Nothing good comes from starting your day with Peter Cottontail

I woke up this morning pissed off at Peter Cottontail.  It appears I was having quite a dream about how I was responsible for delivering all the Easter eggs and I couldn't because Peter Cottontail took them.  I was visibly shaken by the dream.  I believe it was this anger that led to the hair temper tantrum that led to the burn from the curling iron on my left hand.  Time to CALM DOWN.

The thing about being calm and being in the work place at the same time is, it doesn't happen.  Today was pizza day.  Pizza day means I get to order pizza for 160+ people.  I hate ordering pizza.  I hate being the pizza police. I hate hearing, "when is the next round of pizza coming? I didn't get any." "I think we should order more, this isn't enough..." "This isn't fair, why is the pizza on the 5th floor when some of us are on the 4th floor?"  God forbid you march your lazy ass up the stairs and get yourself some pizza.  Consider it a cardio opportunity.  Or, screw cardio and take the damn elevator.  It's free food. SHUT. UP. I was so irritated I screwed up on the pizza guys tip each trip he made (I realized my mad math skillz on his last trip).  He's just an innocent bystander, this is B.S.  He probably won't be able to afford his new game controller as a result. I am a horrible person.


I check my voice mail and Larry the Copy guy leaves me a message stating that he doesn't really understand what the problem was with the copier.  The ticket mentions something about humming, but he feels I need to be more specific.  I call Larry.  I'm already irritated, just fix the damn machine, you are the freakin expert.  Larry says, and I quote, "You know why the machine hums, right?"  I say no, thinking he is serious and I am about to tell him I am not the one that has a PhD in copier maintenance. He says, "because it doesn't know the words."  Dead silence.  I'm not in the mood for this.  I say, "ba-dump-bump (like a drum hit). You are hilarious Larry." I was informed by Larry that sometimes the machines just do that.  Well my machine was clearly in agony, but whatever Larry says, he's the comedic genius behind copier repair. How do I get hired on at his company?

I go to our "prize room" (a locked closet with all our cool give-a-ways and random stuff).  The key won't open the door.  I tried every thing I could think of, I jiggled it, I pulled the door tight, I pushed on it.  Nothing.  I call the maintenance guy.  He walks over and asks me if I am using the right key.  No genius, I have been using the wrong key, do you think that is the problem?  He tries my key, it doesn't work. He puts his master key in and it opens.  He then looks at me as if I am the stupidest person alive.  I told him, "I may be blonde, but I'm not that blonde and I'm not the only one that had problems with that key."  He seemed skeptical. He then used my key and locked and unlocked it with success.  Stupid key. He explains he doesn't know how it happened, or why it happened.  Somewhere, he is telling someone how stupid some blonde girl was at work today. Dirtbag.

Then I get an email from someone from another one of our offices in another state asking me to take care of some things for her.  I'm sorry, my name tag doesn't say, "Looking for things to do."  Instead, I let my face reveal the true situation which is, "if you give me one more damn thing to do, I'm jumping."

Finally, the day takes a turn where I am able to give someone else the "are you a dumb-ass?" stare. To protect the innocent, I will refer to this person as "Professor Toner."  Professor Toner comes over and says, "hey, that toner you ordered me isn't the right one.  It doesn't work."  We discuss that it has to be the right one based on what I ordered, but I give him the benefit of the doubt.  I say, are you sure you have it in there right?  He says yes, but I see doubt in his eyes.  Professor Toner then goes and asks his good friend "Smarty Pants" to help him.  Professor says, "I have it in the hole, but I don't know if it's in right and I don't want to just ram the thing in there."  Smarty Pants is almost beside himself because his mind is inherently dirty and he instantly goes to the gutter with poor Professor's description.  Smarty Pants gets the toner cartridge in there easily and leaves the Professor feeling like his pants have been pulled down in front of the gym class.

I'm exhausted.  I'm sick of pizza. I'm sick of maintenance people telling me they don't know why stuff happens. And tomorrow is Root Beer Float Day.  I can't win here. Maybe tonight I will dream about Santa ripping off my presents so I can't make Christmas happen.