Thursday, September 3, 2009

No apologies necessary

Was hoping to keep this blog on a semi rational slant, but let's face it. I was raised in a household where I was told I throw like one of Jerry's kids.

I was hoping to keep the kvetch to a minimum, to stay light, positive, but sarcasm runs too deep in my veins to prevent it from coming out. I work in the bowels of dysfunction, and I appear to be caught in the sphincter. The shit just runs out my mouth before I can prevent it. I tried repressing my snarky remarks. I genuinely have made serious attempts to stifle the cantankerous bitch that wants to hand out pennies on Halloween. I've decided to make the leap to the "Get off My Lawn" variety. I embrace you, you venomous wrath of fury that burns my skin.

To you, the 400+ pound woman who insists on getting on the elevator, after seeing we're at max capacity, insisting everyone suck in their guts to make room (or to hold our breath as we plummet to an early grave) for you, to go up one fucking floor. Maybe if you tried taking the stairs, you wouldn't be 400+ pounds, or needing to stop off to the 2nd floor to get some chips. I'm as anti-exercise as they come, but even I won't insult the people in the elevator for a local stop while I stuff my face with ho-ho's on the job.

Maybe I should.

Here's to you, douche-wads that think my job description is door man. You're right. I stand here holding these ridiculously heavy brass doors to get back to work, and yes... hold the door for just you. The 12 people who followed with you, only 3- count them THREE had the decency to say thank you. The other 9 walked by me, did not even make eye contact. There are 6 different doors to go through, you chose the one I'm holding open to get into the building. Couldn't step 2 feet to the left and hold the door for yourself? Too much of an effort? Or are you royalty and I didn't get the notice?

Here's to you, fuck stains that are right in front of me, who don't even have enough manners to hold those heavy bastard brass doors open when I'm right behind you? I deserve to have a door continually close in my face. Why not. I wasn't helpful enough when you were LEAVING?

To you, Ms. has a rolling walker 300+ 15 cigarette breaks a day with an OXYGEN TANK. Way to live up to the stereo type. With your cig dangling from your mouth, and your 50 dollars worth of scratch off tickets. That's right, a dollar and a dream. Hold your pride as you blow us all up. Or to said same woman- finds the need to grunt when she goes to the bathroom. In a public facility. Its bad enough I have to smell the dead carcass you shat, I do not need to hear your un-human noises your body morphs into just to get the carcass out. Or to see the Georgia O'Keefe you left behind. Seriously- its not a work of art. Learn to flush.

To you, Ms. Makes 100K a year Director. Take the time to get a pedicure. Nobody cares about the fact that you wear berkinstocks all year long. We do, however want to know when the last time you clipped them piggies. 1340 BC? Are you saving them to be ancient artifact coins to be on display at the archive museum? You must be too busy planning strategic development meetings about how to efficiently have a meeting to make more work for us, and fluff work for you. That must be it.

To you, Ethel Merman/Edith Bunker divorced & should be retired co-worker. With the *best* attitude anyone could ask for, I want to thank you personally for your miserably loud voice, your delightful hobby of non stop complaining from 630 am until 630 pm every day. Who needs coffee to wake up to when they have you, their little ray of sunshine.

To you, secretary who crop dusts her farts knowingly into people's cubicle. With your fake front teeth, love of Toby Keith and your lunch of Coor's lite, you were right to get angry when a supervisor scolded you in front of others for calling you hillbilly white trailer trash. Who is he to judge? Who is he to be angry that your attack on our olfactory senses isn't funny? I know you think its hilarious to watch people dry heave, especially after lunch. Its great to watch your co workers gag while you stand by cackling. You know how to tell a joke, my dear.

And here's to you, incompetent bosses.With your *hilarious* two jokes that you mutter all day like a cd stuck in rain-man mode, your jokes are just as hysterical as the first time I didn't laugh. Thank you for the opportunity to re-think that, and maybe change my mind. You are correct. It IS that funny. Although I would like to correct you, if I may. Every day ISN'T like Christmas around here, its fucking Ground Hogs Day.

Lastly, here's to you, retired, back to work part time for a social life guy. I never knew how lucky I was to have found such a wealth of information right beside me. With your knowledge, I no longer need a lawyer, a doctor, a pharmacist, a political viewpoint, a mechanic, a therapist, financial adviser, a fashion magazine, or IT support. It is silly for me to try and educate myself when all I needed to do was attend school of Ed's Ramblings regularly. What's that you say? You know the best way to pay off my student loans? Oh, please. DO TELL.

I'd like to take a moment and let you all know you have a very special place in someone's heart. With all of my being, thank you. Thank you for reminding me how 9 years ago I sold my soul for time off, and much like purgatory, the torture never ends. My local therapy group thanks you also. Happy hours start at 5:01. Meetings every M-F until 7pm. Hangover, optional.

1 comment:

  1. hahahahaha.

    Was told yesterday by one of our Deputies that old people's toenails remind him of Fritos.

    Update: I can no longer eat Fritos.