That Oasis song, "Champagne Supernova" just came on.
I hate this song.
And it’s not the song’s fault. You know? You have a song like that? A song that was playing at a horrible time in your life or the night you threw your boyfriend’s clothes in the street or the day you caught your girlfriend emailing your best friend or some song that just happened to come on during a grey day and stuck to that feeling of grey?
This song is all of that for me. It was incredibly popular the summer? Year? Month? Week? Whatever. The season is lost to time. But it was incredibly popular the *time* that I worked at this publishing house in NYC.
"Oh. I didn’t know you worked at a publishing house in NYC," you say.
Well yeah. I worked there for two weeks. Maybe it was a month. It was definitely too long. And I honestly don’t remember what was so horrible about the job other than that it was in NYC and at the time I definitely didn’t want to be. And my boss was this NYC *type*. The type you think of when you’re living in the Midwest and you think of a stereotypical woman in NYC publishing. Pushy and annoying and petite. Like a little pit bull in black tights and red lipstick.
I was her assistant.
I sat next to this other assistant. Some guy who had just graduated from Yale. Very sweet guy. I had been out of school 3 years already. A school that was decidedly not Yale. I was jealous and annoyed and in a job beneath me and sitting next to an Ivy Leaguer and I hated NYC and this pit bull would come out ever ten minutes and ask me to photocopy something and I would take an interoffice envelope filled with nothing and with a very important stride, walk purposefully to the bathroom where I would cry.
When I’d come back to the desk, there would be more things to photocopy and that Yale kid would be playing the radio. And that summer or month or whatever it was, "Champagne Supernova" was always playing.
I hate that song.