so much for the amoeba

This temper has come out of nowhere. I was fucking floating on placid grounds; there was an unobtrusive blur around me. Nothing was getting to me because nothing was getting in. Also, yeah, nothing was getting the fuck out of my head – other than shit ‘creative’ ideas. But hey, it was an inoffensive blur.

So this temper – it came out of nowhere.

Sure, I was wondering how I’d tell bankers that, really, an amoeba might put their campaign message across but that wasn’t pissing me off. It was a little exasperating maybe. A little funny. And a lot idiotic. *shrug* I could do that. Without the red flag next to the temper. But why would things work out that way? Only thing that was predictable about the meeting this morning was the fleeting “wtf” reaction to the amoeba. Poor protozoa. Nobody gave it the chance to multiply. Other than that, it was – excuse my frequent French – very very fucked up. First, they start the meeting 45 minutes late. I’m not very good with waiting. To kill time, I figure I’ll be brave and actually take up the coffee/tea offer. ‘Coffee. Black please.’ Why do people here think ‘black’ means WITH SUGAR? Not only did it taste like shit – it was sweet. But I didn’t feel any fuse go off then. I was fine. I sat there playing Solitaire on my cell, contemplated indulging the nicotine craving (which I passed) and kept looking at the time. And I finished the coffee.

Eventually, everyone assembled and the presentation started.

I think I’m going to skip the meeting incident. It was just not-very-nice. I hate bankers. I hate pieces of shit who fucking begin a relationship with bullshit and when I tell them ‘fuck you’ (in politically correct English) they come back and get all apologetic and yet continue to do the same goddamned thing I went ape about. Where the hell is the point in anything? Then they’re talking to me about ‘trust’ when they’ve been playing this fucking agency game from the start.

Nevermind.

Fuck it.

The meeting was fucked up. The amoeba didn’t even matter. Could have been a goddamned hippopotamus and it wouldn’t have mattered. Or a naked Paris Hilton. Or whatwhofuckingever. Nothing would have changed the bullshit this meeting was about.

Two and a half hours later, I walked out yelling, “I’m quitting my job!” in my head. But great – I can’t even quit. As it was recently pointed out to me – I’m HR. What do I do? Go to myself and say, “I quit.”? NICE.

Dammit.

I didn’t think I’d be this pissed off. I really didn’t. I even gave myself the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe it was the manifestation of acute nicotine withdrawal. So, as soon as I got in the car – I lit up. I don’t smoke in the car. But I smoked. I was desperate to figure out if this was real anger or just the goddamned craving messing with my head.

It wasn’t the craving. In fact, I wasn’t craving anymore. I put the half smoked Marlboro out sooner than I expected. It wasn’t doing shit. I still wanted to quit this job and get a new one.

First thing I do when I get back to work is get my coffee. Walk all the way upstairs and sip it only to find out they bloody gave me the vanilla latte today by mistake. Jesus Christ. It’s sweet again dammit! And flavoured. Dammit. Can someone give me a bitter goddamned cup of coffee???

And, wait, wtf is “revert back”? I got another email today that says, “Please revert back.” What.The.Hell.Else.Will.I.Do.If.Not.Revert.BACK? Bloody revert FORWARD?

And I don’t like clients who call me “bibi”. I am not a “bibi”. Mommy and Daddy gave me a name and I told you what it was. Fucking use it.


02/07/08; 3:27pm