I always say, "time to put my big girl panties on and deal with it." Well, today, I did just that, literally. After, almost emptying the contents of my closet and trying about 15- 20 different outfits on. At one point, I'm pretty sure I saw Peppermint Patty staring back at me in the mirror. Big old hippie sandals and then this short skirt. No nylons, of course, with the sandals. Shudder. Back to the drawing board. I finally decided on a dress. The problem is, the underwear I had chosen said, "Hello Sexy" on the back. You could see it slightly through my dress. Damn it. I didn't want to have to change my underwear too, but I didn't need people seeing the word "sexy" on my ass all day, either. I rummaged around in my drawer and found some tan pranx-like underwear. They went all the way up to my boobs. I put them on over my underwear and laughed. These were, indeed, big girl panties. I sure hoped they would guide me through the day.
Upon arriving at work, I instantly knew my big girl panties and I were not completely aligned with the goal of the day. I sat there in the parking lot, in my truck, engine running. I considered putting it in reverse and getting the hell out of Dodge. I sat there, listening to the radio considering my escape. No, I couldn't do that, I have too much to do. Okay, big girl panties were now engaged. I walked into the office, and immediately encountered one of our important visitors, Babs. Babs says, "I sent you a little love note...you don't mind taking notes on that one conference call do you?" Sadly, my big girl panties were not able to communicate fast enough with my facial expression. My shoulders slumped, my brows furrowed, my bottom lip came out a bit and I said, "awwww mannnnnnn...." Remembering myself, I recovered with, "Yes, of course I can, no problem." I think I had a short in my panties, clearly I needed faster response time. I proceeded to my desk to find my recorder that I use for the call so that I don't miss anything. Can't find it. Oh, that's right, Four Feet of Fury still has it. Damn, oh well, no biggie, I have a back-up. I pull it out and I can't get the damn thing to turn on. I thought, no, it can't have dead batteries...I open up the back, they weren't just dead, they were gone. Mother. Trucker. High Heel Barbie strikes again! I'd take this matter up with her later, she was the last to have the recorder. I went ahead and threw myself a temper tantrum right there. Valerina, who had been witnessing the injustice, scampered away to find me batteries. I'm tearing my desk drawers apart trying to find the batteries. My friend, Mama Chris, had given me a special button that says naughty things. I had it hidden in the drawer I was looking in, but had forgotten about it. As I'm digging, all the sudden I hear, LOUDLY, "You're Shit out of Luck!" I'm scampering to shoosh it, but also finding the irony of the phrase priceless. I searched all through that drawer. The only thing of use I found was one left over Christmas Hershey's Kiss. I ate it. There is one problem solved, it won't be tempting me to eat it later. Cross Fit Crazy came out of his office at that moment. I don't even remember if he needed anything, but when he saw the fury on my face, he went right back in his office. Good. Freaking. Morning. Mother Trucker.
Valerina soon returned with batteries in hand. She's pretty resourceful, that girl, and she knows a meltdown in progress when she sees one. She is a good friend. With batteries properly installed, I took the conference call. Luckily, it was an easy one and it was fairly short. I no sooner finished the call when my phone rings. I look at the number, no clue who it is, don't recognize it. I answer the phone in my sweet-I-like-my-paycheck voice, "Glass Palace, this is Cassondra..." All I hear is, "I bet your thinking, if one more GD person calls me, I'm going to lose my mind..." or something to that effect. It's a trap. I know it. And this voice sounds exactly like the voice of our regional presidents admin. It's Undercover Admin, I know it...she continues, "You don't know who this is, do you?" I'm like, "um...no, but you do sound familiar." She let's me off the hook, "it's Short Bus." This is one of Shark Bait's friends. She had read my FB post about not wanting to be at work and decided to get my work number from Shark Bait and call me. Funny. Very funny. Ha.
