apocalypsos | (no subject)

I'm not at work! I'm not at work! *has spastic fits all over the place*

So, yeah. That room that I was stuck in all day was a disaster area. And when I say "disaster area", I mean it in the way that everybody just got sick of cleaning up the rubble, rolled up all the pavement, and went the hell home. In an office with carpeting and tile floors, this was the only room in the place other than the loading dock with cement floors, because some dumbass tore up the carpeting in the room and didn't replace it.

The packages were ... my God, there were everywhere. Nothing close to resembling organization at the very least. *sigh* And the part that really pisses me off is that I can't do exactly what I want to do, which is rip that entire room apart and just organize according to the same basic structure I had going on at the other station -- international boxes, international envelopes, domestic boxes, and domestic envelopes. But DHL hires contractors to deliver for them, and this station has two contractors working for them, both of whom don't want anything of theirs mingled together, like my goofy cousin Amy who won't eat food if it's touching each other on the plate. (What the hell is up with that, anyway? It all goes in and comes out the same places as usual whether it's touching or not.)

God forbid I should go through and clean out their file cabinets, which mostly consist of file folders full of haphazardly stapled-together wads of airway bill slips and extra slips of God-knows-what that I can pretty much tell are outdated garbage. I could so have that room running like a Swiss watch if anybody would actually let me, you know, do my job. (That's the thing that bugs me the most. Will the contractors let me research their packages? No, they'd rather just gather their own packages in their own corners and cover themselves in them and growl at each other from across the room, apparently. So which packages do I get to research? Beats me.)

You know, anybody who really knows me and hears me talking about organization like this probably thinks I've been possessed by an alien. A librarian alien. Who's obsessive-compulsive.

And then there was the moron.

I have a pentacle necklace that I wear pretty much nonstop. It's pretty small, so most people don't notice what it is unless they really look at it. (It consists of a circle with the star dangling inside it, and it's pretty considering I got it at Spencer's Gifts, which usually doesn't have the nicest jewelry on the planet.) Anyway, I was wearing it today when one of the guys there (the same guy who tried to buy Paco the Corsican Pimp from me before he went to that great Chevrolet graveyard in the sky) noticed it and asked me what it was.

So I told him, and he said, "Oh, you're into that stuff?" And I said what I always say, which is that I'm not into it on a serious level, but if I had to pick a religion based on what I believe, that's the one I'd go with. Then he said, "I've got to have a talk with you later on," in this tone that made me think, "Jesus, he's not going to start in with some religious conversion speech about Satanism or something at work, is he?"

Well, before he could say anything, one of the supervisors scared him off, and I went back to work.

A few hours later, when I was at the front counter typing up data entry, he called from outside the office looking for Colin, God of Sex. I told him Colin, God of Sex, would be back in fifteen minutes and he should try again then, but he stopped me before I could get him off the phone and said, "We forgot to have that conversation before."

And here I am, thinking, "I wonder if I can get away with hanging up with a co-worker on the first day."

Then he asked if I make love potions. Now, I'd have gone along with it if he were teasing, or even if he were going to start any Satanism shit, because at that particular moment, I was in a horrible mood and wasn't about to put up with any shit. But the sad thing was, he was serious. And trust me, I wasn't misunderstanding him. It was like he was calling a catalog and asking where colors the hand towels come in.

I practically had to grit my teeth before saying, "It doesn't work that way." A nice evasive answer that hopefully, if he wasn't an idiot, would end the conversation.

I mentioned the part where he was a moron, right?

After I say that, he says that he fights with his wife all the time and he was wondering if I knew a spell to make her shut her mouth permanently. If I were a real ass, I would have said, "Exchanging her toothpaste for Super Glue would probably work better than witchcraft, you know."

The more he kept babbling on about it, though, the more I realized that he totally believed that I could make things move with my mind or fly or quite possibly cement his wife's jaws shut from several miles away. It was about that time I wanted to shout, "Do you really think I'd working this crap-ass job if I had ooky superpowers like the witches on Charmed? No! I'd be in San Francisco, picking up trolleys with my powerful brain and screwing Drew Fuller into the next century!"

So with no other recourse, I concentrated really hard and made three tornados and a tsunami hit his house. I felt vindicated. :)