Seems to me I remember sharing with the world how much of a morning person I am not some time back in 2009. Still, all my mornings pretty much begin the same – brutal traffic that points its finger and laughs at me as I cuss all the way to work; stale bagels; and yesterday’s coffee. Today seems to be as good a day as any to reiterate how much I despise people who bombard me with useless conversation about how they are doing when it’s clearly marked on my forehead how much I don’t give a damn; customers who call the office first thing in the morning to ask questions they seem to already know the answers to; and coworkers who are not considerate enough to let me take my coat off before pawning their work off on me so they can play endless games of internet Bejeweled.
Perhaps if my night ended in a peaceful manner, filled with salty french fries, a throwback comedic marathon, like “I Love Lucy”, and a foot massage from a rich princess who runs a country somewhere in the tropics and looks like Kim Kardashian, I wouldn’t feel like coming to work with a machine gun full of bubblicious chewing gum and stink bomb pellets. Alas, I’m not that lucky, and neither are those people who float across my threshold on cloud 9 any time before high noon – aka, lunch! Especially if they aren’t toting a box of piping hot Popeyes chicken or seemed to have left their manners at home and omitted to say, “Good morning,” before tossing words around like, “I need you to,” and “I know you’re busy but…” Those are the people who get their car doors scratched with a pair of keys or accidentally runs over a glass bottle of Millers Genuine Draft without any idea of what kind of non-morning person would do such a thing to them.
Now by mid-day when my mood has calmed and my taste buds have settled on what it desires for the lunch time fix, a whole new wave of gripe and grudge takes over my body once my eyelids have become heavy and the clock does anything but move its big hand closer to the 12 and the little hand on the 5. This is around the time when office colleagues, business vendors, and out-of-office meeting guests should all enter my personal space with caution. To put it mildly, only approach me if wearing a suit of armor while holding a bungee cord to assist me in an early dismissal of work through the 17th floor window. But seriously, what are the chances of that happening? If your answer is “little to none” much like my answer is, there is an alternative solution. Boredom is the next overwhelming feeling after passing the I Don’t Want to Be Here stage of the day. Here’s when practical joke mode kicks in.
Accidentally jam the photocopier, fill all the toilet bowls in the building with Bounty paper towels or make prank 911 calls from your boss’ desk phone and just sit back and wait for the fun part to begin.
I would’ve included a nice clip of an overflowing toilet but you did just eat your lunch in the previous paragraph and that simply would’ve been another mess for you to clean up before quitting time. At any rate the day must go on if you wish to continue receiving your paychecks. So as much as I would love to sit here and continue telling you how much of a morning person I am not, or an afternoon person for that matter, I must dust off my glue gun and stick some folders to the bottom of the file cabinet in hopes to never see them again. But if you have some time, let’s meet up after work for a drink. By then I will be in the jolliest of moods and won’t mind so much stupid comments, selfish company or inconsiderate people because I’ll be too consumed by alcohol to give a sh*t.
Five o’clock isn’t that far away. I can make it. After all, 90% of any effort is getting started.
Quote of the week: “Oh, you hate your job? Why didn’t you say so? There’s a support group for that. It’s called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.” -Drew Carey