It's 7 am in the tax processing centre, and yours truly has volunteered to do "Data Issues". For those not in the loop when it comes to tax-processing, "Data Issues" basically work like this.
1) We finish the tax file.
2) The client somewhere in the country says "hey, I like this result" and collects his money.
3) The file is sent to the Canada Revenue Agency, so that they can look over the results and send the big fat cheque to us.
4) The file never gets to the Canada Revenue Agency, because something in the file is wrong. As in, they spelt the name of the city wrong... or the area code doesn't match the city... or the postal code is wrong... or...
5) A poor bastard is stuck having to fix the issue.
And so, at 7 am, I'm plogging through the work. It's relatively brainless work, basically involving figuring out where the screw-up occurs. However, to do the work, I have to sit next to "Woman with most annoying voice in the world". Which is annoying. Because, you see, her voice is kind of um.... grating? If fingernails on a chalkboard decided to become a human being, they would become this woman. And then say stupid things, like, "You go, girlfriend!".
Natch, I needed some music. So I discreetly slipped on my iPod and started listening to the greatest pick-me-up album out there. Or, at least, the greatest pick-me-up album on my iPod.
Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.
Don't ask me why, but there's something about an album entirely about death, madness, suicide, and corruption that just brightens me up. By the time it ended with one of the greatest closing lines ever ("the sun is in tune/but the sun is eclipsed by the moon...." beats out every album, except for maybe Abbey Road's "and in the end, the love you take/is equal to the love you make"), I didn't care that horse-voiced woman was talking about how her truck was dying and that she wasn't going to pay for the parking tickets she so was so unfairly given because she parked in a no-parking zone that was clearly marked as such. Or, at least, I didn't care much.
My mom has accused me of being a fan of music "to hang yourself to", and she's right. The more depressing it is, the happier I am, for the most part. That's probably not a good thing, eh?
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