We have arrived at Thursday. I figure, I've made it this far, I may as well finish out the week at the 'ol Glass Palace. I arrived there this morning, a bit later than usual and sat in my truck, staring at the building, lurking behind the trees with a dark sky in the background. I didn't want to go in. I knew what the day would bring, "Cassondra, it's too hot at my desk, can you ask them to turn the heat down?" "Cassondra, the light above my desk is too bright, can you have them come and turn one off?" "Cassondra, you are never gonna believe what is in stall number one..." These are the menial tasks that would be on top of all my usual tasks. While it is flattering that people come to me, because they know I will take care of their needs, it also gets old. I've been feeling a range of emotions lately and I wonder how much of the Glass Palace is contributing to my dark mood. Am I just burnt out after 16 years of living the dream? I mean, it's a pretty good gig, overall. I'm not going to complain about the paycheck or the commute or my schedule. I pretty much self-manage my job, so it has it's perks, but I really could go without the bathroom drama.
I finally decided to venture in. As I walked in, one of my co-workers was telling me about a job she had heard about. Well, this is a great way to start the day, thinking about working somewhere else. Was the universe telling me something? Is it time to get away from the Glass Palace? Something to consider, I suppose. I finally got to my desk and settled in when one of the peeps came up to my desk and advised me that she and her cube mates were way too hot and could I put a ticket in to get the heat turned down. Check, #1 off the list - temperature control. I put the ticket in to get her hot flashes under control and proceeded to go through my emails. It was kind of difficult to concentrate, though, because Slim Jim was going on and on and ON about a bug bite he had. I yelled over the wall, "Are you going to be complaining ALL day this loudly? I have some expired Neosporin if you want it..." He said he was really in a bind because it was really painful. Come to find out, the bug bite was on his, ahem...boy parts...more specifically, the major boy PART (if you're still not clear, I'm talking about his freaking penis). As I heard this news I made this face, like I had just seen wall-art drawn with poop in stall number one. Look, I don't know how you get bug bites on your privates, but hey, some things, I don't NEED to know. How to handle this is not in my admin manual.
I clearly needed to get away from my desk and the nearby penis crisis, so I took a walk to deliver vending machine refunds. I say Mama Chris and she advised me that she was totally not telling me that she saw a dead bird on the walk-way coming in. She wanted me to know that she was also not asking me to do anything about this dead bird that I didn't really need to hear about. She would report it on her own. Wow. Someone is taking matters into their own hands. I stood there for just a moment, in awe. It was like I was in a third dimension. All I could think of was, that stupid bird probably flew right into the glass building and killed itself. Just like I do everyday, except for me, the killing is happening slowly, over time. I finished my rounds and returned to my desk. The phone rings. It's Building Dude. He has received the dead bird email and wants to know where the bird is. I didn't tell him about the freaking dead bird, I haven't seen the dead bird. I advised him I didn't know. "Okay, I'll go check it out." I sent Mama Chris a message letting her know the bird tragedy was being addressed, but that he didn't know where it was. She cut and pasted from the email she sent him, which described the exact location of the carcass. She replied, "Does he need a map?" Apparently so. Perhaps I am unknowingly being trained to be the Building Dude's replacement. Maybe all clearance for this type of thing now goes through me? Clearly, I'm that important.
About then, my friend, Stilletto Barbie sent me an instant message. We shared a few back and forth messages and then she asked how my new anti-depressant meds were going. Asked if I felt spacey. I wrote back and told her that I think I am having some problems as last night I was throwing a temper tantrum in the barn because I couldn't connect the two hoses I had so I could water my flowers. I mean, I was very angry and didn't understand how I had two ends that looked identical and how was I supposed to screw them together? Shark Bait came out and asked me what my problem was. I explained how the hoses could not be hooked together. He looked at me oddly and said, "yes they can," and proceeded to connect them, right in front of me. What the hell is a matter with me? I know how to screw hoses together?! Anyway, all Stilletto Barbie saw on her message screen was that I had lost the ability to screw. In her mind, I was having sexual side-effects of monumental proportion. Luckily, she found the rest of the message buried somewhere below. Good Lord, this is how my day is going.
Another exciting part of my day is that I get to start sending emails out every hour, on the hour, showing who in the center has not yet sold a certain product we offer. I know that no one has time to read these emails, nor do they want to, so I decide to spice them up in my own way. You know, little rhymes, little pictures, etc. People started emailing me back razzing me about having to send the emails. Cross Fit Crazy came out and said, "You're doing an amazing job on those emails!" I looked at him, "Any monkey can do it..." He looked wounded, "but they don't read the ones I send." I responded, "yeah, because yours are boring." I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure my mid-year review is not going to be stellar.
