Yesterday I woke up, all cozy in my bed. I dawdled around, relaxing in the warmth of my little home, cursing 6:30 a.m. with blissfully warm, squinty, little eyes. When I eventually made it downstairs, I had the brief thought, “Huh, it’s a little less warm down here,” but lost that thought quickly as I made a mad dash to grab some hot chocolate and an Uncrustable. (Don’t laugh. They are a little taste of heaven. All the happiness of a perfectly crafted PB&J without any of the mess. Despite the fact that it takes about six of ‘em to really fill you up.)
When I went out to turn on my car, I realized, “Fuck it’s cold!” The kind of cold where it makes you swear. The kind of cold that has already frozen the milk in your milk box.
Creamy, ginormous, plain milk popsicle, anyone?
That did not bode well for my arctic-esque office, so I blasted the heat for my entire hour-long commute, trying to deep fry myself so that the cold would feel good for at least a little while. And sure enough, the first two minutes were pretty nice.
The rest of the day sucked.
My hands are now chapped and peeling from all the trips I make to the bathroom. Not because I have to pee. No, no, I have a surprisingly huge bladder, and despite the gallons of tea I drink all day, trying to stay warm, I don’t stop to pee very often. These bathroom trips are for turning on the hot water and just thawing my hands under the faucet. I have also taken to sitting on my feet, to warm them up, which has, in turn, caused my knees to start twitching weirdly every night, when I try to go to sleep.
Back to our story. Around one the snow started coming down. As in: PLOP. Here’s a shit-ton of snow.
And surprisingly, around 3:30, Kanga reluctantly suggested I should go home, before I got stuck there for a week. (Imagine the frozen horror!) So needless to say, he did not have time to say, “Drive safely,” before I had turned off my computer and dashed up the stairs, as fast as my twitching knees would carry me.
It then took me TWO HOURS to get home. Everyone had gotten the same, “Leave early before the Blizzard-of-Death (I think we got a total of 3 inches up here in Denver) traps you at the office forevermore,” memo, and the highways were JAMMED.
It was about a quarter of a mile away from my exit, finally, when I came to a complete standstill, and my head popped.
*POP*
I was done.
I don’t know how I got home, it is a blur of unbridled fury, and some cold, leftover tea that spilled in my lap.
I had brownies for dinner, and then spent another two hours doing work that I had brought home.
When I told The Funasaurus I was too tired for sex, I realized I had become THAT girl. Except I have no kids, no life, and not enough money to make up for it.
That’s when I realized, something must be done.
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5 comments:
Brownies for dinner is the BEST!
And I have to do the same thing at work with the hot water hand-resuscitation. And I have this teasing little thermostat in my office that is LOCKED SHUT so that I can't fiddle with the temperature. I've seriously contemplated whacking it with my stapler until I break it open, in the past.
((hugs)) it is never fun to be THAT girl, life/kids/etc or no!
I don't know how you've done it this far...I wouldn't last...well, I think that, but then I did 2.5 yrs at a job that tortured my ethics....
Yea, what was up with that storm? We've had worse but the traffic was horrendous. It took O an hour and a half to get home too. (usually a 15 minute drive in traffic). Glad you made it safely.
You can depict what's going on so clearly that I'm right there dashing up the stairs behind you on twitchy knees. My landlady must wonder why I am hooting and carrying on all by myself over here. Maybe you should invest in some of those half-fingered mitts. - they'd keep the palms of your hands warm, at least.
Great post as always Prin-G.
I think I'm going to call your boss and say I'm from the Better Business Bureau and ask if the company is abiding by the "please heat your workers" mandate.
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