Whistle While You Work

You know what absolutely freaking rocks? Music. Music is the universal language, fuck math. Hell, music is math. Quarter notes, half rests, rhythm, and distance. It's all math. So I love music, because it's a chance for one 1 plus 1 to equal 2. Two separate, distinct numbers add together to create a new number, bigger and more whole. Like sex. Music is sex without the clingy residue--that's a double entendre, folks.

I work for a catering temp agency. One of the complications of working for such a respectable exploitation business is the lack of consistency between jobs. Each time I work an event, the people I'm working with and for are different. It's hard to enjoy yourself when you can't even remember half of the names of your coworkers, because there are more than a hundred of them. However, I have discovered a trick. I don't have to know peoples names to have a good time with them, I just have to know their taste in music. Shit, who cares what someone has to say if they can hum a good harmony to Paul Simon Africa shit...

So this girl, Molly, was getting a third orifice ripped by this ass hole event manager, clearly wasn't having the best day, and we still had to break down an entire event before she or anyone got a chance to relax. I don't know her well enough to cross the boundaries of nosiness and ask her to milk her problems into my vat of tasty depression, so I use the one thing I know about her--she's a vocal performance major at Boston Conservatory--and start to sing some Neil Diamond. BAM. Instant connection, and now we're doing a show for the entertainment of the whole staff. After a warm applause and some cold ice water dumped in the slop bucket, we all sat down to a nice surf and turf with Boston cream pie for dessert. I took the T back downtown with Angelica having made friends with the whole waitstaff including Molly.

People need to sing more music together.

People don't necessarily need to sing more Neil Diamond music together...

I do, though.