It's not even 9:30 in the morning and my brain is on repeat: KILL! KILL!KILL!
If I had a machete, a chainsaw, a shotgun or a large, blunt object I would've already flung, chopped or mutated someone or something.
So far - I've been accused of NOT doing the office manager's job, NOT doing the runner's job and NOT doing a various amount of other duties that were NOT mine to begin with!
On top of that - the ever-non-present, designer-imposter, non-punctual "injured in a car wreck" office manager also grilled me as to the whereabouts of a member of our staff.
"What's HER problem?!" she yelled at me this morning as her wrinkles flapped and waved in response to the hot air coming from her foul mouth.
"Uh, she's sick." I responded.
"Well WHAT'S WRONG with her?" she flicked a finger at me.
Resisting the urge to gnaw her finger off above the CZ laden knuckle, I said: "I don't know. I didn't talk to her. She's sick."
"Okkkkaaaaay," she heaved a heavy, "oh-woe-is-me" sigh and waddled back to her office, dragging her high heels on the stained taupe carpet.
"NO REALLY! SHE JOINED THE CIRCUS! YES! THAT'S IT! SHE SAID TO TELL YOU 'I'M LEAVING TO MARRY A CLOWN, AND JOIN FORCES WITH BARNUM AND BAILEY AND HOPE TO TRAIN MONKEYS!' SEND HER MAIL CARE OF THE BIG TOP AT KISSMYASS SQUARE!" I silently screamed as my nostrils flared and I smiled wildly.
To get even - I've turned all the commas upside down on the wall behind me that boasts the name of my firm.
Yeah - I'm vindictive.
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