...Did I say non exagorrated? Um, I was exagerating.
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My old boss talks to me even meaner and more mocking than beffore. Yet in many ways I preffer him to this small toadlike womon. She is nice, but is TOO danm nice. She is such a nurturer that it drives me crazey. And not just me but the whole danm staff.
She insists on these stupid danm "getting to know you" brekfasts each Monday morning.
Let me tell you, the LAST thing I want to do on a monday Morning after a 150 mile drive (becuase i am a telecommuter 3 days a week), is to "get to know" my danm co-workers.
You woud think that after 3 weeks of getting to know these bozos, the breakfests woud stop. But they havent. Theyve now become our staff meeting. Plus I do not have 6 or 7 bucks extra to spend eachweek.
If youve ever studdied history, it is sort of like Chamberlian's refusal to stop Hitler back in '38. Instead of a few peoplle dealing with a trickle, the whole danm world had to stop a torrent becuase Downing Street woud not honor its commitment to containment untill it was too late. Alls I can say is appeasement MY ASS.
Anyway, when I make the long drive to work, my first apointment of the day SHOUD BE an 8:35 meeting consissting of me, and three layors of papper seat coverings in the centor stall of the Building 2 men's room. This is impossible when we have to meet at a restuarant out on the freeway at 8:30. (This is becuase our cheap workplace dosnt have a cafeterria).
Then everryone orders these soppy brekfasts. All I normally eat in the morning is mabye a little cereal. But NO, she insists we all order eggs and hotcakes and Frensh Toast. This is becuase it is 'Brain Food'. I treid orderring just cereal once, and the pain in the ass boss says, "Oh, no! You can buy a whole box of those flakes for what they charge in a resurarant!" and so she orderred for me The Hungry Trucker which is this gigantic brekfast with like seven eggs, a side of beef and a satellite dish filled with white sausage gravy and bisciuts. If you say, "I dont WANT to eat allot!" she will say, "Why? Why? WHY?? Is it becuase your not feeling well?"
And if it happans to be somones birthday, we all have to go to Dennys becuase your meal is suposed to be free at Dennys on your birthday. Yeah right that may be true, but who wants to go to Dennys on there birthday.
Well, at the other day's meeting, (Not in Dennys) I am cramped in the booth next to this girl I work with, a graphhic artist who is blonde and sweaty but othorwise a nice persen. In the middle of our mannager's chattorring perky tirade concerning one of us people's desicion to leave a pepper on our dish, that is so danm anoying that people in the othor booths are all stairing at us, and whispering, "they must be from Amway," the blond artist womon gets up to go to the bathroom. And as soon as she leaves the perky boss's voice goes from happy and chirping to a low, concernned whispor.
"She's having a tough time with her husband," she says to us all secretley. "Married all this time, no babies. Fertility treatments, very, very stressfull."
What a nozy bitch. Then she tells us all to be extra nice to her and by the time she retturns to the booth the trilling bubbly voice and forced laughs had retturned.
About ten minutts later, somewhere between the 'Hungrey' and 'Trucker' parts of my obscenely huge brekfast the Blitskreig began to hit my lower stomoch, and I had to sqeuuze out of the cramped booth to run as fast as i coud to the rest room.
I hate these restuarants that have a bathroom that consists of only one large room with one bowl in the center and which serves as Men's, Woman's and Handycapped bathrooms all at once. I like to have walls arround me, like in a stall. Plus sittin on those high handycapped toilats tryin to balance myself in mid air makes me feel like a danm hood ornament on some big old gangster car.
The whole thing is houmilliating for me becuase I was just startin to get used to using the stall at work and now I had to fammiliarize myself with an entireley new interface, and do so undor presurre and where everyone I am with is aware of my absence and knows ecaxtly where I am and what I am doing.
When I get back to the table, the perky boss descides she has to go float a load of her own. She trots off humming a happey tune. In a peverse way i am glad, becuase while my worst "creations" can never compete with Granfather's, this womon's perky toadlike nostrils are in for the scalding atmospherric remmains of a rare treat which happenns under the best of circomstances only once a day at 8:35 AM.
The sweaty blond womon, whose sweat is all cold agianst my body from the super high air condittioning as i squeeze back in the booth because she hasnt been pressed agianst me for the past ten minuts, gives me a droll look as soon as the door of the john/jane Unisex across the room closes with a click with the trilling little snoop locked in.
"You dont look too bad to me," she says as everyyone else at the table starts to luagh.
Well she was--while i was gone, she told them all in hushed tones that I was in the restroom yakkin up my six dollar Hungry Trucker brekfest because she hapanned to know, (the skinny body, the pail face, -- they are all the tip off); that I am a male anorectic!
I was so danm pissed. How dare she.
The rest of the staff said that our new stuppid boss is notorrious for being a nosy snoop and she got the habit because she once worked for Humen Resources where you get to see EVERYONE's personol files. But the H.R. peoplle coudnt stand her and so they moved her ovor to that conveniant late 1990's black hole of a staff dumping ground that we all know so well: Internet content devellopment.
I said to my co-workers at the table that i hoped that right this minute she either fell backword into the giant bowl or else fell forword onto her little toady face and friggin cracked it open on the mucky yellow-pooled tiles of the john/jane Unisex because there is no way her stumpy little perky legs woud surely reach all the way down to the floor while propped on that handycap toilat which must of been mounted on the danm wall 3 feet up.
Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.
I did mention in my last updatte if my readers from Ilinois woud please write in and assure me that peoplle there do NOT eat Miracle Whip(TM) brand imitation mayonaise right out of the jar with a large spoon -- (like my pain in the ass boss does, and who tells me that everyone there does also).
And by the way if I may digress for just a momment:
I was pleased to be told that the generol consensus was that peoplle do NOT.
I was supprized to receive over 200 replies on the mattor, and a full 140 of them from Ilinois, and I sincearley thank my kind readers in the beutiful Land Of Lincoln. Of the 140, eighty-one of these said "No, people in Illinois do NOT eat Miracle Wip straight from the jar." (Fiftynine said "YES WE DO" but that is not ennough for a majority -- My faith in the peoplle of Middle Amerrica is restored.)
Other ammazing things I found out, based on reador imput:
Many Illinoisans told me that peoplle in neighboring Indiana, Iowa and Missuori do indeed eat Miracle Whip straite from the jar, not just as a condimment, but also as a sidedish, and SOMTIMES (Yuck) even as an entree People in Chicago tell me that peoplle in Champain, Urbana and Rockford are the Miracle Whip eaters. Peoplle in Champian, Urbana and Rockford tell me that folks up in Chicaggo are the ones who do it. Everyone seems to think those in Springfield do it. I mean everyone The greattest denials were from readers in Shaumburg. I got 9 repplies from Shauomberg alone. Two readers mentioned to me that the neighboring state of Indiana was recently dettermined to have the heavyest peoplle in America. And therefore, Indiannans who commute to Illinois are probly the big Miracle Whipp eaters everyone is talkin abbout. This was interresting: I received three seperate e-mails, all from different parts of neighboring Wisconsin pleadding with me to NOT say that people in Wisconsen eat crap right out of the containor, which includes, but is not limitted to, Miracle Whip. (OK guys, whatevor you say). Also: I got a response from Russia and anothor one from Kentuckey of people askin me if I knew of you are suposed to pronounce the "s" at the end of Ilinois. (Sorry, I honestley do not know.)
Let me just say that ireggardless of it all, (and excepting my fans in Texas itself), on the whole, the nicest kindest peoplle in the whole USA are my readers in the Midwest.