I now attempt to dig in to my day. Sassy Pants comes over and asks if I am busy. I'm pretty sure the look I gave her pretty much should have melted the skin off of her face, but she was undeterred. She goes on about something, I don't know what, I'm tuning her out. Then, as the phone shoved down in her bra started making a quacking noise alerting everyone her break was almost over, Smarty Pants Malone shows up. "Hey Punkin..." He needs a favor, I can tell. He also asks if I'm busy. What is wrong with you people? Why do you keep asking me if I am busy? Do I not LOOK busy? What do I have to do, exactly, to look busy? Do I need to be bent over a file cabinet with a bunch of papers in my hand? Because, after all, if I'm just sitting there at my computer, CLEARLY, there can't be any work to be done ON MY COMPUTER. Nope, I just stare at it and wait for some one to message me about how they got a hangnail or something and ask what form to fill out as a result of aforementioned hangnail and the sure to follow pesky FMLA paperwork they are going to need for the fungus they surely will contract from using the stinky soap in the dirty restroom. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, Smarty Pants needed a favor. Sigh. I just did it. Just got it over with. Next thing I know, Valerina is back. She is moving and it turns out her desk drawers are jammed and what should she do? I looked over at her slowly and gave her the disapproving Mom look and said menancingly, "And what information do you think a person like me might need to assist you with this type of problem?" She shrunk back a little bit and tried to appear as if she was a scared baby animal, "....my cube number?" Bingo. She provided me with her info and off she went. I'll just make a call and get that handled. Luckily, Building Manager Dude wasn't doing anything except waiting for my call, so he came right up. Sigh, now what was I doing?
I turn back to my screen. It appears I have a message. People are too hot and they want me to put a ticket in. Let me take care of that now. I wasn't doing anything anyway. As I'm trying to enter the frigging ticket, I overhear a rep leaning on the wall talking to his supervisor nearby. I start to hassle him, because, correct me if I'm wrong, the pain has to go somewhere, and he starts giving me crap about the condition of the mens room and wants to know if I am going to put a ticket in for that. What the hell is wrong in the bathroom NOW? Apparently people are pissing on stuff in there. Weak. That's nothing. The women's room has rogue hovering vigilantes that piss all over everything, crap on the floor and smear it on the wall. And don't get me started on the blood. A little piss is not going to even get me to consider a ticket. Speaking of piss, I should take a bathroom break. I go in there and use the bathroom and almost laugh out loud as I look in the mirror and see the necklace I am wearing today says "Love" on it. That should throw people off the track, they'll never notice my hostility now.
I am attempting to return to my desk when I see one of the supervisors with a big armload of tickets. There is a contest going on right now. Reps have earned 6000 tickets. They all need to be torn apart and put in the bin for the drawing. You get one guess on who the lucky bitch is that gets to pull those fucking tickets apart. No problem, it isn't like I had anything to do. I sat there, my soul seeping out of my pores and escaping into the thick air of the Glass Palace. It was a dark day. I'm sitting there tearing them apart mindlessly when I notice the string I'm working on doesn't have any names on them. What. The. Fuck? I go marching over to the girl that was assisting to hand them out asking, WTF? She doesn't know, woops. I go back over to ticket duty. Valerina walks over and says, ew, what is on your dress? right on my boob, there it is, a stinky glob of something looking like a sauce of some sort. I hadn't eaten anything...I'm immediately grossed out, where did it come from? Must have been off the ghetto cube wall. I try and wipe it off, it stinks. I grab my water bottle and go to pour a dab on. Next thing I know, water is gushing out all over the front of me. The stain, still there, still stinking. I wiped the water off and got a Clorox wipe out and started scrubbing myself. Thank God, Four Feet of Fury loved Clorox wipes. I had a huge supply of them. Satisfied I smelled fresh as a freshly mopped bathroom floor, I look down and the water has left this faint whitish outline. It looks like someone jizzed all of the front of me. Nice. Classy. I give up. Just then, I hear a ping noise. I have a new message. "Hey Cassondra, there is blood all over the floor in stall number three, can you have the janitor come clean it up?" Enraged, I typed back, "Let me stop everything I'm doing right now and report that." She responds back, "Thank you!" I hate today. Spooge on my dress, blood and piss in the bathrooms and I have one bazillion tickets to pull apart and 3 million other things to do! Just then, Bratty Little Brother comes over and wants to know if I can leave and go get him gift cards...right now. I said, "NO! I've got shit to do! Doesn't anyone care about how much shit I have to do?" Unphased, he says, "no biggie, I didn't need them today anyway. I'm just going to put them in the drawer until we need them." How is it possible I have not taken hostages today?
