4/4: Time For A Sing-A-Long Kiddies
8 p.m.
Happy birthday to me…
So, as usual, at 1 p.m., two hours before my workday ends, I get a call from a co-worker informing me that I have 500+ quarterly annuity statements/envelopes to stuff. Jesus fucking Christ, all I ask is that I get some heads up on this shit. You know, assholes, I actually have a job to do and I *gasp* plan out my schedule of when I do stuff, unlike you dumbfucks. At my job’s last quarterly board of directors meeting, which I couldn’t attend due to granny’s funeral, a shit storm was raised when I included I my report all the fucking envelopes I was told to stuff, among other stupid tasks that I should not be doing. I wish I could have been there when several directors asked my idiot bosses why someone in my position was stuffing envelopes when I'm being paid to do other projects. Of course, when I came back to work I had a meeting to discuss this matter.
“In your report you said that you were ‘told’ to stuff envelopes.”
“Was ‘stuffing envelopes’ part of my job duties when I was hired?”
“No.”
“Then how would I otherwise go about stuffing envelopes at this place unless someone told me to do so?”
*crickets chirp*
Thank God I'm two floors away from these people.
Happy birthday to me…
So I picked up the better half from her job and went about our merry way home. Then there was the accident. From what I could make out, some van crashed into a car in this sorta-residential area. Three ambulances, four cop cars and a fire truck sealed off the usual way home, so we had to improvise with an alternate route. Problem is we had no idea where the hell we were going. When I get into these situations, I just drive around until I see something familiar. Man, I thought I was in hippie hell before. The part of Shittsburgh we drive through on the way home has “Books Not Bombs” and “John Kerry” bumper stickers on the back of cars. But now we were going even deeper into the belly of the beast, where bikeways ride alongside streets where liberal soccer moms drive their SUVs with bumper stickers that read, “My other car is a PAT bus.” Of course, we ended up in some construction area where two lanes of road become one, and 1+ mile of blocked off roads precede a 20-foot area where construction workers are standing around trying to look busy. Finally, some signs pointing us in the right direction were found and in what usually is an hour’s drive turned into two. All because some dickhead was not paying attention to where he or she was driving.
Happy birthday, kkk…
During this drive o’ fun, the better half was acting like a bitch. Now this is usual because whenever she gets lost driving she tenses up. Why she does this, I stopped trying to figure out. Then again, if you have to spend any additional time with me in a confined space, you might be a little anxious as well. After asking what her problem was for the umpteenth time, she finally said…
Happy birthday to me.
“Remember that prescription cough medicine I took? The asshole pharmacist didn’t bother to tell me it would mess with my birth control pills.”
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