When I came to work today I must have gotten off the elevator at Hell instead of floor 21.
In this conservative and stuffy financial office, there are children. Two, I believe, though it's hard to tell since they move so quickly and make so much noise relative to their size. They are running, screaming, and throwing things.
I was on the phone with a client, and one of them crash-landed itself noisily under my desk. Trying very hard to focus on what the person on the other end of the line was saying, I plugged my finger into my other ear and trained my brain on his words. But the shrieks of evil laughter and glee from under my desk would not be ignored. Another adult - perhaps the one responsible for delivering these little devils to our quiet workplace - appeared behind me pleading "come out, he's on the phone" in hushed tones. She had to say it more than twice. I never looked at her, for I could not have looked kindly.
This is not my work. It looks like work, but it's been inhabited by child-sized demons and we do not have those at my work. They would exist in Hell, but not here.
I think I may get my things and go back to the elevator.
2 comments:
Funny, I must live in hell then. Even funnier, I choose to go there every day... I must not be sane.
And we already knew you were in hell; the giant drag-queen Liza yelling commands at you gave it away ages ago.
I sympathize. One of the owners where I work occasionally drags her toddler to the office. The waiting room is baby-mania central right now. The women-folk stop talking like normal human beings. It's maddening, trying to do insurance billing with the goofy parade going on. Also, it's really not appropriate to drop a full diaper in the patients' restroom. Ick ick ick.
Post a Comment