Cleveland Circle
anonymous
March 19 2008, 19:11:13 UTC
We come here every day to our office in Cleveland Circle, making our way out to this undistinguished, neglected peninsula of our beautiful city-we're surrounded on one side by the wealthy suburb of Newton on and on two sides by the more urban, but equally wealthy Brookline. As we pass by the tired, poorly kept shops, apartments, and bars, we smile and sigh: “Back to the grind, back to the daily grind.” Most of the local institutions cater to students from nearby Boston College and we feel somewhat out of place. But, the truth is, even the lively students seem out of place- the area feels strangely abandoned, as if all its visitors are just passing through, on their way to a more permanent destination. Our office is in a large, hexagonal red-bricked building which many passersby might mistake for a subway depot; one branch of the Boston subway system has its terminus right across from our building, and many of the branch's subway cars rest in a yard directly behind us. Furthermore, an adjacent line has an intermediate stop behind this yard. We are surrounded by train tracks. Work stations, track switching mechanisms, and out-of-order subway cars add to the confusion. The screeching, hobbling trains and idling MBTA employees are a part of our daily existence. Perhaps the most striking aspect of Cleveland Circle is the spacious four-way intersection in front of our building; the street mingles haphazardly with the sidewalk and tracks, creating an obstacle course for us when going to our cars or grabbing lunch. The intersection was once a rotary (hence the name Cleveland Circle). From the slivers of sidewalk and curving train tracks, one can still make out the remnants of a circle. We come here every day, with bleary eyes and tired hearts, entering our strange, ugly office building, in this strange, ugly area. Some of us wish we were in an elegant old Financial District office, while others simply wish we could work from home. But we come here every day and zone out at our computers until the end of the day. It will all be over soon anyway. We're just sitting around in our office, waiting for Rick to deliver the bad news. He's been going on about it for months now, preparing us all to be ready for when the time comes. But he pleads with us to stick it out till the end: "I need you all. You're all invaluable," he says. "I want to keep this business running as long as possible, as long as it takes for everyone to find new jobs." One or two of us mock his candid, benevolent attitude, but most of us are touched. In any case, we are all ready for the company to die. So Rick goes away on a long-awaited vacation and we understand that he just wants to relax before pondering his next move. We understand that he needs to catch up with his wife and read those books that he had never had time for. We even understand that he wants to get out of an office which holds no hope for him. Yes, Rick, we were all willing to wait it out with you, to stay around until your business petered out. We were willing to be very patient. But then, in your usual fashion, you let us down. Oh, we should’ve seen this coming, we should’ve known you’d pull something like this! Todd was right: Jon Nason is a pure insult, a slap in the face. We come here every day to this shit-hole, backwater office building, bored to death of the same five restaurants, hoping we won’t be here much longer. We come here every day and now every day we're going to have to see Jon Nason's stupid shiny face.
Most of the local institutions cater to students from nearby Boston College and we feel somewhat out of place. But, the truth is, even the lively students seem out of place- the area feels strangely abandoned, as if all its visitors are just passing through, on their way to a more permanent destination.
Our office is in a large, hexagonal red-bricked building which many passersby might mistake for a subway depot; one branch of the Boston subway system has its terminus right across from our building, and many of the branch's subway cars rest in a yard directly behind us. Furthermore, an adjacent line has an intermediate stop behind this yard. We are surrounded by train tracks. Work stations, track switching mechanisms, and out-of-order subway cars add to the confusion. The screeching, hobbling trains and idling MBTA employees are a part of our daily existence.
Perhaps the most striking aspect of Cleveland Circle is the spacious four-way intersection in front of our building; the street mingles haphazardly with the sidewalk and tracks, creating an obstacle course for us when going to our cars or grabbing lunch. The intersection was once a rotary (hence the name Cleveland Circle). From the slivers of sidewalk and curving train tracks, one can still make out the remnants of a circle.
We come here every day, with bleary eyes and tired hearts, entering our strange, ugly office building, in this strange, ugly area. Some of us wish we were in an elegant old Financial District office, while others simply wish we could work from home. But we come here every day and zone out at our computers until the end of the day. It will all be over soon anyway. We're just sitting around in our office, waiting for Rick to deliver the bad news. He's been going on about it for months now, preparing us all to be ready for when the time comes. But he pleads with us to stick it out till the end: "I need you all. You're all invaluable," he says. "I want to keep this business running as long as possible, as long as it takes for everyone to find new jobs." One or two of us mock his candid, benevolent attitude, but most of us are touched. In any case, we are all ready for the company to die.
So Rick goes away on a long-awaited vacation and we understand that he just wants to relax before pondering his next move. We understand that he needs to catch up with his wife and read those books that he had never had time for. We even understand that he wants to get out of an office which holds no hope for him.
Yes, Rick, we were all willing to wait it out with you, to stay around until your business petered out. We were willing to be very patient. But then, in your usual fashion, you let us down. Oh, we should’ve seen this coming, we should’ve known you’d pull something like this! Todd was right: Jon Nason is a pure insult, a slap in the face. We come here every day to this shit-hole, backwater office building, bored to death of the same five restaurants, hoping we won’t be here much longer. We come here every day and now every day we're going to have to see Jon Nason's stupid shiny face.
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