Thursday, June 23, 2011

That Thing On Your Bumper Says I'm A Hard Worker

Morning Readers,

     Before I slapped my cubicle in the face and turned my back on it forever, I had to strip the last remnants of decoration off it, unceremoniously throw it all in a plastic shopping bag and drag the whole thing to my car. Once there, I opened the back hatch and threw all the loose papers, gifted stuffed animals and Office Space memorabilia underneath a blanket and didn't give it another thought....but...I should have. If I'd done the responsible thing and driven home, unpacked it all and put it in a drawer somewhere, it wouldn't be threatening to cause accidents all over the interstate...

    Yesterday brought another trip to the grocery store. And if you're wondering, Readers, no, it hasn't gotten any easier. Butch sits in the cart wonderfully, but I still have to carry Sundance in the Baby Bjorn. I'd tried to let them ride in the basket, together, but fist fights kept breaking out and the shredded cheese and various other groceries kept complaining they were tired of being used in crimes of blunt-force trauma. So, back to the Bjorn, it was. It was in this state, having procured  all necessary items, our band of three made its way back to the car.
     I'd parked the cart and prepared to unload the groceries. What happened next can only be described as a "paper explosion of astronomical proportions". The minute I threw open the hatch, a rush of paper, office supplies and commemorative pins shot out of the car and into the parking lot. For a brief moment, the babies and I were trapped in a blizzard of productivity and depression.
     Horrified, I watched as my status reports hurled towards the cart coral. My mid-year review bounded down the lane and chased an elderly employee. Don't worry, that one wasn't so bad! I wanted to scream.
Helplessly, I observed certificates of achievement sail towards parked cars. One stuck to an expensive-looking suv. I could only imagine what Mrs. Vanderbilt would say, when she attempted to load-up her bulk oranges and back that Escalade out.

"I - I can't see out my back window. Oh dear. Who the heck is Paige Kellerman? Oh, she's "Performer of the Month" is she?...Well, how bout she get over here and help me back out so I can get Frank his oranges?"

      I thought about chasing all of it down, the only things which proved I'd been productive for the last five years. But a woman with an eighteen-pound baby stuck to her chest is a slow woman. Any hope of being able to show my kids my awards, accolades and pictures of peoples they didn't know, was stuck to random Land Rovers and Windstars.
     Quickly, I finished unloading the groceries, the babies and my dignity, hopped in the car and breathed a sigh of relief as the engine roared to life. I'd never be able to recover my possessions, so the next, best thing was to vacate the area, before anyone could associate a face with a tps report. But, as I drove away, I could almost hear laughing, and someone saying, "This final review says she has trouble keeping her paperwork organized....go figure."

Until Next Time, Readers!