Tag Archives: breaks

No Bug Zone

10 Oct

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Taking a break…

Am fortressed  in my office, away from all the peoples, as all the peoples I know are currently carrying some version or other of the plague.

Gnome-Idiot cheerfully informed me yesterday morning, (while hovering over my desk and mouth breathing) that she had spent the night hurling into the toilet , and would it be alright if she went home after this stack of paperwork?

…I mentally told her to get the fuck away from me, while verbally assuring her that I totally supported her choice in going home to get better, and that she should feel free to leave as soon as possible.

…This was roughly two days after the WHS Pimp started hacking up lungs n’ things in his office, returning from his day off.  The same day that Ma called and said she had abton of crockpot food she couldn’t eat by herself, and wouldn’t I like to come over while wearing a surgical mask and rubber contamination gloves, to pick it up…as she TOO was dying of some kind of stuffy head-cold.

Three totally different strains of plague, now surround me.  The battle has been fierce.  I’ve forced vitamins and liquids until my bladder is near to exploding. 

…So far, so good.

…Of course, now that I’m claiming that, I am prob’ly doomed to get one or all three in the next few hours.

Problem is, I don’t have time for that yet.

…I know the show is closed and all, but along with the final visit of Corp next week, at the office, I have two shows to see, a script to peruse, an Ab-Fab sleepover with Marty to attend, a Wedding, and The BFF’s way-belated BD-AWESOME-GIFT-OF-AWESOME to shop for, bills to pay, laundry to do, and TP to buy.

I’m booked.

…Also, I don’t WANT to get a cold.  Not any three of the current varieties seem very appealing.  So, I sit here, treating my appendages as germ-fields-of war, every paper pass back-and-forth with the rest of the office staff.  My hands are now chapped, cracked and dry from antiseptic overuse, I just shot my last Emergen-C this morning, and in a panic last night, I started chugging that awful Gollum juice toddy, in hopes to add it as another form of preventative.

…Surely, nothing could survive this onslaught of prevention, right?

(she hopes, heartily.)

…Providing all stands germ-free, my week of self-imposed quarantine will end tomorrow…as I watch Marty kick some ass in “Henry V,” and move directly into swilling “medicinal” alcohol…in the form of a lot of wine…until I pass out.  Waking up (at whatever o’clock that turns out to be), I then begin my quest of shopping and bill paying…and somewhere in there: some laundry.

…Which will bring me to the half-way mark of my weekend.  I’m pulling focus on one step at a time, at this point.  So as to not tempt the bugs too much.  If they think you have it all signed, sealed and delivered, they hit you even harder (I find.)

…So shhhh.  Don’t tell.

…Meanwhile, I’m off to face the “inbox” once more…and consider the options of Children’s Theatre, around the holiday. And, the calculated percentage of odds riding against mounting an entire show without grumbling curse words when I fuck up a line…or being a surly bastard to small people seeking hugs and smiles during tech week.

~D

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Sometimes, It’s Just Not Funny

9 Oct

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When the Whs dudes get pissed, they have this little system. 

…It involves demolishing things: product that is already compromised, trucks in the yard that no longer run…I’ve heard tell of it more than I’ve seen it in action, but I have to say, the enticement it offers, far surpasses most anything else.  Great feats in their past include forking a diesel one-ton into the air at its top-most height, than shoving it off, busting tires, shocks, struts, engine pieces and windows at random.  Another (ongoing) is to run into same said truck, with forks primed, and skewer it repeatedly like it is no more than a tin can or something made from aluminum foil.

…They will, upon occasion, shoot nail guns at the dead product pile, annihilating it further as it spews splinters in mini explosions like a machine gun in War.  I’m told that shattering cracked glass is also edifying in accomplishment, or putting a fist through a wood panel…in which case, I will just have to take their word for it.

…All I know is that in the fucked up lunatic asylum that is the “office,”  I don’t have anything to take my frustrations out on but people.  Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to slam my stapler through my office window, bursting it like a bomb instantly.  I would be very content to kick the absolute shit out of the file drawers until they are nothing but dented safes of paper that no one would be able to gain access to, ever again.  I’ve has fantasies of pitching the phone up in the air, and whacking it with a 2 x 4 for a shattering Home Run.  There were less sadistic evil tortures done during the Dark Ages, than I’d like to commit daily, to my computer.  Very few Politicians I hate get me angrier than my Boss on any given day of the week, and when I have HAD it, there is almost not a prop or piece of office equipment…right down to a paperclip, post-it, or a pen, that I could not easily forsee committing homicide with. And this all happens at LEAST once per day without fail.

…Which is NOT a good environment to be in 40 +  hours per week.

I know I am no alone in this. Plenty of people loath their jobs…but they also (most of them) seem to at some point (apparently) come to peace about it, deal accordingly and move on.  I, however, being an exceedingly stubborn person in which “fairness” and “competency” rates higher most days than breathing, absolutely CANNOT come to grips with the hand I’ve been dealt.  Some days are worse than others.  Yes.  But even the not-so-bad days, make jesting about the environment more than I can manage until I’ve put a day between me and whatever it is THIS time, that has royally pissed me off.

…And sure, I’ve had plenty of people say, “well, why don’t you just quit?” And I’ve asked myself that question too, only every twenty minutes in every day.  But the point is: I can’t.  I’m a grown up, with bills to pay, and another career to tend to.  I can’t afford to leave.  Because I can’t afford to drop in pay for 90 days, and any position higher will require me to be on salary with my time at someone else’s beck and call.

…So instead, I implode about crap, give it air time, throw it up in a blog, and try to make light of it, to take away from the power it holds over me.  But it knows it.  I don’t know who I’m really kidding, frankly.  But it seems like the more positive thing to do.  So I do it.

…And I’m doing it now, from my car (again), taking a lunch minus food…just me with my computer and some Netflix, jerry-rigging a sort of drive-in theatre environment for a half hour or whatever, just to cool me down a bit so I don’t go on a rampage shooting staples at the Boss’s face.

It’s all I could think of.

…Well, that and setting the whole place on fire.

But being in jail on arson charges doesn’t fit in my rehearsal schedule, really.

I checked.

~D

A Lunch Posting

28 Sep

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Writing this in m’car while eating my lunch.

…Its a sad turn of events when you have to cloister yourself in the car (in the parking lot) just to get away from the phones and nonstop influx of month-endiness. Sometimes I shut myself in the bathroom too…but it doesn’t always work. If Boss is there, he’ll just talk at me through the door…whether or not a tinkle can be heard throughout.

“I’m going pee!” I will often yell, enroute, “don’t bother me!”

…Sometimes he doesn’t, sometimes he does. Mostly he just can’t understand why I won’t continue to do business while “doing business”…because he does all the time.

…Apparently, that’s what a well-timed “mute” button is for.

I’m really tired today.

…My own fault.

Stayed up until two, on back-to-back nights.

…All the month-end prep hit today, checks were sent to wrong addresses again, and I have a headache.

But DAMN my lines are doin’ good!!

Boss keeps lookin’ out the window at me. Like a dog waiting for his people to come home.

…There’s prob’ly another paper travesty.

…Or he lost his car keys again.

…Or maybe the phone rang, and he answered it, but doesn’t know what happens next.

I’m exaggerating, of course.

Sorta.

…Temples beating in a pulse. I need to get some serious sleep tonight, or I’m gonna be sick. Sooo much alliteration right there, I sound like a snake.

Enough.

Must go back in, and face the desk and papers and whatever mess is brewing that has Boss pacing the lobby back and forth.

…So glad that it is Friday.

You don’t even know.

~D

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