You Sir, Are A Twat

Do we have any folders?

Do we have huge sharpies?

Where are envelopes...like these?

Uhmmm. Are we out of post-it notes?

How much are these stamps gonna be?

How much is an overnight shipment?


Are you all fucking kidding? Mondays are deadline. So, we're all doing shit. Alot of shit and under a lil pressure, too. So. How did you all fuckin forget that all the office supplies are where they always are. In the labeled cupboards.

So...where it says 'envelopes' that's where you could look. And maybe with the rest of the sharpies, is where you're sharpie would be 'hidden'. Maybe start there. And as far as your stamps? Well, stamps are forty-one fucking cents. Maybe you could look to see how many letters you have and just like multiply it. Yourself. I'm not the only bitch with a goddam calculator in this joint.

Or wait. Did you want me to get up and stand next to you? Is that what you want? Some attention, cupcake? Ok. I'll hold your hand. Let's skip over to the office supply closet. Maybe we can both peer into the cupboards like it's fucking Narnia.

Oh the boundless wonders of finding the shit yourself...sigh. It's breathtaking. All this scotch tape where it says 'tape' and the markers and post-it-notes where it SAYS MARKERS AND POST IT NOTES. Wow! You're right, sliding down a magical rainbow of incompetance and making other people do shit for you is way more fucking fun. But, I'm kind of busy. Doing what I'm supposed to be doing. My job.

If you see me frantically typing, clicking and pasting, don't fucking ask me to 'take 2 post-it-notes. write 'new logo' on one and 'old logo...how come?' on the other one. Why? Because you're too fucking lazy to write your own post it notes. Can you PLEASE fuck off. WHy don't you try actual cool pranks and not lame ones and then maybe MAYBE I won't wish you were headless in the snow.

And if you think that I have time to buzz you in ENDLESSLY after your 12 smoke breaks, lunch runs, Starbucks pangs and meter-feedings, you can get that off your fuckin mind right now. You have a key. BRING IT WITH YOU. Use. It. If you haven't noticed, my job is largely comprised of 'typing'. With two fucking hands. If I'm buzzin you in when you just didn't bring your key, I have to stop what the fuck I'm doing. GODDAMMIT does that piss me off.

Twat=You. Because you're thoughtless and rude. Twats think they're the only person in the room. You are a twat and you're making my life a burning, miserable hell. I don't usually advocate suicide bombers, however, you're makin a really good point. This office needs to be fire-bombed. Here's the NEW deal. You fucking do your own job. From. Now. On.