Yesterday, at 1PM I set out to get my paycheck for TA’ing at NYU this past semester. At 4PM, I got home and cried like the small bitch of a child that I am.
I went to the hospital where I was supposed to pick up my paycheck. This building will forever after be known as Where I Later Publicly Cry. In Where I Later Publicly Cry, I was directed to the payroll desk, where I was told that no, of course they do not give out paychecks at the PAYROLL DESK. I will have to go to the building across the street. A nice young man tells me this, so I thank him and go.
I notice his older mustached colleague, but I don’t speak to him, and I certainly don’t assume that under his mustache is the root of all evil. I will later learn that he’s the reason Piggy (SPOILER ALERT for anyone who didn’t take an English class in high school) dies violently in The Lord of the Flies.
Building #2, which will forever after be known as Where I Am the Biggest Slut, is almost certainly where the Zombie Apocalypse will begin. First, the elevator ONLY goes down. There are no stairs leading up either, just a staircase in the middle of the lobby that leads down to what I can only assume is the prototype for the Phantom of the Opera’s raperoom.
I tap on the front window where the guard is sitting to ask him where payroll is, and he looks up at me with dead eyes and simply shakes his head, as if to say either 1) “I’m not your Helpful Goldfish swimming in The Bowl of Knowledge, why are you tapping on my place of work,” 2) “I know nothing,” or most likely, 3) “Go back while you still can.” I wrongly go with the goldfish theory and sprinkle a few flakes of fish food on the desk to make amends before moving on.
The directory that is crookedly nailed to the wall tells me that Payroll is on Level SC2 (i.e. Subhuman Creatures 2: This Time You Will Die, For You Are the Sluttiest One in the Cast). The doors open onto SC2, and the first thing I see is an abandoned desk with a knocked over fern. The computer chair is still slowly spinning.
A disheveled older redheaded woman comes trotting down the hall, and I realize that I’m safe now. This woman is obviously a bigger slut than I am; she has sex-hair and no wedding ring. She totally just got nailed. The Slut calls, “Do you know where Payroll is?!” and as she gets closer, I see she’s wearing a necklace with a small Crucifix. Oops, she is married. To Jesus.
Now that I’m trapped in this horror sequel with the world’s oldest virgin, I quickly go back to the lobby, past the guard who munches his fish food and nods solemnly. I go back across the street to Where I Later Cry Publicly, forever after known as Where I Will Soon Cry Publicly, back to the first payroll desk to ask for help from the Nice Man:
Nice Man: Didn’t find it?
Weakling: No, is there anywhere else you know of that gives out paychecks?
Nice Man: Sorry sweetie, I don’t think so.
Weakling: Nowhere else in the building?
(the formerly forgotten mustached man turns violently in his spinny chair)
Beelzebub: Did you not hear him?
Weakling: (to Nice Man) Is there another location? Because the payroll office must be closed, I looked all over the second floor–
Beelzebub: There isn’t any other location. Are you deaf?
Weakling: Is there a directory you can check–
Beelzebub: (rolls eyes) Yeah. I just checked. Try Wallstreet.
Weakling: OH, I’M SORRY, ARE YOU SITTING ON A KNIFE, OR ARE YOU ALWAYS THIS RUDE?
Then, as I hand over the conch shell and shuffle away, I start to cry. Because I was mean? No, because for once I tried to stand up for myself, and instead of it being effortlessly powerful and eloquent like it is in my dreams, it came out really stupid, and didn’t make any sense.
As I leave the building forever after known as Where I’m Crying Publicly, an old woman in a walker gently touches my arm and leans toward me. She softly asks, “Do you know where the bathroom is?” I choke back a sob and tell her no. She looks at me angrily and scoots away.