There were screaming children on the bus yesterday. And it was all pretty much downhill from there.
And if screaming children is the highlight of your day, you have problems.
I'm not really sure why the screaming children were on the bus at 7.30 on a Monday morning. I guess I would scream too if I were 3 feet tall surrounded by giant, angry people (aka commuters). Point is, I had my headphones in and I could still hear the children. There really is nothing like some screaming pint-sized people to start Monday off right.
Then I got here and had to be all pleasant (which I hate doing) with Amy who was herself recovering from a bout of Mothers' Day cleaning with her mom. Admittedly enough to send anyone over the edge (love you Mama) but would it kill you to crack a smile?
Ok scratch that. It very well could. But if I'm pretending to be happy to be here on a Monday f*cking morning, the least you could do is pretend likewise.
Then there was the work assigning. I still had a pile of stuff to do from Friday. I had more than enough to occupy my Monday. Yet she piled it on. And made "jokes" (Amy doesn't actually joke, not even about the New Kids on the Block- all is dead serious) about how I would totally have time to do it all.
She would be wrong. Emailing friends and blogging aside. Really- this doesn't take that long. Surprised? I know, these posts are always such masterpieces I must toil over and struggle with them for ages to get them just right.
I got through the morning thanks to Michael Buble (a woman in the office always calls him Michael Bubbly and I don't have the heart to correct her). His old school standards kept me from flinging myself out the window.
I made it to my first break and found myself in the middle of a pointless conversation about freckles. This woman was saying that she was surprised that asian women can have freckles because she always thought that it was a Celtic thing. I piped up with "I have freckles" (which I do, all adorable like on the bridge of my nose and cheeks, just a smattering) and she looks at me (I have known her and worked with her for a year and a half) and is all "Yeah, but you're Celtic"...
Uh...No I'm not.
Then as if I don't know what Celtic entails she starts listing "yes you are, Irish, Scottish..." and pausing waiting for me to jump in with something like "ooooooooh yeah then I guess I am Celtic!".
Wrong. No one noticed the radioactive orange shirt I wore 2 weeks ago? I told her I was Dutch and she stared at me like her world had fundamentally shifted.
Our relationship is forever changed.
I know Michael Buble wanted to, but he couldn't protect me from the afternoon also. I had this one client that I couldn't figure out how to sort out. It was really confusing. So I asked Veronica for help because that is her job-- to sort out the bigger messes. She had no idea. So she asked the person that she always delegates her jobs to.
Who came up with this story about why it was so confusing. I don't care about why or how or when it became confusing. I just want to know how to get it done. She was seriously taking 20 minutes to tell me this story and I could not have cared less.
I started having trouble breathing. Even got kind of lightheaded. Recounting this now, I'm starting to get the same feeling again. The Record says that its time for a new job. Which we all already know. But we also know that thats not totally possible yet.
Let's all take a moment to send up a prayer, a positive vibe, some good karma...whatever you do, take a moment and ask for my future apartment to be reasonably listed so that I can see it and buy it and live in it and quit this job. Pronto.
On my last break of the day, when the story teller walked in to join us and started talking, I actually saw stars. I'm not even a cartoon character, an anvil wasn't dropped on my head but all of a sudden little silver stars were everywhere I looked.
My body is shutting down isn't it?