Saturday, August 09, 2003
Door Above Me
I park in the outside lot, since I'm a contract worker, not a company man. I walk toward the security office. There's no need to flash my badge, as it's a warm day and the cheap plastic rectangle on a shoelace is easily visible. The cheery security girl waves at me, and I give her the half-smile-and-raised-hand. It's a nervous, embarrased gesture which I perform every day I come to work.
These security folks have the best jobs at GE . . . at least at my location. There's very little to worry about protecting at an Ultrasound plant. So they sit there, watching for people coming in either on foot or in vehicle. Occassionally, they'll have to make a newby watch a ridiculous, dated safety video (which is followed by a true/false quiz . . . of which all 10 answers are true). But most of the time they sit there, filling out paper work they don't have to look at, grinning at the court TV that fills their afternoon. Texas Justice, Joe Brown, Judge Mathis, Judge Judy, People's Court, Divorce Court -- if they can't serve justice at GE, at least they can watch it.
I walk in to the middle door and make my way around the hall. This, beside leaving time, is the best part of my day. My door is on the left. Another entrance is in front of me. And above that . . . oh, about eight feet or so . . . is a door. I can't tell what's behind it, but I always kind of wish someone would step out of it and freak the hell out of me.
By this time, I've climbed the stairs and I can feel the day's run under my legs. I've been running twelve consecutive weeks now, and there's a lot I could write about as far as miles, averages, fitness, aerobic, blah, blah, blah. The only important thing is that I feel a run under my legs every day. It's a mild tiredness -- occassionally there will be some stiffness in my arches -- that's the most welcome, relieving sensation I can bring.
These security folks have the best jobs at GE . . . at least at my location. There's very little to worry about protecting at an Ultrasound plant. So they sit there, watching for people coming in either on foot or in vehicle. Occassionally, they'll have to make a newby watch a ridiculous, dated safety video (which is followed by a true/false quiz . . . of which all 10 answers are true). But most of the time they sit there, filling out paper work they don't have to look at, grinning at the court TV that fills their afternoon. Texas Justice, Joe Brown, Judge Mathis, Judge Judy, People's Court, Divorce Court -- if they can't serve justice at GE, at least they can watch it.
I walk in to the middle door and make my way around the hall. This, beside leaving time, is the best part of my day. My door is on the left. Another entrance is in front of me. And above that . . . oh, about eight feet or so . . . is a door. I can't tell what's behind it, but I always kind of wish someone would step out of it and freak the hell out of me.
By this time, I've climbed the stairs and I can feel the day's run under my legs. I've been running twelve consecutive weeks now, and there's a lot I could write about as far as miles, averages, fitness, aerobic, blah, blah, blah. The only important thing is that I feel a run under my legs every day. It's a mild tiredness -- occassionally there will be some stiffness in my arches -- that's the most welcome, relieving sensation I can bring.
