Poetry Friday WORD for Tomorrow, and a handful of frustration
Yesterday was the first day in a long time that I would have given my good molars to win the lottery. So I could stalk into the boss's office, state with a clear and defiant voice, "Today's my last day." And then yell "Fack You All!" as I squealed out of the parking lot.
Most times the people I work with are great, or peachy, or at least tolerable. Yesterday I found nearly every one of them deplorable. They’re small-minded, conniving, blind idiots, oblivious to what it means to work hard and earn your keep.
Okay, I think I’m still feeling that way.
The Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow is NEGATIVE. Like my attitude. Or like 4th grade math, when you first learn that 10 minus 15 doesn’t make sense in the real world, unless you’re talking about the temperature drop on any given Winter day. Or like the old-style film process on real cameras, the strips of reddish-black negatives in your paw, trying to see if your butt looks as huge as you remember it.
I think it’s spreading. (Weird segue…yes, my butt is spreading…I meant the negativity…but now that you mention it, maybe my butt is part of the problem.) Night Operator Guy came by a few minutes ago (it’s usually just me, him, and a warehouse guy this early in the morning), and NOG burst into my cube, his hands cupped.
“Can you do something for me?”, he said.
“Uh, I guess so.”
He held out his cupped hands. “Hold this for me.”
My first reaction being that he was holding a bug, or a mouse, or some other critter who likes to come up to the back door of our wetland-encroaching workspace, I recoiled. “Ew…no?”
He held his hands over my desk and opened them. They were empty.
“Here. Take my printer frustration. I’m gonna start throwing things if I don’t hand this off.”
With that he stalked away.
I knew he was pissed. This is the guy who Loves to talkandtalkandtalk, standing thisclose to you, after not seeing a bar of soap or deodorant for a good week.
Maybe there’s something in the air. Y'all better not breathe too deeply.
posted by Mona Buonanotte @ 6:53 AM
5 comments
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5 Comments:
You know, this does NOT help my current struggling at my own vile place of durance vile.
holding my nose with one hand, and a middle finger salute to the dude with my other hand....
Eww...I got a pile of crud yesterday too. Nasty, nasty stuff. And I'm not even talking about the cadaver brain or the cow's eye. I prefer those to the politiks going on around my Uberclass.
Irrelephant: Ah, a similar soul to commisserate with! Maybe we just need good long vacations?? Massages? Beer bongs?
MofI: EWW! And that's exactly what the guy smells like, too!
gr: Oh, it's bad. And we have a shower stall at work, so it's not like he doesn't have the opportunity. I gave him a 'personal grooming' kit a few years ago for a Secret Santa gift (soap, deodorant, Aqua Velva or something), but he must be using it as a doorstop.
Nancy: Don't leave me hangin', woman! Dish it! (I dissected a cow's eye in 8th grade, it was the most amazing thing!)
Did you take his printer frustration? What did you do with it?
I work from home, so my frustration at co-workers (who are all several hundred miles away) is all via email. Doesn't make it any less tangible.
And yes, Nancy, do dish!
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