Battered and Broken
I am so glad I have tonight off because I have managed to injure myself in some small way every night for the last three nights and I need some recovery time.
Particularly annoying are the lumps on my elbow and kneecap. My knuckles are bruised. My hands are orange. And this is not bothersome, but since I’m complaining, I’ll tell you about the scratches on the back of my hand where an overzealous volleyball teammate gored clawed nicked me.
I wore an ill-chosen bra to work. In attempting to discreetly adjust it, I put some bright orange smudges in some conspicuous places on my white shirt.
Let’s throw in a little stupid co-worker commentary. All the room labels in the new construction area and some of the replaced labels in the old area of the building have Braille on them. Instigator says to me, “Look at this, what are we hiring blind people now? How stupid is that? Lazy Overachiever said to me I was gonna have to train the new blind person on the press.” Obviously (hopefully) both parties were kidding. But how retarded do they sound anyway?
I’ll top it off with a little positive news. A.T., my hookup in the other production department, is gonna introduce me to his Supervisor (the one that asked about me) when I next go in on Wednesday night.
And while I’m grateful that he’s helping me out, dude needs to learn to shut the fuck up. A.T.’s one of those talkative storytelling types, so he likes to approach you (even if you’re busy) and start talking about some shit that you don’t care about (like cars (and always with a nickname for the cars; “disco” and “suby” and shit)) and take forever and a day to finish up, even when you’re, say, staring at the computer screen trying to read the e-mail you were in the middle of when he started talking, or, say, walking away from him. I can tolerate it, especially since he’s doing me a favor. I just hope I don’t end up working with him.
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One Response to “Battered and Broken”
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February 23rd, 2004 at 4:03 pm
Ugh. I have my own A.T. — I call him Mr. Slow. He takes a hundred years to make a point, and it’s usually about football or beer or girls with big ta-tas. I can’t stand him, and I ignore him to no avail. Unfortunately, he’s got the CEO blinded to his uselessness and has CEO wrapped around his crooked little finger. How do we rid ourselves of these pests?