All about asses

First of all I just want to point out that I have a stick up my ass a mile long. The stick has made me what I am today. Also, I have comma disease which I am treating with massive amounts of ee cummings.

I have an employee who works the night shift, weekends. He's in his 70's, I believe. A retiree making extra money. He wears an Army Airborne pin on his lapel and he was in the Korean War. He was probably quite the competent individual once upon a time, or so I like to believe. I haven't asked him because of this stick up my ass. The stick is very annoyed with my 70 something retiree veteran white haired shaky voiced old man employee because said employee often messes up his paperwork. Because said employee sometimes takes off the business cell phone and leaves it on the desk and doesn't answer it. Because said employee was watching DVDs at work and the stick had to chide him for it and now this retiree white haired employee veteran 70 something old enough to be my father calls me sir. I can't tell him it's the stick. Last weekend my employee couldn't open a padlock with the key provided. The Airborne Army Ranger couldn't open a padlock which is brand new which is shiny which opens so easily that the padlock didn't seem like it was doing its job, much like my silver haired soft voiced wrinkle faced possible ex-hero employee. The stick demands action but I've been telling the stick to get a god damn life and get the hell out of my ass.

Thinking of my employee makes me worry about growing old. I'm middle aged. I'm halfway there. Will I someday be incapable of opening a brand new padlock when I could, once upon a time, probably have pulled it apart and smashed it open bare handed?

In other work related news: The administrative assistant has an evil alien parasitic monstrosity living on her ass. Surely. I mean, yeah, she's a bit overweight. So what? So am I, a bit. But her ass just isn't normal. It's abby normal. It moves independently of the rest of her. It makes the dresses she wears look like somebody threw a tablecloth over a rhinocerous. I'm convinced it's an alien parasite because nobody has the last name Gerlach except aliens. Right? Unless she's German. But Germans aren't from Earth either, are they? No, really. Are they? Anyway, I'm afraid to stand behind her.

I need an intervention.

I'm now up to four hours a day, reading LJ posts. Sooner or later the plant manager is going to say something. I really have to find out who manufactured this office chair. I don't even feel the stick after sitting on it for four hours straight.
  • Current Mood: ass