My life.

What's a Computer and Murderous Bees

This is more realistic than you could possibly know, unless you've worked in the concrete jungle.

I seriously am NOT ok with exterminators if they don't collect the dead animals and take them with. Example, I don't feel very professional being a professional in a 'high class' place with dead roaches and moths. I watched on a show once that it's hard to kill spiders because they simply walk through the poison. I don't know what the policy is on bees and wasps, but living where I have lived my entire life, I would bet every man's left nut, bug killing maneuvers of the professional kind don't kill them.

It pisses them off.

Then every single one comes directly to my desk and pissed-ly torments every person who sits in front of me. Personally, seeing fifteen of these little effs a day is normal here, so why everyone freaks out over them, I don't know, but it sends them into a screaming, pointing fit, and they don't grasp that I lack the ability to care, because I can't magically fly around and make these creatures go away.

It also just floors me how people can never figure out what person is calling their name, and they look at you like you are playing dirty 'voice throwing' tricks on them. And even if you've worked in a field for five years, they can be oh so perfect at confusing you to the point that you have no idea what your job even is anymore.

Things I wish I could ask in an actual respectful manner, not to be a jerk, because I really need to know this and these people need to know how far off the grid they are living and trying to drag me, and I think would make my job easier and I could help them.

"Stop for a second, please. What the fuck are you talking about?"

Living in the coporate jungle since I graduated,
Alexis

I Talk To You When You Can't Hear Me

So, like, this woman who was pretty old was driving and had someone in the seat next to her, both windows down which was stupid because it was raining horribly. Some man drove in front of her, doing about 5mph. She wasn't even moving, she was just in her car being old as shit.

Like any wanna be badass driver, she starts doing the YMCA with her hands and talking, leaning out the car, towards the SUV, with a driver that probably thought, "Oh, she's going to let me go because we have been sitting her and she has not moved." Either that or she died, so I might as well go anyway, because there is no point in staying here. Both possible options. This old woman is throwing a down right hissy hit, like every Denny's and Cracker Barrel in the area just went out of business along with prune juice and those double sided Ritz pretzel crackers.

It got really stupid really fast, more so because the person in the SUV did not even know she was throwing a fit, or if they did look back and see it, they obviously did not care and just went on with their day calmly. That's not where it gets to the, "Ok, this is just STUPID, part." This time I was completely to blame for the stupidity.

For a brief moment I wanted to roll down my window and scream out my window at her, "It happened, it's over now, the person cannot even see you doing this, and they don't care, you're not making a point, you're raving in your front seat, shut up and get over it, it wasn't even a big deal to begin with and I have anger issues, lady!"

I didn't do that. But I thought it. Which makes me twice as stupid. The world is wearing off on me.

Trying not to be stupid again today,
Alexis

Are You Taking a Break Or Hanging Out?

Have you ever heard of something so stupid as someone with a Master's degree education who cannot count a whole thirty minutes, figure out that when you see someone with a fork letting food slide down their throat AND doing so in the break room, where, you know, people eat not being able to figure out that person is on their lunch break?

Nothing was said, although the sea witch did act rather strange. It was around an hour later she called me into her lair to ask if I was actually taking my lunch break or 'hanging out'.

First off, I hate that break room. It's like a horrid little imigrint house, or, what I would expect one to look like, with no room to move. By the laws of business, no one respects the laws of the fridge, and steals food, and once, I swear, because I'd never joke about such a thing, someone used to use their nasty food as a fork in my butter.

I obviously told the truth. I don't hang out in break rooms, but thought further about how ridiculious this was. If we are supposed to be so on task, why are becoming down right paranoid about people's eating, and if eating could be considered 'hanging out'?

I later had a conversation after work with a friend that consisted of this:

No, I go there and hang out with my New York Jets gang. We have angry dance offs with the spanish copier and tuffs with the other gangs that work in departments down the hall while practicing our dance moves and leaning up against our fridge, smoking black and milds while drinking vodka from the coffee cups and getting jail tats while sitting on the shredder.

Needless to say, I do NOT eat there anymore. I go outside and eat behind the bushes like I have an eating disorder. I wish that were a Joke.

Stupid questions deserve stupid answers,
Alexis