day in the life
This morning I arrived at work on time and went through my regular routine. Turn off the alarm, turn on the lights and the radio, open the safe, turn on the computers, open the blinds, check the mousetraps FACK!!!! there is actually a little mouse corpse in the trap! Fackity fack fack! Don the rubber gloves and carry it's poor little rigermortissed body at arms length over to the trashcan. Goodbye little mouse.
I do not like dead things. I especially do not like dead furry things nor do I like anything to do with killing them or hurting them in any way. Now, I know that it's unacceptable to have mice running around in a Recreation Centre - it's gross. But, they only come in when it gets cold outside and we're baiting then by leaving peanut butter all over the place. So, now I'm all hebbie-jebbie'd out and I have to deal with the pompous English man who comes in every Saturday and insists on speaking French German or Spanish with me in his horrid accent. Then he has to go on and on about the 70 km that he biked yesterday and how he has just purchased some cycling shoes that were very expensive. Then my favorites come in. The old couple that sailed around the world in 1974 with their two daughters - I love them. He made me trivet last month as a thank-you for making them a list of deer-resistant plants for their daughter in Courtenay.
The rest of my 10-hour day consists of phone calls from people – some are rude, some are polite. Some I know just from their voice and can call by name. The kids come in at 11am, with their obnoxious parents who don’t see the kids in honest ways, and bring with them a constant barrage of questions. At 12 I take all the phones off the hook and go out back to breath some fresh air. I have a strong desire to flee. If I had a valid passport right now I just might.
I do not like dead things. I especially do not like dead furry things nor do I like anything to do with killing them or hurting them in any way. Now, I know that it's unacceptable to have mice running around in a Recreation Centre - it's gross. But, they only come in when it gets cold outside and we're baiting then by leaving peanut butter all over the place. So, now I'm all hebbie-jebbie'd out and I have to deal with the pompous English man who comes in every Saturday and insists on speaking French German or Spanish with me in his horrid accent. Then he has to go on and on about the 70 km that he biked yesterday and how he has just purchased some cycling shoes that were very expensive. Then my favorites come in. The old couple that sailed around the world in 1974 with their two daughters - I love them. He made me trivet last month as a thank-you for making them a list of deer-resistant plants for their daughter in Courtenay.
The rest of my 10-hour day consists of phone calls from people – some are rude, some are polite. Some I know just from their voice and can call by name. The kids come in at 11am, with their obnoxious parents who don’t see the kids in honest ways, and bring with them a constant barrage of questions. At 12 I take all the phones off the hook and go out back to breath some fresh air. I have a strong desire to flee. If I had a valid passport right now I just might.
posted by wattlebla at 07:59
1 Comments:
*67 and a disguised voice does wonders.
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