My co worker likes to watch drag shows while sneaking in sniper farts.
Did you miss me?
I’m sure not, as no one probably even reads this, so its fine.
Today, not even today, every damn day, out Napoleon Bonaparte of a custodian asks me the same bloody questions about my phone.
“I know you have an iPhone and all those gadgets…”
“Nope, I actually don’t…”
“Well, I was wondering if I could ask you a question about it…”
“This is not an iPhone. It’s an Android.”
“What kind is it?”
Like you’d know if I told you.
I just ate cake with chopsticks. At a bachelorette party.
It’s Hump Day. The day of Happy Hours. You start to crave wine. But its the morning time. I don’t have a drinking problem. Why do I want this?
I then realize it is smell of residual booze that cuts the air…and its only after 9.
Then, right at that moment, you slowly realize that the co-worker you’ve been chatting with for only a few minutes may have a drinking problem.
You know what’s weird? Asking the baker in the grocery store a question, then upon receiving the answer, watching a giant piece of something somersault from their mouth to the surrounding baked goods to land somewhere, someplace on, perhaps, some poor child’s birthday cupcakes or grandma and grandpas anniversary cake. Thanks for the memories, Kroger bakery.
Me: Hello (insert name of job that I loathe endlessly), how may I help you?
Frantic Nutjob: Did anybody turn in a phone?!?
Me: Not that I know of —
she ruthlessly interrupts
Frantic Nut Job now turned Asshole: It’s a Metro!
Me: Could you describe it further?
Frantic Asshole: It’s a black Metro PCS mobile phone.
(insert thought cloud here: I’m in the hood, lady. Every person around here has a phone that fits that description. Try again).
Me: Ma’am, is it a Samsung? Nokia?
Frantic Asshole: NO! It’s just a METRO PCS PHONE.
Me: Well, I don’t know how much I can help you with that description.
Me: Let me see what I can find.
My mum’s hair smells like it. As does the entire house. She had a hair appointment tonight. She got it straightened.
After I told her this, I also expressed my craving for such.
She makes the best ones.
She’s now watching a Snapped marathon on Oxygen.
Do you think she’s upset?
Yes, its really a super spectacular awesome idea to want wax and buff the floor of the breakroom the same time that we usually try to eat breakfast. It is especially comforting to know that you have absolutely no idea how to use an actual floor buffer.
When referencing low income communities and poverty, why do you continue to stare so harshly at the sole black person in this incredibly tiny room?
FYI: It was me.
Yes, sir. You. The one smoking while cleaning a window with flammable agents? Yes. That is totally a great idea. On a pedestrian heavy sidewalk. In front of a building that also houses extremely flammable materials.
You were a fire marshall in elementary school, weren’t you?