I am morally opposed to men hitting women, but on Friday, your little comment made me want to cave your skull in and it was only by a superhuman feat on my part which prevented me from grabbing the nearest large blunt object (the filing cabinent) and using it to bash your ignorant little head in.
Now, I realize that you think your comment was totally harmless and humorous, and perhaps to some people it might be, but to myself, it was one of the most offensive things I’ve ever heard anyone say.
Do you remember how it all began? I do, and I suppose I should take some of the blame for the situation arising, since I know what kind of narrow-minded, slack jawed person you are, and I should have kept quiet, but damn, when I hear someone asking a question that I happen to know the answer to, I feel compelled to answer.
You were looking over the shipping address to an invoice and asked, “Uzbekistan! Is that a country?”
I answered, “Yeah, its part of the former Soviet Union.” (Wondering why you didn’t look at the map of the world on the wall above your desk.)
The response you made was what kindled my insane lust to see your brains splattered all over the place. You turned to the receptionist and said, “You know when ever Tuckerfan or my husband says the answer to a question like that with the attitude that its a simple fact everyone should know, I take comfort in the fact that you maybe smart and know all kinds of things that I don’t know anything about, but at least I can cook!” Then you laughed that snuffling little laugh you use when you’re being smug.
Fuck you, cunt. You think that because I can rub two brain cells together and was born with a “Y” chromosome that I can’t cook? Fucking fuck you!!! I’ll have you know that I’m a damn good cook and have managed to charm many a woman out of her panties with my cooking skills.
I know you view me as some kind of “oddball” because I’m 32 years old and have never been married, but at least I don’t think that certain skills are gender linked. (Oh, and just to answer your next question, you fat, disgusting sow, I’m not gay and I’m not really happy that I’m still single at this age. Believe me, if I had a choice, I’d much rather be married than still fucking my hand, but you go with the cards life has dealt you.)
In any case, I have to say, that by your own definitions of what humans are supposed to be (i.e. women are good for little more than baby factories and men are the ones who are supposed to work hard and know everything), I’m more of a success than you are. I work damn hard, by your own admission, and I support myself. You, on the other hand, are forced to work to keep your husband’s company in business (not true, but you’re so anal you think that’s the case), and you’ve never had children! Which is bad, because you’re 48 years old and the clock’s rapidly running out on your babymaking days. Not that you can ever convince your husband to have sex with you. (Then again, who can blame him? You’re a brow-beating sack of shit, who has to put her personal stamp of approval on everything, even when you don’t have the slightest fucking idea of what you’re talking about.)
You’re so wrapped up in yourself, you have no idea of how much the entire office hates your guts. The receptionist, when she started, was a quiet, meek woman. Very nice, but not really there. In the time she’s been there, I’ve watched her transform into an aggressive woman who responds to nearly every comment you make with a silently mouthed “fuck you” and flipping you the bird whenever you’re out of sight. Its now become her habit and she no longer even has to think about it. Her hatred of you now works solely on reflex action. She has been welcomed by the rest of the office staff as a long lost sister.
You do know what’s going to happen very soon, don’t you? All of us are desperately seeking other forms of employement. Sooner or later, one of us is going to get lucky and find another job. The moment that happens, the rest of the office staff is going to quit because there will be one less person to help absorb the abuse you dish out on a daily basis. What are you going to do then? Your husband has no desire to do my job (even though he trained me in it, he admits that I’ve done a better job than he could ever do) and you certainly can’t do what I do, even though you say you can!
And another thing, while I’m at it. You know I have to be out of the office by 5 PM as I have class in the evenings! (It was, after all, your friend and my instructor, who got me this job!) And yet, you persist in doing things which make it damn near impossible for me to leave at that time. You process all the invoices near the end of the day, which means that I spend 90% of my day twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do, and then busting my ass the remaining 10% of the day, desperately trying to get everything done before quitting time. And on Thursday, its already after five and I’m almost done, except waiting for you to finish processing some paperwork so I can stuff it in one of the boxes before sealing it up. What do you do? Instead of simply grabbing a paperclip, using it to fasten the paperwork together and handing it to me, you proceed to go through the paperclips in the cup one at a time! None of the ones you pull out meet your criteria, so you set them down and go for the next one! You do this for ten goddamn minutes! Finally, you go to the supply cabinet, grab a box of paperclips and take one from there! Its just a paperclip! It doesn’t matter if one is slightly bigger than another one! Either one will hold the papers together quite well!
Finally, I’d just like to say that while I’m certain William S. Burroughs never met you, you’re exactly the kind of person in mind when he was talking about, “Good Christian women, with their pinched mean, hateful faces.”
[sub]My 500th post, and I use it to lash out at the boss’s wife. Oh well.[/sub]
