It was going unusually pleasant. I got some free Thai food, but as soon as I heard it was there I knew that meant there would be that much more cleaning to do.
Well, tonight's pissedoffdedness started around 7p when I got about 3 calls at once and had the audacity to page someone instead of send them their call directly - which I would have been doing if she would plant her ass in the general vicinty of her desk with relative permanence.
Then came 8 o'clock and those dishes. After picking up a few dirty dishes from downstairs (which could easily have been taken upstairs before nukkas left for the day), I went to put them near the sink and saw that some genious had placed a damn-near half-full plate in the sink right underneath the faucet which meant subsequent genious ran water directly into (anger is sparked). The trash can really is only five ginger steps to the left. Then there was the table that had all the food on it. At first it wasn't a big deal, but the more I touched food containers and got various forms of curry on my hands and saw how much of said curry was on the table itself, the more it occurred to me that I was going to have to fight the urge to call a meeting at this place I'll never see again, and suggest to them that they might consider washing their owners dishes as they used them (anger rises).
The last straw was pretty much after getting all of the glasses from upstairs (understand, I'm now on the third floor) that seemed to not be in use. This exercise was forcibly interrupted by people trying to get a dog to be nice to me. Understand, I'm not EVEN concerned with this dog. But since it growled (barely) at me, this dude actually takes stuff out of my hand so I can pat the dog. The dog is walking on three good legs. Why would I be worried about it. If it tries to get crunk, the bitch (yes, it is a female) will be down to 1 - especially while I'm trying to get this $#1t put away so I can leave.
So, I get downstairs and, as I'm unloading the dishwasher (the poor design of which really doesn't allow much of a load), a glass on the counter slips and shatters before I can catch it. The topper? While I'm sweeping, I go to wipe what must be water running down my hand, but I notice that it's a nice, bright red (anger peaks). So now I really want to curse somebody. After I get a makeshift tourniquet on my finger and go back to loading the machine, bunny of "send my calls up here" fame brings down some glasses. After her last trip, she's gives a split second "goodnight" and runs her sorry ass out de do'. Now if you hear some glass shatter and then see somebody with an entire paper towel 3M(tm) taped around their pinky (not and exaggeration) gingerly foolin with a counter-full of dishes, might it occur to you to at least ask if a bwoy might could use a hand? Perhaps by this point she could sense my displeasure. To her credit, on one trip she did comment that the people there were pigs, so her I guess she did at least try to commiserate.
I will be definately clarifying my marketable skillset with ol' temp girl tomorrow.
lawd havissmercy 'pon muh soul...
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