Another Lag in the Workday
I swear I was working hard before this.
More quizzes:
What type of bra are you? I am a sparkly pink bra, sweet but tempting.
What drink are you? I'm a shot of some good old hard liquor!
It's sad I think there is nothing else in my brain right now: boob-holder, drink. My brain is frozen in the arctic office. Yesterday I was so cold I began shaking and went outside for ten minutes. It didn't help. Woe is I. Have I said this before? Maybe.
More bitching about the corporate tinge. Yesterday there was a knock at my office door. It was a secretary.
She said with a sharp tick in her voice: Is The Good Doctor printing three thousand pages?
(I thought: Let me check my telepathic signal, no I'm not picking up anything.)
I said: I don't know.
She said: Could you ask him?
(I thought: Why don't you turn around, take two steps directly across the hall, knock on his door and ask him.)
I said: Sure.
And so I followed her out my door, knocked on his door. He wasn't in there, and so I told the secretary. As I was taking the two steps back to my office I looked down the hall, both ways. There were people in a flurry in both directions, questioning who it could possibly be printing three thousand pages and holding up printing for the entire office! Oh my god!! Who is it?! What! Who! Why! The whole office!
About an hour later I went into The Good Doctor's office to give him a manuscript. While I was there, another doctor came in, with a little laugh in her voice about the frantic flapping that had gone on earlier about somebody printing three thousand pages, and had we heard about it. The Good Doctor got a look in his eye, asked when this was, said calmly, "That might be me." He and the other doctor began walking together toward the printer.
Turned out it was his stuff indeed holding up the whole office. I can see how it might be annoying if you have things to do and some jerk is holding up the printer. At the same time, given the extremity of it, it's pretty funny that somebody had unknowingly printed three-freaking-thousand-pages and somehow totally missed the scenario where the whole office seemed to be reacting to a bomb scare.
News on boobs at 11.
More quizzes:
What type of bra are you? I am a sparkly pink bra, sweet but tempting.
What drink are you? I'm a shot of some good old hard liquor!
It's sad I think there is nothing else in my brain right now: boob-holder, drink. My brain is frozen in the arctic office. Yesterday I was so cold I began shaking and went outside for ten minutes. It didn't help. Woe is I. Have I said this before? Maybe.
More bitching about the corporate tinge. Yesterday there was a knock at my office door. It was a secretary.
She said with a sharp tick in her voice: Is The Good Doctor printing three thousand pages?
(I thought: Let me check my telepathic signal, no I'm not picking up anything.)
I said: I don't know.
She said: Could you ask him?
(I thought: Why don't you turn around, take two steps directly across the hall, knock on his door and ask him.)
I said: Sure.
And so I followed her out my door, knocked on his door. He wasn't in there, and so I told the secretary. As I was taking the two steps back to my office I looked down the hall, both ways. There were people in a flurry in both directions, questioning who it could possibly be printing three thousand pages and holding up printing for the entire office! Oh my god!! Who is it?! What! Who! Why! The whole office!
About an hour later I went into The Good Doctor's office to give him a manuscript. While I was there, another doctor came in, with a little laugh in her voice about the frantic flapping that had gone on earlier about somebody printing three thousand pages, and had we heard about it. The Good Doctor got a look in his eye, asked when this was, said calmly, "That might be me." He and the other doctor began walking together toward the printer.
Turned out it was his stuff indeed holding up the whole office. I can see how it might be annoying if you have things to do and some jerk is holding up the printer. At the same time, given the extremity of it, it's pretty funny that somebody had unknowingly printed three-freaking-thousand-pages and somehow totally missed the scenario where the whole office seemed to be reacting to a bomb scare.
News on boobs at 11.
5 Comments:
Man, I'm a sparkly pink bra too! We are soul mates. Now onto the drink.
As I sat here taking that second quiz, I realized how awesome it is to be out of school. That was the hardest test I'll have to take all semester. My brain is going to wilt and die on me. I have to go research Grad programs now. I was BEER by the way.
I'm a black lacy almost see through bra, sexy, tempting, and seductive.
you know, i really couldn't answer most of the drink questions so i faked it as best i could and came out a screaming orgasm.
All of the above made up for the shitty drive down 287 this morning, that and the Pixies playing now.
Melissa, my soul mate: Beer, you don't like beer. So something psychological deeply buried must have brought this. We can start therapy sessions whenever you're ready. If you know what I mean.
Lewis: Awesome. I didn't know you were a Boar in Chinese culture. It's still a long-time hankering of mine to visit Maine, there and Alaska.
Shin Anigans: Will you wear black lacy lingerie--after you get your hair permed for me--on my birthday? Who knew an allergy to alcohol could get you a screaming orgasm by faking it? Only you.
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