Posted by: Jennifer | August 10, 2006

give me a break please!

I started off having a pretty good day…right up until the point where I decided to come home from work.

I should add, before I start my whining, that I have spent the last three days glued to the computer at work doing data entry, trying to get a week’s worth of information into the system in three days. Damn stupid long weekend messing up my timelines! Anyway, my entire body is stiff and sore from being in the same position for eight hours because, like the idiot that I am, I denied myself breaks and lunch in an effort to get the work done. It’s all done, and now I’m walking around like an old person with advanced arthritis. No one ever said I was bright.

Okay, here we go.

To the person who closed the elevator doors practically in my face: was that really necessary? Were you in that much of a hurry? Would it have killed you to wait another millisecond. I hope the next elevator you get in crashes to the ground.

To the person who almost hit me with their car two blocks from my house: there is a speed limit you know. And there is a reason for it. There are small children in the neighbourhood. It doesn’t matter that I had my earphones on — you should not be coming around the corners and up the roads doing eighty in a residential area. Thanks for testing my reflexes, though. It’s nice to see that they’re still intact. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for my ankle, which I’m pretty sure that I sprained while leaping for safety. That said, I hope that the next time you come spending around the corner hell-bent for leather, the cops are waiting for you. It’s not outside the realm of possibility you know — there are enough shootings in the neighbourhood to warrant a police presence*.

To the people who are currently paying my salary: please send me my paycheque. Please. I’m begging you. I know that I was supposed to have my timesheet to you by Monday at noon and I didn’t get it in until first thing Tuesday morning, but Monday was a holiday and I wasn’t at work to send it and I couldn’t have gotten it signed anyway because my boss wasn’t there. I have seven dollars in my bank account, and I have to buy cat food and coffee. For the love of all things holy, send me my paycheque. In the meantime, I hope that your computers don’t crash, making it impossible to get any work done and giving poor unfortunate souls like me a reason to call and complain because their stuff isn’t processed. That would be a lot of complaint calls.

To my usually great landlord: why? Why must you be showing the apartments in this building to the appraiser from the bank tomorrow? Why? Read everything that came ahead of this paragraph and tell me why. Do you really think that I want to spend tonight cleaning my apartment so that it can look acceptable for the strangers that are going to traipse through it tomorrow? Guess what? It ain’t happening. I’ll do the dishes, I pass the broom over the floors before I head to work tomorrow, but that’s it. I’m sorry if that’s not enough, but it’s the best that I can do. And look at it this way — if you hadn’t called me and let me know in advance, I would have been spending this evening doing laundry and you would have been showing my apartment to strangers while dodging my underwear and bras hanging around the place to dry. Instead, you’re only going to have to dodge cat-hair bunnies. And, because you’re usually such a nice guy, I can’t think of anything bad that I want to happen to you. I suppose I could wish a pox on you and your family, but I’m not even sure what a pox is. I just read that sentence in a book once. Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Landlord — you have been spared the wrath of The Grumpy One.

It is currently 6:45pm in the Halifax Metro area. And I’ve had enough of this day. If you need me, I’ll be in my pjs, curled up in bed, reading a book. That is, if the bed doesn’t fall apart or the ceiling doesn’t cave in. Damn it, now I have to go find wood to knock on.

Off to bed I go…

* yeah, I know, I’m moving soon.

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