Crazy Land In An Uproar

When I walked through the patio this morning, I saw Money Man looking out of the kitchen door (which is downstairs). I knew. I saw his daughter and The Information Superhighway (I don't think I've mentioned her before, but you know I'll get to it sooner or later). I knew they were standing around having a bitch fest about the cats. I've been very in touch with my anger lately. As I walked through the adjacent building where the cat food is, I thought,

"I should just go in there and say, 'Bitching about the kitties?'"

I thought better of it and calmed myself down until I was walking into the main building (where the bitching was, in fact, taking place). "I know you're talking about the cats," I thought, I need to walk in there and say that. I calmed myself down again.

Let me just cut to the chase here. I didn't know until I got here this morning that one of my co-workers (hmmm....what to call him...I know, "Lying Boy") sent out an email yesterday afternoon, complaining of how he has taken on the burden of martyrdom by withstanding the onslaught of fleas that come into his office in throngs. Obviously, they come from the cats. He's tired of carrying the weight of that mantle. It came to such a point that he had to (at great personal expense) de-flea his own cat and his whole apartment. Even though he loves working with such great folks every day (nudge, nudge), Lying Boy just really can not tolerate it any more. (He is called Lying Boy for events not related to the Kitty Catastrophe.)

I then noticed that I have an email from Owner, telling me we need to talk about the cats. Want to talk about the cats? Well I don't want to talk about it anymore. Ever. I went from zero to full fledged Psycho Bitch in two seconds. Even the Italians can't produce something that accelerates that quickly. I walked into his office and closed the door.

"First of all, I want you to know I'm having some mood issues lately." Understatement is one of my many appealing qualities. "I don't know why I'm having them, but I need to tell you that because I'm furious."

"Sit down," Owner said, "Are you mad at me?"

"No. And we don't need to talk about the cats. I'm going to let them fucking die," (I don't know. Maybe I should start referring to myself as "The Drama Queen"or "Alec Baldwin" maybe.) I took a deep breath and calmly said,

"You have done everything you can. You have spent a ton of money. I understand that and I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done." This is where the tears started welling up in my eyes. I composed myself again.

"I'm tired of dealing with it and you shouldn't have to. I'm going to stop feeding the cats. They can fucking die and then, when the rats and the fleas continue to proliferate, my beloved co-workers can get back to me on how it is exactly that the fucking pests are still here." There may have been more uses of "fuck" or some permutation of that word. I know it was sprinkled liberally throughout my discussion with him.

Long, long rant here (about 20 minutes worth, in fact). The upshot is that I'm sick to death of this. "We'll just let them die. I'm going to go in there and let them know that. That'll make their fucking day." (I really like to use that word when I'm angry.)

Owner told me to stay where I was. He proceeded to get on his own high horse about the situation. He doesn't know why Lying Boy is here full time. (In case I haven't mentioned it, Lying Boy is Money Man's son. Money Man has a daughter who works here, too, but I haven't picked out a name for her yet. I will, though, and I may think of it before I get to the end of this post.*) Owner said that he went downstairs to Lying Boy's office and sat there for an hour yesterday waiting for a flea to hop on for a late afternoon brunch. None showed up.

Owner re-read Lying Boy's email and decided he didn't like the tone of it. He immediately sent a snotty email to Lying Boy, requesting that, when he has a problem, Lying Boy should come talk to him instead of sending out an email to everyone in the fucking office. (Yes, the "fucking" is mine. Sigh.)

Somewhere in the midst of our mutual rants, I said that it's my belief that nothing will make those assholes (yes, I did, too, use that word) happy short of the cats dying. I was still ready for confrontation with every single one of the Assholes.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes." I not only think so, I know so. Furthermore, after the cats, they will find something else they can inappropriately displace their anger onto. There are many reasons why that will happen. I won't bore you with it right now.

There were more tears running down my face from time to time. I hate it when that happens. I'm pretty sure that, if I'd had a confrontation with my co-workers, I would have been able to stick with the rage. I'm not certain, though. When I'm in my right mind, I might be able to see some tactical advantage to crying, but it's a fundamental part of my stoic personality; I do not let those people see me cry. I don't usually let Owner see me cry, either, though.

Owner convinced me that I shouldn't go to each individual office and have highly charged personal meetings with my friends here in Crazy Land. You know I don't send emails. I also don't talk behind people's backs, like some whiny-ass cowards I see every day. If I have an issue, I will talk with you, face to face. Some may pee their pants, but that's not really my problem, is it? Let them rush over to the local convenience store and get a supply of Depends. Apparently, there's some crack available next door if they think that will help them.

He got up to leave for an appointment and gave me a hug on the way out. I started crying again. Owner suggested I use the side door through another office instead of going out into the foyer where the fucking assholes could see me.

I called my mother to vent, alternately raging and crying. She asked me if I yelled. I didn't yell, but I did use an elevated tone of voice from time to time. Perhaps some of the assholes heard me.

So here we are. I'm in my office, venting to cyberspace. There is, once again, a deathly silence in the building. Though the phones are somewhat busy, no one is relying on me to help answer them, as I sometimes do. It seems likely that people did hear part of my conversation with Owner. Excellent. They should come on over and talk to me.

That, my friends, is the latest Crazy Land catastrophe. I'll be out of the office on Tuesday so I can see if we can detect any cancer cells. One last thing before I go, though. Fuck you, you idiotic, cowardly, bitter, narcissistic fucking assholes. Did I adequately convey my contempt? Probably not.

Thanks for the comments, guys. As you can tell, I've been a little busy. See you on Wednesday.

*I don't know why we don't change the name of the company to Money Man and Company.