A tale of horrible consequence

Today we are gonna talk about work.

I talk about work a lot.

At work, people talk to me a lot. About their problems. About their ex. About how much they hate their life.

Sometimes about their torrid affairs.

They often cry.

Sometimes they openly admit to me, "Sorry for taking so long, it just gets lonely and its nice to have someone to talk to out here."

I AM NOT A CRISIS LINE; I have become damn good at my sympathy-voice but oi vey.

ANYWAY:

Today one of the other assistants, Darin, and I got in a fight.

This doesn't usually happen; the last time we got in a fight was when he accused Sandra Bullock of cheating on Jesse James while he was cheating on her. ITS A SERIOUS ISSUE, OKAY?

But we started getting into a heated discussion about religion and you know how I get.

I start getting very frustrated and end up yelling at him. Darin tells me to drop the subject and at this point I'm pretty furious that he's not letting me speak. I huff and puff and blow the house down storm out of the office to go pick up lunch for everyone.

(Side note: My storm-out was only like a 5/10 on the storm out scale, I ain't no diva!)

WHATEVER THOUGH RIGHT, everyone needs a good storm out every once in a while; I was hungry and in a bad mood. SO SUE ME. (LAWFIRM JOKE, LOLOL)

However, I get half way to the parking lot when I realize that I've forgotten all the money to buy lunch... back in the office.

God damnit.

I consider that maybe I'll just pay for lunch myself to avoid having to make a fool of myself, but I'm already feeling silly about having a bitch-fit...

Fine.

I turn around and run up the stairs to the office again.

Deep breath, grab the doorknob, storm back into the office and before anyone can say anything I announce:

"Okay so forgetting the money to pay for lunch has severely lessened the effectiveness of my storm-out," and quickly grab the money from my desk drawer.

In the background, the other assistant, Michael, bursts into laughter.

I storm back towards the door, pride thoroughly dimished, turn around and say,

"And Darin I'm sorry for telling you to shut up,"

and storm out for the second time.

:|

Making a dramatic exit: not my forte, obviously.

On, and for the record, lunch was mediocre.