As I sat there contemplating my next catchy little phrase for the next hour, I get a message, "Um, I hate to bother you, but I jammed the copier and I don't know how to unjam it..." Okay, I got this. I go in there and it's jammed good. Like, one piece of paper is crunched and krinkled so hard, I damn near had to disassemble the machine. But, I am a trained professional, I got this. Upon saving the machine from this tragic event, it asks if I want to continue copying. Let's see what is on there...oh, look, it is a guide on how to knit ruffle pants and then also a hamburger ordering sheet. I don't exactly know what goes on inside this building sometimes, but I'm pretty sure this is a first for ruffle pants being created in-house.
I walked over to Mama Chris, "Ruffle pants? Really?" She took her paper back sheepishly and said, "Here, have a Kit Kat!" She had Kit-Kat bites. I could use a break. I could use to break me off a piece of that Kit. Kat. Bar. And, so, I did. Once again, I returned to my desk to see what other disaster was about to unfold. I reached down and wiped my glasses on my shirt and then put them back on. What the hell? They had smudges all over them...what? I look down at my shirt and I had a little glob of chocolate from that Kit Kat bite. One little spot, but that is the spot that I chose to "clean" my glasses with. Seriously. Sigh. Crime just doesn't pay.
My day was finally coming to a close and I sat there wondering if this is really all there is to a "Day in the Life of Cassondra." The more I think about change, it scares me, but it also makes me wonder what else is out there. Sixteen years is a long time at a company. I asked one of the other people I work with that has also been here a long time, "Do you think you will die here, or would you jump at the first job that came along?" He looked at me and said, "I'd jump in a heartbeat." I know I always joked with Ambular and Valerina and we all agreed, we would stay here until this pony broke it's leg and then we would get a new pony. Well, maybe this pony is one of those sickly ponies with a limp, but an iron lung and a fierce will to live. I don't want to ride a sick pony. But, is the pony sick, or am I sick? I have much to ponder. I think it's time to take the pony's temperature and see if it should be put out of it's misery.
Anyway, tomorrow is finally Friday and Cross Fit Crazy is out of the office all day. Maybe I can get some work done if wildlife avoids our building, people come scantily clothed wearing a good deoderant with no hopes of comfort and people keep craft time at home. And you people don't think I can be optimistic. HA! If those last couple sentences weren't optimistic, I don't know what is. All I know is, it just about took everything out of me. I'm exhausted. Nighty-nite.
I finally decided to venture in. As I walked in, one of my co-workers was telling me about a job she had heard about. Well, this is a great way to start the day, thinking about working somewhere else. Was the universe telling me something? Is it time to get away from the Glass Palace? Something to consider, I suppose. I finally got to my desk and settled in when one of the peeps came up to my desk and advised me that she and her cube mates were way too hot and could I put a ticket in to get the heat turned down. Check, #1 off the list - temperature control. I put the ticket in to get her hot flashes under control and proceeded to go through my emails. It was kind of difficult to concentrate, though, because Slim Jim was going on and on and ON about a bug bite he had. I yelled over the wall, "Are you going to be complaining ALL day this loudly? I have some expired Neosporin if you want it..." He said he was really in a bind because it was really painful. Come to find out, the bug bite was on his, ahem...boy parts...more specifically, the major boy PART (if you're still not clear, I'm talking about his freaking penis). As I heard this news I made this face, like I had just seen wall-art drawn with poop in stall number one. Look, I don't know how you get bug bites on your privates, but hey, some things, I don't NEED to know. How to handle this is not in my admin manual.
I clearly needed to get away from my desk and the nearby penis crisis, so I took a walk to deliver vending machine refunds. I say Mama Chris and she advised me that she was totally not telling me that she saw a dead bird on the walk-way coming in. She wanted me to know that she was also not asking me to do anything about this dead bird that I didn't really need to hear about. She would report it on her own. Wow. Someone is taking matters into their own hands. I stood there for just a moment, in awe. It was like I was in a third dimension. All I could think of was, that stupid bird probably flew right into the glass building and killed itself. Just like I do everyday, except for me, the killing is happening slowly, over time. I finished my rounds and returned to my desk. The phone rings. It's Building Dude. He has received the dead bird email and wants to know where the bird is. I didn't tell him about the freaking dead bird, I haven't seen the dead bird. I advised him I didn't know. "Okay, I'll go check it out." I sent Mama Chris a message letting her know the bird tragedy was being addressed, but that he didn't know where it was. She cut and pasted from the email she sent him, which described the exact location of the carcass. She replied, "Does he need a map?" Apparently so. Perhaps I am unknowingly being trained to be the Building Dude's replacement. Maybe all clearance for this type of thing now goes through me? Clearly, I'm that important.
