So what is it you do when you are not cleaning shit and toothpaste off the walls?

I work in an office.

Not gunna say what kind of office cause some freak might make me have to break out the terrorism/bomb threat leaflet that is supposed to be next to the phone but is somewhere in the bottom of the shredder somewhere…

Apparently some brainiac consultant feels it necessary for the first question to ask a would be terrorist/bomber is what is your name. Not ‘where is the freaking bomb?’ Or ‘do I have enough time to put my shoes back on?’ Or ‘can I finish my latte first?’

No. What is your name. And then where are you calling from?

Bastard wants me to fry.

Anyway. Like I said I work in an office. A big office. Three stories of officey weirdness. A little like the Office, but with That 70’s show, The Golden Girls, Sex and the City and Sesame Street thrown in.

And I am Carrie. Only more fabulous. Of course. Or Prairie Dawn. Cause she is freaking awesome.

So I thought I would regale you with a day in the life of my workplace.

Today.

Got to work. Wearing some fab shoes. Of course. Walk up to the back entrance and realise that I have forgotten my pass swipe. Shit. So wait around for someone else to come.

Get the pleasure of walking in with a dickwad from the other side of the building. One of the freaks that delight in complimenting me on my shoes while looking at my breasts. I am not special. He looks at every woman’s breasts when he speaks to them. An equal opportunity perv. But at least he knows some fab shoes when he sees ‘em.

Thankfully I get the lift on my own. Take the opportunity to check out my hair, adjust my bra and stockings in the thoughtfully placed mirror wall at the back of the lift.

Today, after 10 YEARS of doing this, and worse (think readjusting bra while leaning forward and jiggling or rearranging wayward panties) I find out that there is a camera in the lift.

Fabulous. Hope I never exposed a nipple. Should google that….

Anyway I digress. As I do. So wandered in muttering ‘is it only Wednesday??’ strode purposefully to my desk, unloaded my bag of phone, water bottle, fruit (that will never get eaten it just looks healthy on the desk, cause you KNOW I will be looking for chocolate in about, oh, 10 minutes?) thermos full of freshly brewed java and pour myself a cup. Boot up my computer and then wander off to catch up with the gossip.

Cause there is always gossip. Even at 8.30 in the morning.

So while we are gossiping the news comes in about Heath Ledger. Much googling ensued. Shouts across the office of what we found. Speculation was rife. Very little on the internet.

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

Then bam. Shit loads of information and photos and wailing and beating of chests. And pointing and shaking of heads at the weirdo’s who are hysterical. And they are old enough to be his, like, Nanna for fucks sake.

Sad news though. He was rather hawt.

But our thoughts turned to a more important topic. A health issue. Of dire proportions. Apparently there are some women in the office that don’t wash their hands after going to the toilet.

We had it on good authority, D and S that have been in the loo’s and heard someone flush and leave straight away, that it is more than one culprit.

And that is just so wrong. What if I touched the door handle after the mangy biatch and then touch my latte cup? It would have that ferals bodily secretions on it. And my keyboard. And phone and OMG MY SHOES!

Oh, I think I have the vapours. Just excuse me for a second will you?

I’m back. But still feeling a little delicate.

So the best course of action is, in the first instance, put a bin near the door and open the door with a paper towel, disposing of the said fecal contaminated towel in the bin. But that is not good for the environment and shit so we decided to put this up:

With the caption:

Ninja says WASH YOUR HANDS YOU MANGY HO!!!!

Or probably not. But we will find her. And bitch slap her. AFTER the skank has washed her freaking hands.

So that took most of the morning. Some work got done. Some didn’t. Some clients were called and dealt with efficiently and professionally. While sitting with my feet on my desk blowing kisses at my purdy shoes.

I went shopping. I bought a pretty skirt in Portmans. I bought a Latte.

A bit of Kelley style Dutch courage before coming back to deal with Centrelink.

Apparently all I needed to do was ask for a payment plan. Stupid bint yesterday got my lacy panties all in a freaking knot for nothing.

And I had a sob story about my goat with a wooden leg all ready too. Shit. But YAY! And shit. Cause it was good.

So I slaved through the rest on my today to do list and got the hell outta there.

Cause I needed to go to the loo. And readjust my stockings. And it seems that no where is safe anymore.

Tagged as: fun at work, ninja, office work, toilets, work