Hockey Ass

Outtakes from my summer job will be few and far between, because blogging about your employer is unwise. But here's a bit.

My office mate: Republican, but embarrassed by Bush. College hockey player, total jock; his nickname is "Knuckles" from the number of fights he got in during college--but he has a frequently deployed sense of irony. He refers to a certain part of his anatomy as his "hockey ass," and this topic is not uncommon in conversation because another summer associate--also male--is for some reason obsessed with it ("Your ass looks like a shelf"). My office mate has been known to stay out drinking until 5AM and yet arrive at work on time, and approximately functional, the next day.

Today he taped a photo of Reagan to the wall facing my desk just to razz me, so I've started greeting him with a fist-pumping "Keep hope alive!" in my feeble attempt at a Jesse Jackson voice. I say this, complete with rousing fist-pump, every time one of us enters the office, every time we pass each other in the hall. He joke-mocks me for eating sakura mochi for breakfast at my desk ("What is that? A rice ball wrapped in a leaf?! This is AMERICA! Can't you eat a goddamn Egg McMuffin?!"). Lately we've started ambushing each other with our camera phones, trying to get absurdly unflattering photos. This habit of harassing each other in a friendly way occupies enough of our time that we wonder aloud what billing code we should use to account for that time: probably "Attorney Personal." (The firm bills out our time at more than $100/hour... given our utter lack of experience, surely that is some kind of sin.)

This office mate of mine was an anthropology major as an undergraduate. (As that song goes: How bizarre, how bizarre). The least anthropologist-like anthropology major I've ever met.