On Wires, Woes, and Whoas � � � Sunday, Nov. 09, 2003 * 01:37

I work in a funny building. From the outside, it looks like munchkin warehouse, very flat and white. But when you walk inside, you find a very open, relatively modern and streamlined work area. Being that it is a technical support call center, there are approximately 2 billion computers in it, as well as some hundreds of people.

My desk is in the smaller call room, which is not where I wanted to sit as I went through training. I was assigned to that area, though, and ended up liking it well enough, even though it is dimly lit and reeks of nutmeg, marjorin, and coriander since it faces the McCormick spice factories.

When I walked into work on Friday, I hadn't been there in a good while due to being ill. I had not slept for nearly a day, and I was also sporting a holter monitor. This is a weighty, cumbersome device; a heart monitor which attaches to my chest, collarbones, and sides with five electrical readers, and a central pack to house the lead wires. All of this runs through a large, grey wire to a tape deck, holding a cassette which records the electrical activity of my heart for 48 hours. The whole assembly is slung over my shoulder like a purse and most of it fits under my clothing.

Justin drove me since I was weak and tired, and I stumbled in and walked down the hallway, expecting to see a room full of around 40 or 50 people and, of course, the computers.

I was greeted with an empty room, completely devoid of people, computers, phones, lights, or any other sign of life.

For an instant, my heart stopped and I nearly fainted. The combination of circumstances culminated in a moment that, though I may try, I could never communicate with words, pictures, song, or interpretive dance. My final steps down the hall slowed to a crawl, my eyes stopped blinking, and my hand flew to my chest in fright. I groped for something to support me in case I fell and my hand smacked against the wall. The resulting thud produced a pounding in my skull. The world was gone. I was an android, an alien life form; life as I knew it had come to an end. Perhaps extraterrestrials had snatched me as I walked through the kitchen, and replaced me in the same spot 30 years later. Justin would have remarried; my mother would be dead; my precious kittens would be buried in a pet cemetery and my indian food in the refrigerator would be spoiled.

I rounded the corner and groped my way down the next all. No person was to be seen. The only thing to reassure me was an office with the door open and a light on, and a computer that wasn't floating,as they will no doubt be doing in 30 years; and, I was still clutching the small tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookies I had brought in to share with my co-workers.

To my credit, I never stopped walking. I patted my holter monitor and plunged on through the building to the main calling center.

There, everyone was. And I mean everyone. Somehow, they had fit twice as many desks in this area, and everyone I recognized was bustling around, yelling at customers, throwing beach balls to and fro, and looking at porn.

I have never been so relieved in all my days. The combination of circumstances culminating in this moment can no more easily be transcribed. I felt happy, at ease, at home, myself, and altogether elated when I saw my team lead waving to me and beckoning me over.

Since then, Jason (my boss and team lead) and I have rearranged and moved our desks slightly to better accommodate ourselves. Now, I sit in a cozy corner free of the smell of marjorin in the morning, with more privacy. At the same time, everyone surrounds me and I always have something to laugh at with somebody or someone to make fun of, like Tibbils, who sits quite close now. He is fond of coming over during his fifteen minute breaks, talking to me for 5 minutes, and then informing me that he is "going to do something productive with the rest" of his break and wandering off to the bathroom.

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I'm still wearing the monitor; I take it off tomorrow morning at 9:11am. This will be followed by 17 showers to make up for the 4 I have missed in the past couple of days. Personal filth accumulates exponentially, people. Thankfully, I have actually experienced some quite traumatic arrhythmias and palpitations and a sustained period of tachycardia while I've had this monitor on. The last time I wore one, I experienced nothing and nothing was captured, other than tachycardia (abnormally high heart rate). If a doctor can tell me that all of this activity is normal, then I just can't say how happy that will make me. I believe my overall level of stress would depreciate drastically and I would live a longer life just for knowing that I wasn't about to drop dead from mitral valve prolapse or some other such ridiculous heart abnormality. On the other hand, if a doctor can tell me that none of this is normal, I will still live a longer life, because I can get the appropriate treatment.

All that being said, this son of a bitch itches like the mother of all things that itch. I dream of the moment when I will rip this tape off of my skin and leap into a 4 hour-long hot, steamy shower while salivating and staring at my watch.

But, before I can do all that, I'll make sure to take a picture of it, so you all can have a private audience to what my torso looks like strapped to an antiquated piece of medical history at which we will certainly laugh uproariously in the coming decades.