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The Office: The Complete First Series
(2001)
Dir: Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant
I worked in an office for over a year, as an editor in the global headquarters of an international wire service. This sounds a shitload more lofty a position than it really was. Because the wire service had clients all over the world, the global office had to be open twenty-four hours. I worked on the graveyard shift, where it was just me and one other editor, Ez. We had the whole office to ourselves for six hours a night.
In some ways, it was a dream job: Ez and I could listen to the stereo as loud as we wanted; there was very little actual work to be done, so we both wrote extensively and took many coffee breaks; we could (theoretically) bring girls up for late-night pajama-parties; we could drink alcohol on the job; we could sleep in shifts; plus we each got an extra $500 a month for working such dreadful hours. In other ways, however, it was the worst job I’ve ever had. It completely dissolved my miniature social-life in short order. I had to be to work at 10 p.m., so there was no apt time for cavorting with comrades or dating. My shift ended at 6:30 a.m., and when I got home, I’d typically smoke pot and drink beer by myself while watching Rocky and Bullwinkle, Sister, Sister, and The Nanny. I’d usually fall asleep after masturbating to Fran Drescher’s legs, and then wake up confused about five hours later. My mind and body never fully adjusted. I was perpetually groggy and confused.
When Ez and I arrived at the office each night, the evening editors would fill us in on the day’s gossip. This usually revolved around the unanimous hatred of a sleazy sales rep, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Bud Bundy, and who had managed intercourse with the only attractive girl in the whole office. After the evening crew left, there were no other visitors until 5:30 am.
Late one night/early one morning, Ez and I were watching a documentary about a female porn star. It was a relatively tame film, so when the morning editor, Bulb, showed up for her shift, we didn’t turn it off. Bulb seemed cool enough. She liked all of the crass MC Paul Barman and Ween songs that we listened to, so we let the film roll. That is until Bulb went running into a vacant office and didn’t come back out. We didn’t see her again before we left, and got no real explanation for her behavior until the next morning, when at 5 am, the office supervisor and manager, Gunt and Chimp respectively, ambushed us.
They caught us watching Office Space. This angered them even further. It seems that the documentary we’d been watching the night before had thrown Bulb into a hysterical panic, and she’d actually locked herself in an office, calling her boyfriend and refusing to come out. I told Gunt and Chimp that I had brought in the film, as I was supposed to review it for a local paper. This alleviated nothing. We were soundly reprimanded, but told by Chimp that she did not hold grudges, and so long as we conformed to all of the new rules pertaining to the conduct of graveyard shift editors, all would be forgiven. Gunt nodded, but judging by her scowl, clearly did not shun grudging.
We were both forced to email Bulb apologies. Things became increasingly uncomfortable around the office after that--albeit for only an hour-and-a-half each morning. I quit soon thereafter. A short while later, Ez was fired for circulating a haiku that questioned the soul and character of the wire service’s CEO. He was truly a genius.
Yeah, so The Office is a lot like that, only funnier because it’s British.
P.S. If you reread this review in a cockney accent, it’s more lackadaisically incisive than the new album by The Streets!
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