[nahyn too fahyv]: In a 2009 interview with 60 Minutes, Parton talked about the unlikely inspiration for this song: her fingernails. She had very long, acrylic nails, and discovered that when she rubbed them together she could create a rhythm that sounded like a typewriter, and since the movie was about secretaries, she was able to use that sound to compose the song on the set. She even played her fingernails as part of the percussion sound when she recorded the track.

 

The House That God Has Forgotten Part 15: A Day In The Life

When you wake up in the morning you are surrounded in darkness this time of the year. Street lights shining under the dim of grey skies. The white blankets of snow that cover the ground like a blanket, and the brown sludge that is on the road that makes us all feel a little dirtier.

The road feels like your lives when you wake up.

You dream of working 9 to 5 as we slowly crawl out of bed at 5 in the morning Out from underneath your blankets to the cold air of the apartments and houses that you live in.

You stand a little longer under the water of our hot showers because you know when you leave them, a cold world will meet you outside.

Some people run to their coffee machines, I myself down some of my medicine and add a caffeine tablet to get me through the morning.

It is going to be a long day at The House God Has Forgotten.

You lock our doors the same way we do in The House That God Has Forgotten.

Upper foot on the door.

Key in the lock.

Turn.

And then double check by moving the handle up and down exactly two times.

This is what you do without even thinking about it. It lives deep in your hands and feet, because we have done the same thing countless times every single day for no matter how many years.

We drive our cars, walk, ride bikes and wait for busses in all weather. We curse the subway and commuter trains for being late again as we stare at our watches.

Every morning we stare at our watches, stressing about making it to our shifts in the morning.

“Leave a little earlier.” you hear the cynic say to you when your train is 30 minutes late, when the only thing that comes to your mind is:

“It is physically impossible to leave earlier”

We have kids to take to school, animals to be fed and above all we cannot miss that few hours of treasured time we have under those warm blankets.

Every morning we usher the same mantra in our heads:

“Today I will go to bed earlier.”

But you won’t because at The House That God Has Forgotten you will be there all day and if you want to have a life of your own, you will squeeze every second of your free time to make that happen.

You walk through the ice to The House That God Has Forgotten, which looks all shiny and new from up above.

If you smoke you stop for that last cigarette, because you know you will be nicotine deprived as soon as you go in there.

If you snus, you have one in your mouth already which is keeping you at the momentum to walk up to that door in front of you.

You see lights from the cells above and you know the one thing that everyone is thinking.

They are watching you.

They are watching you sleepy eyes with your bag over your shoulder and your coffee cup you bought from the train station in your hand as you run your tag across the number pad and enter your code.

The door swings open and you walk through it as you stop your feet on the plastic gutter below you, shaking off all the snow on your feet.

You press the large silver button in on your side to open the other.

And you wait. This door takes longer to open. It opens slowly like a comfortable yawn reminding you of just how tired you really are.

It takes two doors to get you into the lobby of The House That God Has Forgotten.

You slide your feet on the blue carpet that gets replaced on a regular basis so it always looks clean. It is your way of thinking of the cleaners not needing to mop up brown water puddles all over the floor.

“They have to work here too,” you think silently to yourself.

You walk slowly to the rotating doors. If you are lucky someone there at the reception desk sees you and opens the door for you without you having to use your tag and push in your code.

It is the little victories that get you through the day.

You walk quickly to the locker room, your train was late, you were stuck in traffic or that damn bus did not come at the right time.

You have everything where you need it. You know where you locker key is and where you put your tag every night so they come to your hands and fingers like memory motion.

You know where to hang up your jacket, where to put that trusty bag away and where your uniform and boots are all in their place.

It is like Superman how fast you can change your clothes.

You take that one last look of your wearied eyed self in the mirror as you stumble hurriedly to the security check.

You wait your turn. If it is longer than two seconds you push the button in a frenzied panic.

Shoes go off and thrown into that grey box that has had God knows what in it.

You dump your keys, your lunch box and that bag of energy drinks and rice cakes or power bars you have to eat later.

It is what you do in The House That God Has Forgotten.

You eat.

You drink.

You forgot to take your name tag, your watch or some other form of metal off of you and the alarm goes off.

You panic. You are late.

You stand by the door and you wait for it to open after all of your things have found their right place.

Belt on. Boots on. Watch on. Name tag on.

The light flashes red over and over, and what feels like seconds last for an eternity.

It takes a lifetime of wait to get into The House That God Has Forgotten.

You grab your radio, your keys and you alarm. You push that elevator button and dream that it is going to meet you on the third floor, but it flies right past you.

You suck and you sigh and then you make small talk with the sleepy guy next to you about how awful the elevators are in this place.

Instead of talking about weather in The House That God Has Forgotten you talked about the elevators.

You will talk about how they break (and if only one is working you will have a long morning in front of you, being pushed like sardines to come up to your floor). Or you will tell that one legendary story:

“Once the elevator was broken for three hours and people were trapped in it. They had to call the fire department to bust open the door.”

We love elevators in The House That God Has Forgotten.

You will run on to your floor and imagine yourself falling to you knees begging that someone has started a batch of that disgusting state run coffee so you can have a cup.

Because soon after.

You will be grinding the chains.

You will be handing out paper boxes and asking “coffee or tea” 24 times.

You will be running and shuffling people all day. Making phone calls and sitting there talking to that one guy that is on the urge of a breakdown because he is locked in a cell 23 hours a day.

This is what you get paid to do in The House That God Has Forgotten.

You will serve lunch.

A few hours later you will serve dinner at a time when only people over 65 would eat it.

At 5 o’clock you will lock all the doors. Double check them.

And then you will…

wait.

You will wait until you can lock that dreaded radio back into it’s grey box with holes in it. That you can store your baton and pepper spray in its’ place.

You long to look for that place in the key box where  you can find a place for yours.

It is always easier for you to take your keys then to leave them at The House That God Has Forgotten.

You are not finished yet. You have two doors to go.

You wait as the room fills with people. You see a few people crammed in between the doors waiting to be free a second earlier than you are.

You wait for the control center to hear from the chief of operations.

“Ok… let them go.”

You laugh as you walk out. The mood changes as you are free. You smile a little bigger, you talk about something else besides the elevators.

You are free.

You change your clothes and you run out of those three doors to get out of there.

Or in my case, you run back in to get your scarf.

All hell will break loose if I do not have my beloved scarf around my pale little neck in the wind and snow.

You are free.

Working at the earliest from 7 to 6.

 

 

 

 

 

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