Story Time (work)

Months and months ago, I told one of my favorite bloggers, Rev.BIOU13 about an office I worked at in another lifetime, and co-worker of mine who had issues understanding a lot of things, including the definition of "business casual". Even on a "casual Friday", a dress code still remained - one which this absolute delight of breaking-up-the-monotony-with-mental-craziness lady flouted with aplomb. Heap big aplomb.

One of my favorite things she'd wear into the office on casual Fridays were a pair of leggings with an over-sized Marvin The Martian t-shirt. Once, it was liberally stained with cherry Kool-Aid.

Another time, while working reception, she decided to cut her hair. At the reception desk. Also in the bathroom meant for customers. There was hair everywhere - on the bathroom floor, in the sink, stuck to the receptionist chair and all up inside the desk drawer. Her reasoning for why this was okay is that she was on her break. Which doesn't explain why there was bits of hair all over the reception area, but to be fair, I didn't ask her if she intentionally brought back some hair from the bathroom and decided to store it in the drawer. She was actually that much fun.

But the story I'm really here to tell you about is much more complex to explain, and requires some visual help. Since all the cool kids with popular blogs have shitty MS Paint "drawings", I decided it was high time I utilize this tool myself. I can't wait to become famous as a result.

Keep in mind, I spent an absolutely outrageous amount of time on details no one will notice, for a story that is probably only funny to me. And here we go.

This is the general office layout of where I worked:

Just looking at this gives me indigestion and the farts.

The colored area in this next picture illustrates the lowest-form-of-secretary section:

I put a lightning bolt in my cubicle, because that's where all the magic happened.

We all spent a fair amount of time in the mail room, even when we weren't technically "working" the mail room - which is where this tale beings ...

I was just minding my business, standing by the office skull and crossbones ...

... when I noticed something unexpected in an office environment. Footprints. I saw them at the skull and cross bones and followed them thusly:

Oh yeah, this is just another normal day at twork. Chasing white fricking foot prints deep into Unit 5.

At this point, the footprints faded away. So I traced them back and followed them in a new direction.

Seriously, that guy Brian was a doll. The day after I had my wires tightened on my braces, he'd bring
me Italian Wedding soup for lunch because he knew that chewing was too painful for me. I miss him.

Keep in mind, this whole time I was making this face:

Just kidding. This is simply the face I owned at the time.
Look at me, all blonde with pursed lips and no nose ring. So young. So contact lensed. So over-plucked.

Actually, the expression I was wearing was more like this:

Pre-braces! Would you believe I was only 18 in this picture? I look 30 fricking years old.

Mixed with this:

Because a good mystery makes me feel like I'm having a great poo.

Finally, I reach the trail's end.

The footprints are coming from inside the cubicle.

Now, if your skills of deduction aren't as finely honed as mine, allow me to explain that this particular cubicle belonged to the girl fond of wearing juice-stained t-shirts to work and cutting her own hair. At work.

The trail not only originated from under her desk, but also held a pair of shoes filled to overflowing with white foot powder. She was off exploring parts unknown (visiting the break room to give herself a pedicure?) while I was struggling to get up from all fours because I was losing my shit laughing.

The only thing that came close to being as funny as this was when I reached this page in my Onion page-a-day calender:

Starship Crew Heroically Saves Screen

.

Blog Tapas for Everyone! (you get a blog tapas! you get a blog tapas!)

I dreamed ...

that Ashton Kutcher told my husband "never trust a girl willing to tug you off faster than an energetic 1-800 sex-thin."

~
that while walking down a hallway in high school, I flailed my arm up to gesture and accidentally poked (and got my finger stuck in the corner) of Oprah Winfrey's eyeball. She was really calm about it, and after I got my finger out, we decided we both had to pee. She led the way, opened the door to the rest room for me, and I decided to start pre-washing my hands in the sink with mud.

A young boy walked up to me and I shoved him and said, "get away from me!" I heard Oprah gasp and say, "oh my god!" and when I looked up, she was gone. I realized she'd led us into the men's room. She was unapologetic about the mistake. When I found the ladies room, it was full of young women whose hair indicated they'd been napping on the couches in there since the 60s. They languidly refused to let me use a toilet because I wasn't popular enough.

I went back to the men's room, which was now stuffed to death with handsome European soccer players and they were all very nice about showing me to a stall and explaining how to use it, but once the door was closed, I couldn't move because my boobs were suddenly huger than usual. I gave up and went to class where I found myself holding a crayon the size of a truncheon, and a handbag full of arcade tokens.

~
that someone had made a pitcher of grape Kool-Aid, and I couldn't figure out how to fit it in the fridge, but I didn't want to throw it away, so I just woke up.

~
that I had to report for jail, but first I wanted to grab a quick bowl of Rice Krispies. Unfortunately, I had no bowl or spoon nor milk. I looked up after starting to reach into my box and realized I was standing next to Lady Gaga's boyfriend, who was also eating his own Rice Krispies by hand - but he had poured milk straight into his box. I rudely reached over and grabbed a wet handful and started shoveling it into my mouth.

He was quite put out, yet started sharing his cereal by dropping fistfuls into my hand for me. Gaga walks up and before I can leave, she insists that I try to freestyle a song about how she's a hair stylist. I do terribly, of course, so I just reach down to pet her cat, and tell her that she's a very good kitty.

~~~~~

Sister: I'm going to attempt this applicatorless tampon. Wish me luck.
Me: ugh. I can't do those. my fingers are too stubby. good luck.
Sister: I have free ones and i wore a pad all day. I cant suffer another minute in my own filth.
Me: pads are ew.
Sister: I only wear them when I'm being lazy.
Me: or like squishing around.
Sister: Or like wearing a diaper.
Me: and having your crotch smell like a bloody swamp.
Sister: I just read in detail about this tampon
Me: "INSERT." "YOU KNOW WHERE."
Sister: Looooo
Me: well, I guess it's time for me to move to the couch and stare at the tv.

nice chat. hope your vagina holds your tampon well. I say that with the deepest love. har.

Sister: thanks for the words of vaginal encouragement.

~

Me (on her Facebook wall): you can't hammer a nail with your face, unless your face is made out of hammers.
Sister: Or just one big hammer.
Me: not as efficient as several hammers.
Sister: well, if you use the hammers one at a time in rapid succession, it's more effective. If you try to use them all at once, you end up with holes in your wall.
Me: trust me, my hammer face would be the most sensible.
Sister: of course, of course.

~~~~~

This is a message a girl I know from a Facebook group got sent by someone who has just got to be her new best friend by now.

~~~~~

These are a few ads Facebook actually wanted me to pay for to promote my page.

Now give us a kiss.
.