Don't Touch My Stuff


This is the inner monologue of a weight conscious person who works in an office where a vendor took orders on Tuesday evening with the intention of bringing Nico's Burritos in on Wednesday morning.
I got one with no meat; breakfast meats are heart attacks waiting to happen and I'd rather drink my future heart attacks, in the form of Mai Tai.

So I'm waiting until 9:45 for this potato and egg and hot sauce situation and by now, the department has crumbled into grumbling women who, like me, did have their Special K breakfasts.
Or if they're like 20, they didn't have their Can of Pepsi.
A roomful of cubicles housing legitimately hungry women.
Dude should not even have bothered to show up.
When he did, we descended upon the burritos like so many locusts in a biblical field and he was left standing all alone in the printing area, like a mauled scare crow.

Someone must have gotten a few bites in and felt the edge ease off.
It wasn't me.
I was grubbing, but carefully because when you get super-hungry and then you wolf down a pile of food, bad things can happen.
I was hiding under my desk and savoring home made tortilla dipped in hot sauce.
I was hiding under my desk and scheming, with the help of my burrito, how to bring this one chick DOWN.
I was hiding under my desk freaking out about an upcoming business trip for one of my multi-location clients; a trip to The Bad Place where I get yelled at and humiliated because I'm not a perfect miracle worker kind of Ace-in-the-Hole person.
And they get mad at me when the truth hurts and they get mad at me when they can't find the truth and they spend A LOT of time being mad at me in the Bad Place.
But even more disconcerting, I worried under my desk about how going there runs the risk of pre-empting one of the few Second Chances I've ever seen in my life, where will I store my doglet, and what kind of trap could this be if they are sending me to The Bad Place, ME.
They don't care for me in The Bad Place. I don't mince words at this point.
It's seriously, potentially Not Cool.

Even after I got through half of the burrito and begin to stop seeing double, I still had an empty nervous feeling in my gut... is it my date on Friday with God's Gift to Iowa (and me, via Good Luck to Live in Tucson, Arizona)?

Is it this chick I work with who is sneakier than anyone I've ever, ever, ever met? I mean... she's good.
She's not good in terms of actual work, trust me when I say I do not trust her.
And she gets such a bad attitude when I tell her how things need to be done, as if she is like, totally above it.
"Stop advising me. I know what I'm doing."
Weeks later, "Do you have______________."
"I expected it to be done."
It's always like that with her so I pulled rank today and took a project off of her desk.
It's complicated, it's time-consuming, I don't have time to deal with her antics of pretending to have it done but saved to her hard drive or whatever. I don't have time to deal with her sending it to the client before letting me see it... it's a big deal and I would normally let her hang herself on this part of the project but now they're SENDING ME TO THE BAD PLACE so I have to take more initiative and responsibility than I would have preferred, frankly.

Or not.
I loved it: "I'm going to go ahead and assign this like so. You go ahead and take care of the other part we talked about."
I don't seem to care if I hurt feelings on this case.
I've bled for this case.
She will not be allowed to fuck it up, not over my dead body.
There are some cases where new people think they should be doing all of the work they do on their other cases.
Touch that case and I will turn into a fucking chupacabra and I will EAT YOUR KITTENS.
I dare you to try me.
Which she does make these runs at me to challenge my experience and authority on this case and every single time, she falls short or runs out of steam or fucks up her attempt at offense and guess you cleans it up?
I hope you'll join me to shake your head in resigned anger.

So this time, I'm building little traps all around the case and making it impenetrable because I do not the fuck have time for this woman's feeble, sneaky, sob-story lies.
I don't care.
This case is years of my life, my sleep schedule... upper management and I CREATED an entire job based on one chunk of work that I did for this case.
How she doesn't get that I know more about it and how she continues to basically ignore my directives is beyond me.

But that woman is not touching anything crucial here because I am not kidding about turning into a mythological beast and eating baby animals out of here living room.
I will go to the Indian doctor, I will drink the potion, and I will fuck those kittens the fuck up.

FYI: I don't know if there are any actual kittens but she seems like a crazy cat lady so go with it, yo.

arizonasarah at 11:09 a.m.

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