Ever since I became an indirect employee of a state government yesterday (and a union member too) I have felt the soul of a strange curmudgeon swiftly and silently usurp my very being; suddenly, I begin to treat others as though I were a postal worker, their slightest misunderstanding sending me into fits of "Sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to be more prepared in order to talk to me" and "The line begins OVER THERE."
At the DMV, I become outraged at a child's screaming, to the point where I began to say something to the mother about "shutting up her little monster" before some vestige of reason quiets me. When a woman's faux-pearl necklace comes off its string due to the overactive hands of her young child rather than bend and help her recoup the beads I smile and laugh, looking around at my "coworkers" in the line as another moment of hilarity has broken up the tedium of our lives as bureaucratic city employees.
As a new union member, I am obviously frothing at the mouth for the first strike. I want to strike immediately, having not even received my copy of the proposed contract.
Perhaps I have been taken over by one of Dostoevsky's "Demons," a maligning and spirit-destroying ennui that bleeds the soul while leaving the body to live on, a hollow and indifferent shell. Perhaps I exaggerate. But in any event, the Geist of civil service has plenty of fresh Lebensraum in my life now, and I will never shake off its nourishing tentacles...