My boss just gave me a Toblerone. I think it’s a full moon or something, people are being way too nice. 
I have the opposite problem. My birthday is this month. I have a new manager this year and I hope he isn’t going to get me flowers or, for the love of pete, want to take me out to lunch. My work is where I go to work. If I want to socialize, I’d like it to be with someone I have something in common with so it’s not hopelessly awkward.
I do understand where Indygrrl’s disappointment is coming from. However, I don’t understand the anger. They’re not “sons of bitches” for not acknowledging her surgeries. Insensitive perhaps, but not worthy of contempt.
I cuss like a sailor when I’m mad. The same people who are “sons of bitches” one day might be described differently another day. It’s just how I express myself. I enjoy profanities, obscenities, and a good insult.
Nonetheless, they were all very nice and non-sons of bitches today, so I’m happy and I currently have no profanities for them.
But, you know, tomorrow’s another day.
This is the funniest sentence I’ve read in a long time. I read it over and over just to make myself laugh.
Happy birthday.
You win some, you lose some. I don’t see what’s to get worked up about.
I slipped backwards unloading a dolly of boxes off the elevator at my last job, because my coworkers had piled so much shit around the doors that I had maybe 4 sq feet of space to turn around in… landed right on a dolly that was behind me, wheel hit me square in the middle of my back and the handle of the 1st dolly hit me right on the vein in the back of my knee. Then all the boxes on dolly #1 fell on top of me. By about fifteen minutes later, it looked like I’d been whipped across my back from the tire tread scrapes, and the back of my knee swoll up ten shades of purple and it hurt to stand or walk too long for two weeks. I had bruises all over.
Not only did my fucking bitch of a boss barely ask how I was doing, she told me I was tough and it was “just a scratch.” No one offered to let me go home for the day or give me a ride (I didn’t have a car and would usually walk) and by the time I got stuff in the mail with an insurance number that would’ve let me see a doctor, it was mostly healed. There was another really high-maintenance coworker in the shoe department that would go home sick everytime she had a bit of a stomach ache.
If you have a relationship with your coworkers, tell them you’re hurt and upset about being left out. If you don’t like them all that much and you’re just jealous that they’re getting other people cards and not you, I think it’s kind of petty and dumb and passive-agressive.
Maybe you should walk around and make sure everyone knows how sick you are. Because, why, you know, would people ask if you’re feeling OK when you’re walking around, doing your job and look otherwise healthy?
You can get all kinds of neck and wrist braces and such at Walgreens for a reasonable price. I have one for my wrist because I have a lot of pain in my right hand, people usually ask me if I’m OK all the time while I’m wearing it.
It sounds like somebody had a case of the Mondays.
Oh and I still want a piece of Indygirrl’s
cake.