As I sat there, soiled and boiled, a rep comes up and puts a paper in my inbox. It's a contest I came up with yesterday and he was the first entry. Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to hand those out to the center. Cross Fit Crazy comes up just then and says, "oh good, the contest! Entries are coming in, that's cool!" I said, "Yeah, that reminds me, I need to go do that. I'll do it now." Immediately concerned, he says, "NO! no no, don't worry about it, you don't need to do that..." He looked panicked. I said, "No, I'll do it now." He nervously scampered back into his office and shut the door. I passed them out and told people I had some crayons at my desk to decorate the picture (it sounds a little pre-K, but who doesn't like to color?). First person, Guido the Bouncer, comes over, gets the crayons, then shortly thereafter returns, "What, are these budget crayons? Dude, I'll get my own." Some days, a girl just can't win. Back to ticket tearing.
I finally finished tearing the tickets and went over to the supervisor and said, "All done." She looked at me sheepishly, "Um, no you're not..." and pointed at another pile. If you look closely at the below picture, you can almost see my soul leaking out of my body.
A couple of hours later, with very little accomplished, I called it a day. I don't know whether I should call it a big girl panty fail or success. I mean, no one died. I did put my time in. I did get all the tickets pulled apart. And really, my boss spent most of his day hiding. We are going to call this one a win. Tomorrow, I'm going to wear jeans and I'm going to get stuff done. I'm not tearing anymore tickets apart. I'm not telling anyone to clean the bathroom. NO ONE and I repeat NO ONE is going to spooge on me. Big girl panties or not, Friday is MY bitch. Do you hear me, universe? I mean it. I'll wear my crown if I have to. Believe it.
Upon arriving at work, I instantly knew my big girl panties and I were not completely aligned with the goal of the day. I sat there in the parking lot, in my truck, engine running. I considered putting it in reverse and getting the hell out of Dodge. I sat there, listening to the radio considering my escape. No, I couldn't do that, I have too much to do. Okay, big girl panties were now engaged. I walked into the office, and immediately encountered one of our important visitors, Babs. Babs says, "I sent you a little love note...you don't mind taking notes on that one conference call do you?" Sadly, my big girl panties were not able to communicate fast enough with my facial expression. My shoulders slumped, my brows furrowed, my bottom lip came out a bit and I said, "awwww mannnnnnn...." Remembering myself, I recovered with, "Yes, of course I can, no problem." I think I had a short in my panties, clearly I needed faster response time. I proceeded to my desk to find my recorder that I use for the call so that I don't miss anything. Can't find it. Oh, that's right, Four Feet of Fury still has it. Damn, oh well, no biggie, I have a back-up. I pull it out and I can't get the damn thing to turn on. I thought, no, it can't have dead batteries...I open up the back, they weren't just dead, they were gone. Mother. Trucker. High Heel Barbie strikes again! I'd take this matter up with her later, she was the last to have the recorder. I went ahead and threw myself a temper tantrum right there. Valerina, who had been witnessing the injustice, scampered away to find me batteries. I'm tearing my desk drawers apart trying to find the batteries. My friend, Mama Chris, had given me a special button that says naughty things. I had it hidden in the drawer I was looking in, but had forgotten about it. As I'm digging, all the sudden I hear, LOUDLY, "You're Shit out of Luck!" I'm scampering to shoosh it, but also finding the irony of the phrase priceless. I searched all through that drawer. The only thing of use I found was one left over Christmas Hershey's Kiss. I ate it. There is one problem solved, it won't be tempting me to eat it later. Cross Fit Crazy came out of his office at that moment. I don't even remember if he needed anything, but when he saw the fury on my face, he went right back in his office. Good. Freaking. Morning. Mother Trucker.
