Out of Order

We all have routines. Daily rituals. A process. Yours and mine are probably similar. We wake up, shower, (shave if we feel like it…even though we still can’t grow that 5 ‘o’ clock shadow we want), eat breakfast (if there is time), have a cup of coffee?

I have one at home and then a pot at work. Why so much coffee? Coffee helps cut through the bullshit.

Your coworker comes up to you and explains how they didn’t do what they should have done a week ago…what you planned on them doing and getting done today….so that you can move on with your piece of the job.

You’re at your desk and a client calls and they start the conversation by screaming at you…but it doesn’t happen once, it happens every time that day.

You’re boss tells you your vacation request you put in months in advance is denied.

Your car doesn’t start……..the list goes on.

But that’s okay, when there’s coffee. You can stand there and ‘nonchalantly sip’ your coffee as you’re listening to every excuse there is on why something didn’t get done.

You can hold the cup and swirl it to demonstrate that “you’re listening, but you don’t care”

You can even go as far as to spill it in someone else’s area so that when they see it, they are reminded of you.

But when you get into work early and you hope that it will mean you can leave early,  and there is no coffee maker in the break room, you go ape shit.

It’s Thursday. It’s fucking Thursday. I was here Wednesday, yesterday, and the fucking coffee maker was here in all its coffee and calcified water stained glory. UN-FUCKEN-BE-LEAVE-ABLE. WHY AM I EVEN HERE. “What kind of sweatshop is this?!” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth. Where the hell is it? Why is it gone? Is it out for repairs? Did someone steal it? I still haven’t found the communal staple remover in the copy room…that just grew legs and walked off.

I need coffee. I need it  to deal with this day. I came in early I had a plan I, I …..I need coffee.

To go an entire day without it is like asking a heroin addict to….well, maybe not that extreme.

I ran to maintenance and asked them what was up with the coffee maker. Now mind you, this is a guy who could care less about everyone else’s coffee (and could care less about replacing the toilet paper in the restroom timely, which is another issue for another time), but looks up from whatever he’s doing and smiles. He never smiles.

He doesn’t say anything. He grabs for a piece of paper laying on his push cart and holds it up as if he’s picking me up from the airport. Two hands. Huge sign. Big fucking grin.

The sign says, “FUCK YOU”

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