Back to the City

I've gotten some of the white-collar angst back since I began working for Mao Mao at his "company." I got my wish, working in an office, with business-y clothes, with daytime hours. It's technically in the Penn Plaza areas, but it's one of those fake good addresses.

The building has a smelly, urine-stained lobby. The lone security guard looks to be perpetually bored and jumps up only when other people's magazines come in so he can leaf through them. The company office, however, has actually been decorated by a design expert (he was big in China but now works as a personalized keychain vendor in a run-down mini-mall in my neighborhood.) There are fake Asian-looking artifacts scattered throughout the place, for the "clients" that will eventually visit.

Mao Mao doesn't come in that often, so I have most of the day to myself, answering phones (only his friends call), typing up contracts and invitations for Chinese delegations to come visit and study USA innovations (Mao Mao's words). This is a definite dead-end job, I wouldn't have taken it if not for the fact that I didn't need a work permit.

I will recommend building a web site for the company to Mao Mao next week...might as well look busy. I don't see why he needs a full-time employee, maybe he just thinks it looks less pathetic than himself picking up the phone.

I was regreting not working at the beauty products place any longer for the lack of girlie stuff I could acquire, but I shouldn't have fretted. Dr.Zhou told me of this concoction that clears up skin as well as most commercial creams. It's just salt and water, I shall try it and see. All of this restless inertia accumulated at work is making me break out.