Because I Haven’t Bored You With Letters Lately: At Work Edition or The One Where I Win the War On Terror

Dear Classy Woman That Peed on the Seat,

EW. REALLY? I mean, you have a huge amount of area to aim your pee-age in, and instead choose to leak all over the surface where other employees have to put their girl parts. Were you standing up? Trying the Guy Pee? I don’t understand. Look, I even made you a diagram to help:

Let’s face it, even using a seat cover, there will still be seepage. Those things aren’t made of bleach, or Lysol. Essentially you have ruined this particular seat for the day.

THANKS, Jerk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Bitch Who Left Their Food in the Microwave Unattended,

(aka Probably Same Bitch Who Peed On Seat)

Newsflash. You are not the only employee in this office who uses the microwave at lunch. Do not stick your stupidass soup in the microwave and walk away to do God-Knows-What. Because really? Soup takes about a minute and a half. You are not that important that you cannot stand for a minute and a half to make sure that your soup doen’t boil over and vomit its low-fat contents in the micro.

I, on the other hand, will stand here and tap my foot and sigh pointedly at you when you decide to get your microwave-hogging face back in and get your stupid soup. You’re lucky I didn’t throw it in the trash. Because it is entirely your fault that I get absorbed in tasks and wait until it is too late for lunch and I am probably hypoglycemic/crazy/PMS-ing.

Screw You,

Brooke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear King of the Loud Talkers, 3-ish Cubes Over,

SHUT THE HELL UP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!

I am not interested in hearing about your every daily crisis, nor how everyone other than yourself is a complete incompetent boob. Listening to your nasal drone for hours on end is enough to make Mother Theresa kick a puppy.

I don’t give a shit that you’re “supposed to leave now because you have a commitment at 6 but so and so screwed up and I don’t know how we get anything done around here. I fixed something, and Glen didn’t know that I fixed it so he fixed it again and then we both realized it was—What I think fixed it was I fixed it, and he fixed it on Monday, and I didn’t bother to revalidate– “ OH. MOTHER OF THE SWEET BABY JESUS.

If this company had any sense, they’d contract you out to the Department of Defense, to be sent to Afghanistan at the earliest opportunity. You would be chained to a desk outside Bin Laden’s Mountain lair, given a phone and allowed to talk all you damn well want, which will drive all the terrorists to insanity so that they give themselves up rather than listen to you ONE MORE SECOND.

And that’s how I would win the war on terror.

Go Play In Traffic,

B.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Sinuses,

NO.

NOOOOOO. Don’t even think about it.

I’m watching you.

~Brooke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear iPod Nano,

Sometimes, you creep me out. Like today, when I was too lazy to figure out what I was in the mood to listen to, and decided to set you on “shuffle.” What did you give me? First, some Jamie Cullum. Then a little Jazon Mraz, followed by Debussy. Just to scare the crap out of me, you followed up with Sugarland (“Stay.” Yeah, singin it into my hairbrush. Or my water bottle, whatever). Which for some reason felt perfect after the mellow piano of Clair de lune.

In conclusion, Are you possessed? But also, keep it up.

Sincerely, Brooke

PS- And then Ingrid Michaelson? And Adele? Is it my birthday or something?’

PPS- The comment love on my last post? You guys are AWESOME. Clearly I need to whine more often. Not really. 😉

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