Beans isn’t at work today.
Beans isn’t at work and its been a looong Friday.
Beans can’t see the people as they rifle through her desk papers, suck at their teeth and say,
“Where is she? I can’t find the (fill in the blank).”
Beans and I are developing a seemingly (un)healthy venting relationship that may, on the other hand, be very therapeutic in the long run and justify any sort of wacky, spontaneous workplace violence/paperclip stabbing on the horizon.
Beans needs to hem her damn pants.
Both Beans and I can't settle on using a consistent font/color in our emails.
I really want to go back to calling Beans "Willona" but I don't think she's going to stand for that shit. Again.
Beans is missing the new chick’s first day (back) at work and all the hoopla caused by her and two other people trying to get a clock to work – that sounds like a bad joke, “How many employees does it take to fix a clock?”
Beans would be proud of me (maybe) for wearing my lesbian cargo pants two days in a row and not shaving above the ankles.
Hope you’re enjoying your hooky day, you scalliwag.
2 comments:
I have a constitutional right to wear long pants, which I intend to exercise. You should be proud of me, that I am exercising... my right to wear too long pants. Plus: I just might grow. Have you ever thought of that? Tall people are such snobs. I forgive you, though, because you said my hair looks longer even though I got a hack-job haircut.
Listen, if you don't post something new soon, I'm going to let the chick sitting at your desk while you're out (oh, you knew she'd be sitting there, answering the phone in spite of your written warning, now didn't you?) in on where you keep the secret candy stash. Seriously. We need new stuff, lady, and soon.
And by the way, every time I wash those pants, they shrink up a little. Incrementally, sure. Better than nothin'.
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