Dilbert and Me

Wayne recently bought me a book of Dilbert cartoons. I love the Dilbert dilemmas, so true , so true. But, I don’t think even Dilbert dislikes his coworkers as much as me. I don’t hate them or anything, but I definately would not spend time with them if I were off the clock. Most of them are alright, some are like me, drawing pay and working nights and days off trying to make their dream comes true, but a lot of them are like 25 to 40 year old high school sophomores…uh make that freshman.

The lunch room is like the cafeteria in high school complete with cliques and kool tables, which just like high school I wouldn’t be caught dead at it. And the trip to the bathroom is like running a gauntlet of nasty stares and eye rolls.

I mean cheese and rice people, it’s not like I’m so hideous I make children cry, so why you gotta look me up and down with absolute disdain just because I have to pass your cube three times a day to get rid of some coffee? Bitches in glass houses should not throw stones, ESPECIALLY when they got a grill like Mr. Ed.

In my opinion there are other characters in cubie land that stick out more than me; so I’m a little extra curvy, i.e. lumpy, everybody who’s been chained to a desk long enough gets a Dually ass on them. I am not a rarity, just let me go to the bathroom once without looking up.

I wonder if Mr. Ed throws that much hate at the chick who looks like she used to be a dude but you can tell she was not because the most womanly thing about her is her long pretty Adam’s apple-less neck. You could forgive the mug if she didn’t have crazy written all over her.

I was going to try and make friends with the Anna Faris look-alike whose mouth is perpetually open and she looks lost even when she is at her own desk, but it is just too much fun watching her look for her pencil everyday and if we were friends I would feel like I should help her.

Then there was the one day I made it to the bathroom unsmirked at. It left me in such good spirits I thought I would help a woman who was struggling with the feminine protection dispenser. Apparently she had a Canadian quarter so; I offered her some provisions from my well stocked MacGyver purse, in the form of a compact for traveling,but perfectly adequate for all but the most cavernous vaginas, average absorbency, tampon.

How was I thanked for my kindness?

That nasty hag mocked me for all in the 15 stalls to hear, claiming that my choice of protection must be for pubescent girls and that she needed a grown up tampon and thanks but she would have to go down to the cafeteria, break a five and purchase the super heavy duty, mother of 5, ten pound baby boys, took two bales of cotton to make it tampon. I was red in the face until I realized that she must echo like a cave in a rainstorm when she pees and informed her, for all in the stalls to hear, that sorry about her luck, but I was still tight as a brand new drum bought for band camp.

And Dilbert thinks it’s awkward to pass people in a hall way.