This morning, someone making an illegal turn attempted to cut in front of me to access the Metrorail parking tower. And boy howdee was she pissed that I wouldn't let her in to my turn lane. She gesticulated wildly with the hand not holding either the steering wheel or her early morning cigarette and made rude faces at me as she slammed on her brakes to avoid plowing into my side.
Since there was no one behind me in that lane, she was able to get where she wanted to be a nanosecond or two later than she prefered. This meant that she got to enjoy dogging me as I went around and around the spiral ramp...in second gear. I actually had to drop it into first on the first ramp, because people were stopping at the top.
That made nanosecond bitch go crazy, for sure, and she was up in my tailpipe for the next six rounds. She actually honked at me! To go faster. Up a spiral ramp. For what? When I finally found a parking spot (and I had to pass by at least a dozen because she was so close that I couldn't brake for them) the bitch roared past me and honked again, gesturing with the middle finger.
I responded in kind, along with a shout out to her: You are an idiot!
It was that kind of day, all day.
The printer was possessed. The boss had a millionty-two things for me to scan into Word. The purchasing tsar had a favor to ask (and you always say yes to purchasing). My mac couldn't get connected to the web. The Other Boss (and you better believe that I'm thinking up a name for her) was on my case about our "non-working" fax machine.
Except it works fine. The problem is, as the techies are wont to say, between the device and the chair. But she won't hear of that, and so I've had to call in a tech support call on a perfectly fine fax so that I can tell her that it's her problem. Maybe if she didn't jam 20 pages into the machine and walk away, it would work.... or if she fanned her pages first. Or whatever.
But I am just a secretary, and it isn't for me to tell a director that she doesn't know how to operate a fax. So I just call tech support.
And then I work. And work. And work. And then I come home and cook dinner. And drink. And pass out.
And in the imortal words of Jackson Browne, do it again, amen.
On another note, my mummy is playing best three out of five with death. She's back in her nursing home, and doing well. If by "well" you mean eating and breathing. But, hey! that's an improvement over her condition in the hospital.
I am reminded of the scene in "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey" where they are playing Twister and Battleship with death, and beating him. It's a lovely send-up of Bergman's chess match. Or the badminton match in The Dove, which was itself a send-up of Bergman.
Whatever. I've had enough tonight. I'm off to watch Marty's Bob documentary.
Since there was no one behind me in that lane, she was able to get where she wanted to be a nanosecond or two later than she prefered. This meant that she got to enjoy dogging me as I went around and around the spiral ramp...in second gear. I actually had to drop it into first on the first ramp, because people were stopping at the top.
That made nanosecond bitch go crazy, for sure, and she was up in my tailpipe for the next six rounds. She actually honked at me! To go faster. Up a spiral ramp. For what? When I finally found a parking spot (and I had to pass by at least a dozen because she was so close that I couldn't brake for them) the bitch roared past me and honked again, gesturing with the middle finger.
I responded in kind, along with a shout out to her: You are an idiot!
It was that kind of day, all day.
The printer was possessed. The boss had a millionty-two things for me to scan into Word. The purchasing tsar had a favor to ask (and you always say yes to purchasing). My mac couldn't get connected to the web. The Other Boss (and you better believe that I'm thinking up a name for her) was on my case about our "non-working" fax machine.
Except it works fine. The problem is, as the techies are wont to say, between the device and the chair. But she won't hear of that, and so I've had to call in a tech support call on a perfectly fine fax so that I can tell her that it's her problem. Maybe if she didn't jam 20 pages into the machine and walk away, it would work.... or if she fanned her pages first. Or whatever.
But I am just a secretary, and it isn't for me to tell a director that she doesn't know how to operate a fax. So I just call tech support.
And then I work. And work. And work. And then I come home and cook dinner. And drink. And pass out.
And in the imortal words of Jackson Browne, do it again, amen.
On another note, my mummy is playing best three out of five with death. She's back in her nursing home, and doing well. If by "well" you mean eating and breathing. But, hey! that's an improvement over her condition in the hospital.
I am reminded of the scene in "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey" where they are playing Twister and Battleship with death, and beating him. It's a lovely send-up of Bergman's chess match. Or the badminton match in The Dove, which was itself a send-up of Bergman.
Whatever. I've had enough tonight. I'm off to watch Marty's Bob documentary.