Greetings, all! I am new to the message board, having decided to join after reading and been highly impressed by Broomstick’s ranting post. (Hey, Broomstick, you don’t know it, but you know of me!) When it comes to complaining, I am no where near as talented as Broomstick, but I can bitch quite well, being just a newbie. Here’s a recent bitchfest I had at work, which never ceases to bring out the worse in me.
Not long ago, I was having stomach issues, but they weren’t bad enough for me to stay home, but bad enough as to where I occasionally become a white, fat version of Flo-Jo to the Little Girl’s Room. During the early morning, I drop my work to make a funky dance to the restroom, only to find it being cleaned.
I take my jerky, spastic self to the closest bathroom I know of - which is really a liberated closet - only to discover there is someone washing out a coffee pot in the sink. I refrain from throwing the squirrley gnome into the wall and slamming the door. Not wanting to announce to the world my intestinal distress, I stand in the stall, hoping the excessively clean bitch gets done soon and leaves.
The pain is banging around in my guts, feeling like acidic bricks are dissolving my innards. By now, electron-tunneling microscopes could detect no germs on this fucking carafe and it would look not unlike the bland, boring, desolate mountains on Mars. I’m having visions of cracking the pot over her head and shoving the glass in the same area I hurt.
I sit - I have no choice. At this point, I snap inside - I just want to scream, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! YOU’RE NOT TRANSPORTING A LIVER FOR TRANSPLANT IN THE GODDAMNED THING! IT’S COFFEE, BITCH! ~LEAVE, ALREADY!~
Finally, I can’t take it anymore and I flush, relieving myself, causing the dense fool to flee. Next time, I will simply stay home, then she can waste fifty gallons of water alone.