Valerina soon returned with batteries in hand. She's pretty resourceful, that girl, and she knows a meltdown in progress when she sees one. She is a good friend. With batteries properly installed, I took the conference call. Luckily, it was an easy one and it was fairly short. I no sooner finished the call when my phone rings. I look at the number, no clue who it is, don't recognize it. I answer the phone in my sweet-I-like-my-paycheck voice, "Glass Palace, this is Cassondra..." All I hear is, "I bet your thinking, if one more GD person calls me, I'm going to lose my mind..." or something to that effect. It's a trap. I know it. And this voice sounds exactly like the voice of our regional presidents admin. It's Undercover Admin, I know it...she continues, "You don't know who this is, do you?" I'm like, "um...no, but you do sound familiar." She let's me off the hook, "it's Short Bus." This is one of Shark Bait's friends. She had read my FB post about not wanting to be at work and decided to get my work number from Shark Bait and call me. Funny. Very funny. Ha.
I now attempt to dig in to my day. Sassy Pants comes over and asks if I am busy. I'm pretty sure the look I gave her pretty much should have melted the skin off of her face, but she was undeterred. She goes on about something, I don't know what, I'm tuning her out. Then, as the phone shoved down in her bra started making a quacking noise alerting everyone her break was almost over, Smarty Pants Malone shows up. "Hey Punkin..." He needs a favor, I can tell. He also asks if I'm busy. What is wrong with you people? Why do you keep asking me if I am busy? Do I not LOOK busy? What do I have to do, exactly, to look busy? Do I need to be bent over a file cabinet with a bunch of papers in my hand? Because, after all, if I'm just sitting there at my computer, CLEARLY, there can't be any work to be done ON MY COMPUTER. Nope, I just stare at it and wait for some one to message me about how they got a hangnail or something and ask what form to fill out as a result of aforementioned hangnail and the sure to follow pesky FMLA paperwork they are going to need for the fungus they surely will contract from using the stinky soap in the dirty restroom. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, Smarty Pants needed a favor. Sigh. I just did it. Just got it over with. Next thing I know, Valerina is back. She is moving and it turns out her desk drawers are jammed and what should she do? I looked over at her slowly and gave her the disapproving Mom look and said menancingly, "And what information do you think a person like me might need to assist you with this type of problem?" She shrunk back a little bit and tried to appear as if she was a scared baby animal, "....my cube number?" Bingo. She provided me with her info and off she went. I'll just make a call and get that handled. Luckily, Building Manager Dude wasn't doing anything except waiting for my call, so he came right up. Sigh, now what was I doing?
I turn back to my screen. It appears I have a message. People are too hot and they want me to put a ticket in. Let me take care of that now. I wasn't doing anything anyway. As I'm trying to enter the frigging ticket, I overhear a rep leaning on the wall talking to his supervisor nearby. I start to hassle him, because, correct me if I'm wrong, the pain has to go somewhere, and he starts giving me crap about the condition of the mens room and wants to know if I am going to put a ticket in for that. What the hell is wrong in the bathroom NOW? Apparently people are pissing on stuff in there. Weak. That's nothing. The women's room has rogue hovering vigilantes that piss all over everything, crap on the floor and smear it on the wall. And don't get me started on the blood. A little piss is not going to even get me to consider a ticket. Speaking of piss, I should take a bathroom break. I go in there and use the bathroom and almost laugh out loud as I look in the mirror and see the necklace I am wearing today says "Love" on it. That should throw people off the track, they'll never notice my hostility now.
