Was stuck in the mailroom all day with Tracy and Brad. If that wasn't enough of a buzz kill, they put us all together in the southwest corner which is tiny tiny tiny. Why did they put the three largest mammals together in the smallest space possible? I think they're trying to break us. It'll probably work. ug. I'll tell you, usually when Tracy starts in with her bitching I just want to reach up with my trunk and smack that persimmon pinched face of hers, but today watching her twist her neck around to avoid the conveyor belt and then splaying those sad knobby legs just to gain a few inches of headroom, it broke my heart a little, after all, she is a fellow ungulate. My sympathies do not go out to Brad however. I don't know what Brad is, except that he is a tapir and nobody even knows what that means. Even Dave. Its the teeth that get me. Uh, Brad? it's called Colgate or Crest or Aquafresh and the other thing is called, like, a toothbrush? Tracy is lucky in this regard. She is about as vertically removed from him as an animal could be. Oh to be a Giraffe this week. Another thing that gets me about Brad is that he has no idea what an insult it is to have been sent to this part of the mailroom. He works with the same inefficient oblivious incompetence as he does on the main floor. Man I'll be glad when Fred gets back so I can get back upstairs!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
XXXIX
Natures great master-peece, an Elephant,
The onely harmlesse great thing; the giant
Of beasts; who thought, no more had gone, to make one wise
But to be just, and thankfull, loth to offend,
(Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend)
Himselfe he up-props, on himselfe relies,
And foe to none, suspects no enemies,
Still sleeping stood; vex’d not his fantasie
Blacke dreames; like an unbent bow, carelessly
His sinewy Proboscis did remisly lie:
XL
In which as in a gallery this mouse
Walk’d, and surveid the roomes of this vast house,
And to the braine, the soules bedchamber, went,
And gnaw’d the life cords there; Like a whole towne
Clean undermin’d, the slaine beast tumbled downe;
With him the murtherer dies, whom envy sent
To kill, not scape, (for, only hee that ment
To die, did ever kill a man of better roome,)
And thus he made his foe, his prey, and tombe:
Who cares not to turn back, may any whither come.
--THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE, John Donne
Post a Comment