Samuel Merrin: Fear and Self-Loathing at the Reception Desk

I've already written a little bit about my experiences as a man working what might traditionally be called "a woman's job." I think I must know now what it's like to be a male nurse, or a male nanny, or a male...female bathroom inspector. I see on the faces of people who walk up to my desk that they're expecting to see a woman. Hopefully a smiling woman, a woman who will brighten up their day with their cheery demeanor and helpful driving directions. But at my reception desk, they will find no such woman. Just a swivel chair, a computer, and Samuel Merrin.

I see it all the time. A man will walk up. A man who maybe has had a bad day. He thinks, here is my chance. If I can just get a smile from a woman, that will make the day worth living. If I can just catch a small glimpse of happiness in my cold, dreary life, that will be enough. They look to the reception desk for hope, for affection, for something that loosely resembles a social interaction. What they get is a stone-faced 26-year old man dedicated exclusively to watching the clock.

It's worse for me because I guess before I came to fill in the temporary opening for this receptionist gig, the woman before me (who left to go on maternity leave) was apparently a huge ray of sunshine. I can't tell you the number of times I have heard talk of "Sandra," who made everyone's day. Sandra used to bring in muffins. Sandra's baby shower was more fun than my bachelor party. Sandra told the best jokes. Sandra's smile made my day. I miss Sandra. Sandra was like a sister to me.

You get the idea.

Sandra was a saint, and now they're left with me. I answer phones with a gruff voice, I don't have a smile for anyone, and I resent Sandy and her sunshiney attitude. Sometimes I think even telephone callers are disappointed. They never say anything, but something in the way they lilt their voice tells me: you are not good enough.

I don't know how long I'll stay at this job. I really don't feel wanted. I think everyone's secretly hoping that Sandra will put her child into daycare at 14 days so she can come back to work. Socio-normative traditional child-rearing practices be damned--these people need Sandra!

I bet that baby loves Sandra, too. What's wrong with the world?

Samuel Merrin Ruminates on Kanye West's Panda Bear Chair

Kanye West posted this chair on his blog, and I am just...in awe. This is a chair made of stuffed panda bear toys. This is a CHAIR made of PANDA BEARS. If I sat in this chair I think I would be smothered by cuteness. What IS this???

Kanye West, this chair reveals more about your character than any of your albums. The fact that you have this panda bear chair's brother chair (see below) in your apartment is amazing.

I honestly don't know which one I like better. I'm getting a big kick out of that husky dog on the bottom one. These chairs, by the way, cost $75,000. This chair just made my life worth living. Genius in chair form.

Samuel Merrin is Gainfully Employed

I've maintained a steady part-time job since I got laid off a few months ago, but Samuel Merrin has recently achieved what has until recently been deemed impossible: an actual job.

Granted, it's a temp job. But I physically work in an office. 40 hours a week. This is insanity. I'm gonna keep the actual company anonymous, just so I can more freely describe my professional "situation" without fear of corporate backlash.

I answer phones. I'm the receptionist. Now, I know what you're thinking....isn't that a job that is best taken care of by women. And before someone starts yelling at me, I'm just saying, and this is a compliment, than women are better looking than men, and thus are more appropriately equipped, so to speak, to receive guests into a place of work. I know this instinctively, but the point has been driven home more times than I care to mention, in situations such as the one I am about to describe:

The Fedex Guy
A short story by Samuel Merrin

The Fedex Guy walks in and I am instantly shamed. Here I am, Starbucks cappucino in hand, a padded, ergonomic chair supporting me, situated behind a desk at a semi-swanky corporate office building, when in walks the very symbol of masculinity, the virile Man, the be-shortsed, uniformed, ambulatory righter of wrongs and deliverer of necessary packages: the Fedex Guy.

This man's inner swagger is not immediately noticeable. It is kind of like that hidden arrow in the middle of the FedeEx loco, between the last E and X: not immediately noticeable, but once you see it one time, you notice it every time.


The Fedex Guy is a man because his entire existence is paid for by his work literally hunting and gathering. Not only does he hunt and gather, the Fedex guy goes one step further and actually delivers. He literally delivers, that's his job. This guy is incredible.

So I sign for the package, trading my dignity and a signature for whatever thing this Man has delivered, and I question my existence. I watch him walk out the door, into the sunlight, to his doorless vehicle while I sit in my dark corner of the office and ruminate on the injustice of it all.

Samuel Merrin Reviews the Preview for "Street Kings"

We open up with the shot of a surly looking tough guy with the initials "LA" below his right eye. One assumes this denotes a love for the city of Los Angeles, and possibly the insinuation of murder and sadness, calling to mind the tear tattoos prisoners and murderers sometimes get in recollection of a particularly violent blow they may have dealt upon someone else. The idea of loving one's city is also hammered into the viewer's aural receptors as the lyrics are heard:

"I am the American dream, the blood of this city, the undying machine, the overpriced medicine, the murderous regime the tough guys front and the one behind the scene."

Here we have flashing images of drugs ("overpriced medicine"), of convenience store robberies ("murderous regime"), and revolving shots of Keanu Reeves ("tough guys").

Then someone kicks in a door and, apparently in response to someone asking who he and his friends are, he answers:

"Who are we? We straight nightmare."

Yes, you are.