About then, my friend, Stilletto Barbie sent me an instant message. We shared a few back and forth messages and then she asked how my new anti-depressant meds were going. Asked if I felt spacey. I wrote back and told her that I think I am having some problems as last night I was throwing a temper tantrum in the barn because I couldn't connect the two hoses I had so I could water my flowers. I mean, I was very angry and didn't understand how I had two ends that looked identical and how was I supposed to screw them together? Shark Bait came out and asked me what my problem was. I explained how the hoses could not be hooked together. He looked at me oddly and said, "yes they can," and proceeded to connect them, right in front of me. What the hell is a matter with me? I know how to screw hoses together?! Anyway, all Stilletto Barbie saw on her message screen was that I had lost the ability to screw. In her mind, I was having sexual side-effects of monumental proportion. Luckily, she found the rest of the message buried somewhere below. Good Lord, this is how my day is going.
Another exciting part of my day is that I get to start sending emails out every hour, on the hour, showing who in the center has not yet sold a certain product we offer. I know that no one has time to read these emails, nor do they want to, so I decide to spice them up in my own way. You know, little rhymes, little pictures, etc. People started emailing me back razzing me about having to send the emails. Cross Fit Crazy came out and said, "You're doing an amazing job on those emails!" I looked at him, "Any monkey can do it..." He looked wounded, "but they don't read the ones I send." I responded, "yeah, because yours are boring." I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure my mid-year review is not going to be stellar.
As I sat there contemplating my next catchy little phrase for the next hour, I get a message, "Um, I hate to bother you, but I jammed the copier and I don't know how to unjam it..." Okay, I got this. I go in there and it's jammed good. Like, one piece of paper is crunched and krinkled so hard, I damn near had to disassemble the machine. But, I am a trained professional, I got this. Upon saving the machine from this tragic event, it asks if I want to continue copying. Let's see what is on there...oh, look, it is a guide on how to knit ruffle pants and then also a hamburger ordering sheet. I don't exactly know what goes on inside this building sometimes, but I'm pretty sure this is a first for ruffle pants being created in-house.
I walked over to Mama Chris, "Ruffle pants? Really?" She took her paper back sheepishly and said, "Here, have a Kit Kat!" She had Kit-Kat bites. I could use a break. I could use to break me off a piece of that Kit. Kat. Bar. And, so, I did. Once again, I returned to my desk to see what other disaster was about to unfold. I reached down and wiped my glasses on my shirt and then put them back on. What the hell? They had smudges all over them...what? I look down at my shirt and I had a little glob of chocolate from that Kit Kat bite. One little spot, but that is the spot that I chose to "clean" my glasses with. Seriously. Sigh. Crime just doesn't pay.
My day was finally coming to a close and I sat there wondering if this is really all there is to a "Day in the Life of Cassondra." The more I think about change, it scares me, but it also makes me wonder what else is out there. Sixteen years is a long time at a company. I asked one of the other people I work with that has also been here a long time, "Do you think you will die here, or would you jump at the first job that came along?" He looked at me and said, "I'd jump in a heartbeat." I know I always joked with Ambular and Valerina and we all agreed, we would stay here until this pony broke it's leg and then we would get a new pony. Well, maybe this pony is one of those sickly ponies with a limp, but an iron lung and a fierce will to live. I don't want to ride a sick pony. But, is the pony sick, or am I sick? I have much to ponder. I think it's time to take the pony's temperature and see if it should be put out of it's misery.
Anyway, tomorrow is finally Friday and Cross Fit Crazy is out of the office all day. Maybe I can get some work done if wildlife avoids our building, people come scantily clothed wearing a good deoderant with no hopes of comfort and people keep craft time at home. And you people don't think I can be optimistic. HA! If those last couple sentences weren't optimistic, I don't know what is. All I know is, it just about took everything out of me. I'm exhausted. Nighty-nite.
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