I just ran into Tool in the elevator after getting some morning coffee, which was desperately needed. The coffee I mean, not Tool (although he is a cutie). Tool seems like a nice guy. Tainted only by Laura who, as you may recall, gave him his wonderful nickname after she saw him walking around in white sunglasses perched awkardly on his head (see tag “Tool” for more information if you don’t recall). Speaking of Laura…Laura if you are reading this…where the he*l are you? She moved away and now is nonresponsive to emails. I realize you are busy buying a house and all that responsible adult stuff, but I need some comic relief here, which she would offer on a daily basis. I will never forget this, but on my second day of work almost two years ago, Laura came into my cube to teach me something. Mid-explanation, I side-swiped my hand the wrong way into my full cup of coffee which spilled all over the documents Laura was trying to teach me about. Coffee everywhere. We had some good laughs about that one, and after that I immediately knew Laura was cool. Laura’s replacement, Laura 2, just started this week. While she is no Laura by any stretch of the imagination, at least Laura 2 seems semi-normal from my brief interactions with her so far, which is more than I can say for many of the people in this office.
For the record, I am not a morning person. Especially when on my walk to work it starts raining and is windy as heck so the hair I just straightened is ruined and blowing all over my face, and especially if I am forced to touch a door handle. That is the worst. Or if I wear too much clothing, like today, and get overheated like I normally do after walking a mere two blocks. What is up with that? It’s almost as if I have hit early onset menapause [don’t worry boys, that is a joke…I most certainly have not]. Does everyone get overheated like I do? Doubtful. I usually seem to be the only one wearing a tee shirt on the metro to cool down in the middle of winter, having to remove jackets and sweaters in order to avoid sweating through my clothing. This morning, after walking about 10 minutes from the metro to the office in the sprinkling, windy weather (my favorite), I got caught behind this ridiculously slow individual on the way to the front door. I’ve been told that I am a fast walker, but seriously, all I wanted to do at this point was rip off my jacket and extra layers of clothing so that I could cool off a little bit. But this guy was lolly gagging along, taking his sweet old time. Lucky for me, after I passed him upon exiting security, he caught up to me and got into my elevator. Held that up too, naturally. Sometimes I really just want to press the close button when I’m in the elevator and see people coming. I would have done that too, but this guy actually sped up for once so I didn’t have a chance to. Naturally, he pressed the button for the 4th floor. I’m on the 5th. The guy who got in the elevator on the 4th floor must have seen my disgusted look because he actually made a comment about me missing the express elevator. Why does my face have to give away exactly what I am thinking all the time? This is why I don’t even bother trying to lie. Well that and maybe the moral dilemma that goes along with it.