Not All Forks Are Created Equal

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I will not bore you with venting about my perfectly wretched day. How I would like to kill everyone I work with, join a convent and possibly kill myself. Somewhat in that order.

In any event, the one incident which has left a scarringly indelible impression upon me, is my lunch. I adore my steak and potatoes, and today I happened to cart in my leftovers which were just that. Perfectly roasted steak, a baked potato and other lovely things. It wasn't bad enough that I had to watch the front desk, again, while the receptionist took a HOUR LONG LUNCH. No, I could not eat my rare steak in peace, I had to hurriedly chew it inbetween phone calls. And choke it down everytime someone walked in. That is, once I cut myself a bite.

As a rule, I keep a complete set of silverware in my desk drawer. Namely because I loathe eating with plastic untensils. I find them vile, disgraceful and generally ungainly. I prefer my three tonged fork, sharp knife, soup spoon and teaspoon. Yes. I am obsessive, but at least I do not have fork tines flaking off in my mouth.

Some demon soul that I work with, apparently, thought borrowing my silverware set, WITHOUT ASKING ME, would be fine. Where they got this idea, I know not, paticularly since I am not a nice person, a sharing person or a person who would GIVE A DAMN if they had to eat with plasticware.

Here. I sit at the front desk. Sawing off bites of steak with a plastic knife and fork. The pathetic excuse for tableware bending and buckling under my angry stabbings and sawings. I am cursing humanity and the creatures I work with. This is the last straw. I am over the edge. There will be no tomorrow. I have had it.

This is only an hour of my day. ONE hour. I am so going to jump of a bridge.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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