I am attempting to return to my desk when I see one of the supervisors with a big armload of tickets. There is a contest going on right now. Reps have earned 6000 tickets. They all need to be torn apart and put in the bin for the drawing. You get one guess on who the lucky bitch is that gets to pull those fucking tickets apart. No problem, it isn't like I had anything to do. I sat there, my soul seeping out of my pores and escaping into the thick air of the Glass Palace. It was a dark day. I'm sitting there tearing them apart mindlessly when I notice the string I'm working on doesn't have any names on them. What. The. Fuck? I go marching over to the girl that was assisting to hand them out asking, WTF? She doesn't know, woops. I go back over to ticket duty. Valerina walks over and says, ew, what is on your dress? right on my boob, there it is, a stinky glob of something looking like a sauce of some sort. I hadn't eaten anything...I'm immediately grossed out, where did it come from? Must have been off the ghetto cube wall. I try and wipe it off, it stinks. I grab my water bottle and go to pour a dab on. Next thing I know, water is gushing out all over the front of me. The stain, still there, still stinking. I wiped the water off and got a Clorox wipe out and started scrubbing myself. Thank God, Four Feet of Fury loved Clorox wipes. I had a huge supply of them. Satisfied I smelled fresh as a freshly mopped bathroom floor, I look down and the water has left this faint whitish outline. It looks like someone jizzed all of the front of me. Nice. Classy. I give up. Just then, I hear a ping noise. I have a new message. "Hey Cassondra, there is blood all over the floor in stall number three, can you have the janitor come clean it up?" Enraged, I typed back, "Let me stop everything I'm doing right now and report that." She responds back, "Thank you!" I hate today. Spooge on my dress, blood and piss in the bathrooms and I have one bazillion tickets to pull apart and 3 million other things to do! Just then, Bratty Little Brother comes over and wants to know if I can leave and go get him gift cards...right now. I said, "NO! I've got shit to do! Doesn't anyone care about how much shit I have to do?" Unphased, he says, "no biggie, I didn't need them today anyway. I'm just going to put them in the drawer until we need them." How is it possible I have not taken hostages today?
As I sat there, soiled and boiled, a rep comes up and puts a paper in my inbox. It's a contest I came up with yesterday and he was the first entry. Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to hand those out to the center. Cross Fit Crazy comes up just then and says, "oh good, the contest! Entries are coming in, that's cool!" I said, "Yeah, that reminds me, I need to go do that. I'll do it now." Immediately concerned, he says, "NO! no no, don't worry about it, you don't need to do that..." He looked panicked. I said, "No, I'll do it now." He nervously scampered back into his office and shut the door. I passed them out and told people I had some crayons at my desk to decorate the picture (it sounds a little pre-K, but who doesn't like to color?). First person, Guido the Bouncer, comes over, gets the crayons, then shortly thereafter returns, "What, are these budget crayons? Dude, I'll get my own." Some days, a girl just can't win. Back to ticket tearing.
I finally finished tearing the tickets and went over to the supervisor and said, "All done." She looked at me sheepishly, "Um, no you're not..." and pointed at another pile. If you look closely at the below picture, you can almost see my soul leaking out of my body.
A couple of hours later, with very little accomplished, I called it a day. I don't know whether I should call it a big girl panty fail or success. I mean, no one died. I did put my time in. I did get all the tickets pulled apart. And really, my boss spent most of his day hiding. We are going to call this one a win. Tomorrow, I'm going to wear jeans and I'm going to get stuff done. I'm not tearing anymore tickets apart. I'm not telling anyone to clean the bathroom. NO ONE and I repeat NO ONE is going to spooge on me. Big girl panties or not, Friday is MY bitch. Do you hear me, universe? I mean it. I'll wear my crown if I have to. Believe it.
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