The Coming Battle

Good people,

Things are tense up in this hedge. Last month it was announced that there would be downsizing at the Happy Cappy Investment Team.

Aside from a slight gloom in the air though, things have been pretty much the same since then. People have been making bizarre requests, the Stone Cold Killer freaks out when fruit supplies run low (you'd think we were running a type 1 diabetes center the way he flips out), and people have been stealing my supplies. However, I must add one important detail about the contraband: they are boxcutters and scissors. That's right these are the items that have been disappearing at the fastest rate of anything in the mailroom. I'm ordering scissors and boxcutters every week now.

Where are they going? Who is preparing for the inter-0ffice war? Is it the layoffers or the layoffees that is arming itself? (I can dream can't I?)

All I know is that the air was thicker than ever today. When I said hi to my boss I couldn't get one word out of her. When I took a breather at the front desk for a second I was told I am no longer allowed to sit up there (a week ago they switched it up so I don't ever cover the front desk anymore--fine with me--instead the EAs do.) When I pointed out that a lightbulb (a weird, specialty one) burned out at the coffee bar I asked for the corporate credit card. Apparently, it wasn't such a big deal so I should do it later. Yeah, right.

Stone Cold Killer has an aneurysm when there's ONLY one container of hand soap in the men's bathroom (not to mention the hand soap in the wall-mounted pump). Like I said, people are weird, and it's obvious as fuck what's going on. Oh, and HR's been on lockdown all day printing up a forest worth of trees.

**We interrupt this blog because I just "the call." I'm supposed to go to a different floor with no explanation. If this were a mobster movie I'd get the fuck outta dodge, right now.

Stay tuned.

OH...MY...GOD!

Good people,

Today, a line has been crossed.

Tis the season for employees to bring in sweets and treats. Given all the recent economic hubbub I don't know if this December will be as intense as last year's 30-days-'til-a-heart-attack junk food feast that was unleashed upon the employees of the Happy Cappy Investment Team. Still, that process is well underway this December.

Someone brought in these marshmellow-truffle things. They had that weird gooey-chewy thing going on dusted in cocoa. And of course someone made a mess since these people can't seem to wipe their own asses without help from others.

Someone must have dropped one on the floor and then someone (or somemany) proceeded to step on it and make coco-mello smudges on the floor.

So reception puts in a call for the building to come clean it up. I go and follow the smudge trail to see wear it leads. The path directs me to the men's bathroom door. So of course the oh so witty jokes coming flying (in case you were wondering the joke each time is that it was shit... ha... ha... ha... ugh).

Well like some horror movie I slowly open the door to see if the trail ends there...it doesn't! I turn the corner...but the smudges continue! Until finally...they lead to...THE FUCKING TOILET!!!

That's right, some grown ass man [at first I called him an asshole and then a piece of shit but that just seemed to confuse the narrative] did this. He cannot, in fact, wipe his own ass without the help of others (you see, that was foreshadowing before). This man actually tracked his own excrement into the kitchen. Amazing.

So of course I mopped it up. Some people were stunned that I would do this filthy task, especially when the cleaning services would be here within the hour. My answer? "There's fucking shit on the fucking floor and it's fucking disgusting."

Seriously, do these people do this at home but have servants waiting on them hand-and-foot so as they don't realize just how disgusting they are?

Time to look into grad school.

Somebody Needs a Time Out

Good people,

When I tell you the following story please try to keep in mind that I am talking about a grown-ass woman here and not a two-year-old.

So a member of the Happy Cappy Investment Team comes into the kitchen looking for some mint tea. Now we have lots of a certain type of mint tea--"Mint Medley" or something like that--but she wants a different type of mint tea. So she asks if I can order the the specific type of tea she desires. She wants her mint sans medley. Okay, reasonable enough, right?

Well, I explain that we only have so much space and we need to get rid of this OTHER mint tea before we can order more. I figure we're talking two, maybe three weeks.

So what does she do? When she thinks no one's looking (my office is spitting distance from the kitchen so I see all) SHE TAKES THE MINT TEA OFF OF THE SHELF AND THROWS IT OUT! I can only imagine that she's hoping that I will check the inventory, see that we are running low on mint tea and order her preference. Apparently I am too stupid to notice that *alla-kazam* six boxes of mint tea are missing 15 minutes later after our interaction. Nor am I supposed to notice that there's six boxes of mint tea SITTING ON TOP OF THE GARBAGE.

You want it that badly buy your own fucking tea. I know these are hard economic times but I think your $100,000+ salary will cover a few boxes of Lipton Mint Tea.

Won't she be surprised next month when I double the order for Mint Medley?

Revenge is a beverage best served hot with a minty-medleyness.

Am I Too Hard on These People?

No, I am not. They really are children.

Exhibit A: Due to the $700 billion injection by the Fed into the financial system we had a pizza party today. Pizza. Party.

Oh, and as for how I'm doing? Today was worse than yesterday plus I have to stay (even) later and I'm sick.

And possibly the most frustrating thing of all? I went to go punch some stuff in the stock room--I can't even remember why at this point--but some repair guy was in there so I couldn't go all Tommy DeVito on the boxes.