The perky Worker

I have been trying to assimilate into the workplace culture that last few days. I have been fitting in. This involves the exchange of vague pleasantries, complaints and inquiries about plans the other Workers might have made in the time they spend away from the workplace.

The purpose of this interaction, as I understand it, is to vent steam or raise morale through the implication of shared experience. I am all for it, but must remain vigilant to participate successfully.

I was standing in the break room today, waiting behind a Worker who was filling a cup with coffee. My mind started to drift a bit. I was staring at the styrofoam cup in my hand, thinking about the origins of styrofoam and liquefied dinosaur remains. I tried to think if I had ever known what the "stryo" part meant. Was it a branding thing? I went from that to wondering what sort of utility device might one day be fashioned from my own liquefied remains, assuming the Earth outlives me.

I was in the middle of deciding that I would probably prefer to be made into playground equipment when I realized that a Worker was talking to me, and I had not been listening. This is considered rude, so I asked the her to repeat herself.

"Did you see American Idol last night?" she asked.

"No," I responded in a voice that sounded a little more horrified than I had intended. "Why would I have done that?"

"It's funny," she told me. "They had all the bad singers on."

Bad singers? I was confused. I thought the whole purpose of the program was to locate, vote upon, and eventually brand (in the marketing sense, although there may be a portion of the show involving heated metal that I have not been made aware of) an individual who was considered a good singer of mediocre pop music. The Worker explained that this is the ultimate goal, but that they fritter away huge chunks of nationally televised airtime to the showcasing of contest hopefuls who cannot perform to the standards required later on. This, apparently, is why House was not on this week.

"Why would I want to watch bad singing?" I asked slowly. I was starting to think this was an elaborate joke, and was trying to locate the eventual punchline. I mean, if I really wanted to hear bad singing, I have a radio.

"It's funny. We make fun of them."

"That's terrible! Why would you set aside time to make fun of people for lacking the ability to sing? You don't find that sort of arbitrary? Why not make fun of people for being bad swimmers? Or unlucky in love?" I was forgetting that there are plenty of shows on which an opportunity is presented to make fun of the unlucky in love.

"They really think they can sing," she replied. "It's funny."

"I'd much rather make fun of you," I said, sort of involuntarily. Realizing that this may have been a mistake, I quickly backpedaled: "Or, you know, people I know something about."

This is true. This is likely why I have few friends.

I was in over my head. Had I been alert when the question was raised, I could have said something like "Yeah, did you see that one guy?" and then made vague agreeing sounds at whatever she said until I had filled my cup and could make an exit. As it was, I had not only admitted to not watching the most popular program in the nation, I then proceeded to let slip that I have never seen an episode of any of the reality programs which have sprung up over the last several years. I answered in the negative regarding Survivor, The Bachelor, Wife Swap, Nanny 911, Cops, Who Wants to Marry My Dad? and many others. I had seen Fear Factor, because I thought it was about stunts, but when they produced the rectum from a horse and explained that the contestants were to eat it, I was done.

This was not good. This was not fitting in. I think I actually made her angry.

She flounced away, this perky Worker. She had damaged me.

I stepped up to the vacuum pump and pressed the lever to force coffee out through the spigot. The pressing of the lever suddenly seemed so much like the pressing of a much smaller lever by a mouse who has been conditioned to do so for his food.

The key to conditioning mice is that you have to be willing to let them die if they won't learn the tricks you want from them.