Pass a Tissue, Please?

Wednesday, March 21. Lunch Time.

I figured I should mark this date so that this time next year I can be extra extra careful, because bad karma does strike in the same place twice.

The story begins when a colleague and I decide to go to CPK for lunch and a gab session. We cross the street and walk down an alley, ho humming along, when a woman that's passing us by literally (and I do mean literally) projectile vomits.

All over my face. In my hair. Down my back.

Now, I'm not sure what a normal reaction to something like this would be, but mine went something like, "FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fucking, fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fucking, fuck fuck fuck, fuck, fucker. FUCKING, fuck."

My friend, who is more than several months pregnant, also got a decent amount of green matter sprayed across her as well, and I'm sure her upchuck reflexes were kicking in high gear. Fortunately, neither of us contributed to the heinous mess and were able to hold our own. Interestingly enough, my first millisecond thought, just as the vomit splattered across my face, was that this woman just threw a shake at me. I was about to be incensed to the tenth degree when I turn and see her vomit the rest of her bile infested lunch on the sidewalk. This was the same moment I realized what was all over my face and the freaking out ensued.

OK, again I realize this is an extremely unusual situation to come across and a little difficult to swallow, but if I saw two women, one pregnant, being barfed on I would set aside my disgust, hold in my chuckle, and fucking do something to offer some sort of help. Realizing no one was going to offer me a tissue, I saw I would have to fend for myself and used my jacket to wipe the nasty off my face. I then proceeded to stumble into a nail salon where I see a multitude of onlookers just sittin' pretty getting their nails done. Not a single person got up to help or offered a tissue, napkin or towel. Dumbfounded, I was.

What the fuck is wrong with people? If I could I would cue a lame Nickleback song.

-Signing off from San Francisco

What the Fucker?

I think I'm fairly innocent. Meaning, I don't excessively drink, do drugs, smoke, steal, gamble, etc.

My one vice, however, is swearing. It's just a bad habit that I can't seem to break and only gets worse as my time here passes. A little slip of a "what the fuck" and "motherfucker" just can't be contained sometimes.

Unfortunately, as lax as my office is, it's apparently not lax enough for my mouth. A complaint had been submitted to HR and I was officially scolded regarding my "language."

Well, jeez. Do I feel sheepish.

-Signing off from San Francisco

No Srsly!

Snippets from a snippet:

OMGREADTHISEMAILNOWNOWNOW!!!111!!: High importance emails are retarded. Yes- I said it. It really doesn't matter if your email has a little red flag next to it in my inbox, if I'm busy I'll get to it when I can. If it's really important and you need a response like, oh, two minutes ago- call me. That's what my desk phone is for. It's too ugly to be decorative and too big to be a paperweight. But...

Don't call me on my mobile when I'm at my desk: Seriously. Sometimes colleagues will call my mobile when they're ten feet away from me and I'm at my desk. I know Mika's Grace Kelly is all sorts of musical goodness but I doubt people call me just to hear it play.

Also, why do reporters call my mobile during the day? I put my office number in my signature first, in bold, and then my mobile number for after hours emergencies. 2:00pm on a Tuesday afternoon... I'll be at my desk. I promise. Here's a thought- try my desk phone before my mobile... you might like the results.

Super cheerful people in the morning make me angry: Okay, not really. But don't expect me to 'super cheerful right back atcha!' if it's 7:00am and I'm standing in front of the coffee machine with my arms crossed and tapping my foot. Obviously, I'm not happy and I haven't had my morning cup of liquid crack yet so please, say 'good morning' and go skipping off into Lollipop Land and play with the unicorns or whatever it is you do at that ungodly time of the day.

-Signing off from Seattle