"sweetie, if your going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty"

Drama! It's everywhere. I can't seem to get out of it. Now I love to watch drama unfold just as much as anyone. Maybe if you put yourself out there to be a spectator, you get some on ya. But JEH-ZUZ! I was knee deep and wading through a stream of it all weekend long.

My weekend kicked off when one of my co-workers decided to start yelling at us cuz we were leaving early. We have this wicked cool rule that, if we make our budget, we get out a lil early on Fridays. It's one of those things that is just an extra lil tid-bit that makes working here better! Especially when you're an office drone and there are NO benefits, other than keeping your job.

So Mr. 2-Big-4-My-Britches sales guy doesn't like this rule. He's made it very clear. He wants someone to be in the office from 8-5 every day to greet anyone that might come through the door (which there aren't any) or answer the one or two calls on a Friday (which they can forward to their cell phones).

His last steady job was working for his dad in retail, so I'm guessing he thinks he still needs to be greeting John Q. Public during store hours. Well not in this day and age sweetie! It's all portable, digital and mobil! Live and die by that crackberry, baybee.

So as he stood there, using his outside voice INSIDE the office, telling me how I should be there in the office while he, as a sales guy, spends most his time, out of the office, with the freedom to do as much personal stuff as he wants.

That clanking you hear in the background is the shackle on my ankle that is tethered to the desk. I don't get to move freely about the cabin.

The other point I tried to break through his Wisconsin fan, cheese wheel sized head of stubbornness, was that while he could work as many hours as he wanted, and get paid for the fruits of that labor, I get paid FORTY hours a week. No more. I could work 80 hours, but they are only going to pay me 40.

So those couple hours that we might earn, to get out of here early, are like gold bars, gleaming at the end of the work week tunnel. And Mr. I-sleep-on-a-mattress-stuffed-with-Franklins is yelling at me that I shouldn't get that reward.

HEY ASSHOLE......BITE ME!

And just try....TRY to get the 150% I give, every day, out of me now. You're the happy owner of 100% at 40 hours a week. And if you think you can do it all...be my guest. If you can't, put it in my in box. I'll get around to it, sometime this week.