Wednesday, April 27, 2011

it's the most wonderful time of the year!

...and by "wonderful", I mean soul-sucking.

Yes, today is Administrative Professionals Day, which I am forced to celebrate every year. It sounds like it would be fun, right? Like we'd get presents and food and candy and praise and paid time off?


Well, I mean we DID get presents once, in the form of a pen and a bookmark that said "If you pray for rain, be prepared for some mud!" First of all, we work in an office and have unlimited access to the supply closet, so we don't need a fuckin' pen unless it's some fancy Cross pen that I can hock for a few bucks; second, fuck that disturbingly gloom 'n' doomy bookmark. I can buy my own goddamn bookmarks, thank you.

Oh, and we DID get a whopping hour of paid time off once, but they stopped doing that last year. Because God forbid we enjoy ourselves outside the confines of our sterile cube farm! Shit, what would the claim reps do if we weren't here to wipe their little bottoms for them? There's one guy here who always, always, ALWAYS comes over and takes envelopes off our desks. One time, I was no longer able to contain myself, and I said, "Oh, aren't there any more envelopes in the supply room?"

You know what he said?

"It's too far to walk."

Hey, douche canoe, it's right across from the break room and in the near vicinity of the bathrooms. I'm pretty goddamn fucking sure you pass the supply room at least four times a day, unless you've got disposable didies on under your cheap polyester pants. And if you genuinely think it's too far to walk, which it most certainly isn't, why wouldn't it be too far for US to walk?

Keep. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off. My. Shit. You. ASSCLOWN.

Where was I? I got distracted by my bitching.

Oh yeah, I was bitching.

Anyway, today's "celebration" began promptly at 9:30AM, which is when my shift starts. I had literally just gotten to my desk when L, the nice but excruciatingly stupid receptionist, said "Oh, come on, C, it's time for our special day!"

I'm sorry, can I have one moment to get my notoriously creaky system up and put my lunch away? Apparently not. So I quickly tossed my purse in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, put my lunch in the fridge, and went into the break room.

Now, there's a mediocre bakery/deli nearby whose owner must have plied pornworthy oral skills on our company's CEO, because we use them for every single function. This one was no exception. I grabbed a plate and took a blueberry bagel and a napkin. I didn't see any drinks, which was odd, but I shrugged and sullenly took a seat. My work wife J, who hates these functions even more than I do, is out of town for a funeral, so I didn't even have her to commiserate with.

After everyone had been seated, which took forever because these bitches can load up a plate, Boss #1 said a few words. The usual trite bullshit about how we are the backbone of the company, don't know what she'd do without us, loves us all blah blah blah zzzzzzzzz.

Then Boss #2 got up, said the same shit in slightly different words, and added, "I have a very special treat for you!"




Her 5-year-old daughter S, clad in a Disney Princess dress, and her 8-year-old son A walked into the room. Everybody oohed and aahed and clapped and I wanted to explode into a shower of flesh confetti. Boss #2 said, "They just had to come in and wish their honorary aunties a very happy day!" Then she crouched down, said a few words, and A passed out paper cups while S began roaming the room with a pitcher of orange juice.

"I'm a princess waitress!" she screamed. (Okay, that was cute; I'm not entirely made of stone. Just my heart.) She skipped around the room filling glasses, and then she got to my table.

"Oh, no thank you," I chirped. Insistent, she grabbed my cup and began pouring. I held my breath as she poured until the juice was juuuuuust a fraction below the edge of the cup, and exhaled as she finished without incident. Then she moved on to the woman next to me, and managed to take out four cups (including mine) at a time with an ill-placed elbow. I pushed my chair back as the Orange Sea poured down over the edges of the table. Thanks to my catlike reflexes, honed by years of Dead Rising and Resident Evil, I was able to avoid a lap full of sticky juice; my tablemates were not so lucky.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" S bawled, racing for her mother. Boss #1 went to get wet paper towels, while Boss #2 comforted her daughter. A stood there asking, over and over, "Mom, should I keep passing out cups? Mom? Should I give them more cups? Mom?"

A cluster of "aunties" descended upon the wailing tyke, murmuring and patting and cooing, and I took this opportunity to make my escape.

Next year, I'm calling in sick.