So I'm reading this book I Hate Bush and So Do You by Reader Weekly columnist Jason Johnson, who happens to be my co-worker (or, to use Jason's word, fellow "postman"). The book is a compilation of Johnson's columns from 1999-2003, and I had no idea it existed until I accidentally came across it at the library.

My favorite parts of the book occur when the subject strays from politics and into a more personal realm, namely that of Jason's job, which is the same as my job. Here's an excellent example from his May 31, 2001 article, "The Decline and Fall of the Midwestern Work Ethic" in which he discusses his award for perfect attendance (an award which I received in 1999, incidentally):

Then, earlier this year, I was given an award for my perfect attendence for the year of 2000. I was told to stand and receive applause from my co-workers for this award. It was a touching, humbling experience until I realized that I got this award for literally just showing up. Ever hear of contests that give awards for crossing the finish line within the lifetime of an elm tree? This is that award!

I wasn't asked to give a speech, or it would have gone like this: "I'd like to thank my co-workers for having some kind of life outside work, thereby rewarding me for my limited obligations. I'd particularly like to thank my female co-workers; if any of you had actually gone out with me, I might not have been free to work all those weekends. And I'd like to thank the rest of you for catching my flu, which I brought to work with me because I couldn't afford an unscheduled absence." I would then eat lunch in the cafeteria alone.

That is gold, Jason Johnson. Gold.

I especially like that last line, because although Jason works in the same place as I do, doing the same things, at the same time of day, often even sitting right next to me, I have never spoken to him in my life. I have never said hello, and I have never even said something as impersonal as "excuse me." I would feel pretty comfortable wagering that we have never even made direct eye contact. Yet we are not merely co-workers, we are both writers of smart-aleck journalism, and we have both been published in The Cheerleader magazine. What are the chances?

Last night I was thinking about this fact and planning to write this post. Then, I went to sleep and dreamed that Jason Johnson came up to me and introduced himself. I got really mad and screamed at him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?! We had a great streak going on here and you just blew it by talking to me! We are NOT SUPPOSED TO ACKNOWLEDGE EACH OTHER'S EXISTENCE!" My rage was exquisite.

I also eat lunch alone in the cafeteria every day. I do this by choice and by habit, and because it is part of the culture of the place. Since talking is prohibited on the workroom floor, you don't generally interact with your co-workers in the lunchroom either unless one or more of the following is true: 1) you are both extremely extroverted, 2) you know each other through some means other than work, 3) you are a smoker, or 4) you are a middle-aged woman who likes to get to work early and drink coffee and eat cake.

Maybe someday I will run into Jason Johnson outside of the workplace and we will have a conversation of some kind. But there's no way in hell I'm going to initiate one on the clock. I have my bubble of isolation to think of.

I'm done.
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