So it's no surprise really, that some of these people end up feeling like family to me. And by family I mean that wretched most annoying younger brother you never had or wanted. Or a couple of older brothers you'd love to pummel. I have one older brother already and he's more than enough. Nonetheless, until they finally fire me, I'm stuck with them.
To their credit, they have, over the last four years, taught me how to hone one exceedingly valuable virtue.
Vengeance. And this particular ginger is chock full of it.
For instance, if you spit your gum onto my computer monitor, I will spit my water onto your crotch.
If you insist on leaving the pungent smelling nacho tray leftover from our team meeting on my filing cabinet, despite the fact that I screeched at you not to, then put it there AGAIN after I moved it, you will end up with coat pockets filled with nachos.
If you continually make snide comments asking what the hell did I do to the ceiling tile above my desk because that's just plain disgusting and you should really do something about that, honestly! I will wait until you're out of town on the other side of the country at our yearly conference. I will enlist the help of my trusty Candito (super secret spy name for Candice) and I will do something about it.
I will wear my 4 inch wedge sandals, stand on my desk and balance on the raised edge for that last extra couple of inches, and I will remove the offending ceiling tile.
And replace one of your pristine, white, untarnished ceiling tiles with my water/urine/corpse juice stained tile.
Upon your return to the office, you'll rue the day you were born shorter than me in a pair of 4" wedge sandals!! RUE!
Also, if you insist on coming into my cubicle space day after day, with the sole purpose of eating your crumbly food just to watch it fall all over my desk and floor, or to belittle me while calling me names, or to just be obnoxious in general, I reserve the right to take aim at your testicles and nail you with one of my stress balls. And then take a picture of it.
Case in point:
Toph strolls into my cubie like he owns the joint. He doesn't. His Dad does. But HE doesn't.
He's peeling an orange and tosses the peel onto my desk.
I call him a bad name.
He looks at me thoughtfully, pondering for a second and says, "If you were a comedian you'd be Kathy Griffith. Because you have red hair and you're not funny".
I opened my desk drawer, selected a stress ball and hammered him right where it counts. As he slowly sunk to the ground with tears of regret and bewilderment in his eyes, he muttered in a barely audible whisper, "You did it".
I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!