Jukebox Years (Chapter 1)

Times were different. No longer was my job 5 minutes away, but now I had to drive an hour plus to and fro. It was a royal pain in the ass, sitting in traffic every day and I did my best to lash out in all sorts of forms. At times, cursing at the idiots doing 50 on the highway and sometimes even openly threatening them with their lives. It did help to catch up on the conceptual things in life, such as the Howard Stern show and the assortment of rock music on WAAF and WBCN.

The job was an analytical position in Boston, which luckily landed me dead center in the financial district. The perimeter consisted of your local assortment of bars, dives and clubs in addition to a plethora of sandwich shops. I took the Orange line from Medford which dropped me right at the building’s doorstep.

Never had I witnessed the collective hopelessness and degenerate attitude of people until I began to take the Orange line. Glimpses of desperation and boredom were abundant, as were the aromas of the filthy bastards who used the train as their personal toilet. It was nightmarish, but my consolation was that in 20 minutes it would be over. That’s what I would tell myself to retain my sanity. It was hell on wheels and I was a castaway, lost in its sea of shipwrecked souls.

Things at Standard were looking up. The job was challenging and I was learning quickly, although determined to stay away from any projects or extra responsibility. I was there to do the bare minimum and go home. Many days were spent surfing the Internet or calling my buddy Jason and chatting about the latest video game. The routine was executed to perfection. Projects thrown my way were quickly discarded and replaced with social tours of the floor and endless personal phone calls to my buddy Steven. He was content with his new venture as it gave him more freedom and according to him, opened more doors. We kept in touch for a while until he started to become repetitive and desperate, finishing his phone calls by saying “things were looking bleak” or that, “World War III is imminent”. He sounded to me like a man on his way to the guillotine, or worse.