUT being a receptionist gives me a certain kind of power. I am the Social One in the office. Except when I’m really engrossed in something on my computer screen, I make fearless eye contact with everyone who goes by. It unnerves people. There are a couple of attorneys who are so shy they don’t even come through my room any more, but sneak out of the elevators and through the office’s back door rather than face my smile and my little wave.
I also see everyone from the rest of the offices on the floor when they walk around to the bathrooms and the elevators. I especially enjoy the moments when Talks to Herself Girl (sometimes I also refer to her as Looks Like She’s Crying Girl) and Flirty Eye Contact Man pass – probably because there is glass between me and them.
The only downside to my function is that I am basically chained to my desk, and therefore subject to whatever tirades the loud lady in the office feels like directing at me. Today I heard that she doesn’t care if she dies early from all the cigarettes she smokes, that she needed a ten-minute break because she didn’t want to shout at the “tax man” in the office, and that her sister (my boss) must be losing weight because her skirt sits on her butt differently than it used to. Um.
The other super social time of my day is not in the office but on the way home. I cross Dupont Circle, Meridian Hill, and Columbia Heights at prime dog-walking time, and oh, the fluffy little joys of that half hour! Often when I laugh out loud at people’s cute dogs, the owners laugh with me. I love that.