Back to work...sort of.

I went back to work yesterday, only 3 hours after having an MRI taken of my knee.

I'm not back to my old job, there's no way I can move furniture all day. I won't receive the results from my MRI for several days.

I've been stuffed into a back room roughly the size of a ham sandwich, sitting down in front of a computer and creating, from scratch, a contact database from years and years of stored up paperwork.

I'm working alphabetically.

I worked for almost 5 hours yesterday.

I'm up to the word "American".

That's halfway through the letter "A".

Or in other words, 1/52 of the way through the alphabet.

Now, I'm no slouch on a computer. At top speed, I've been clocked at 90 words per minute. But some, no MOST of these files are incomplete. For about 1/3 of the entries, I have to go on the Internet to find a missing phone number, or contact name, or e-mail address. It's very time consuming.

It's a damn good thing that the "closet" they've stuck me in is only about 20 feet from the coffee station. Guess I can count my blessings.

No wait, the men's bathroom is on the other side of the building.

So, judging by yesterdays' outcome, mathematically speaking, it's going to take me roughly 260 hours to complete this job. At a full 40 hour work week, not allowing for lunches or bathroom breaks, that's 6 1/2 WEEKS of sitting in front of a computer screen, in a cramped room, entering the same information over, and over, and over, and over.

...and you know there are more entries under some letters than others.

I can't WAIT to get to the letters "E" and "S"!!!

But do you want to know the silliest part of this entire situation?

I have to show up for work every day dressed in black dress slacks, a white pressed shirt and a tie.

I enter the hotel through the back door.

I walk down a short hallway to my dungeon, where I spend the entire shift at a computer console in a modified closet.

I don't come into contact with any guests.

I might see 1 or 2 other employees...probably not even that many.

So why can't I come to work in a tank top, pajama bottoms and fuzzy, pink bunny slippers?

UPDATE:

After another 8 hours of data entry, I'm finally up to the letter "B".