Do not touch my condiments.

Soooooo … yesterday, I may or may not have told my manager that a) I am underutilized; and b) I don’t feel like anybody gives a shit whether I am there or not.

This was in response to him asking if I had applied for a full-time job with the team. I stopped just short of laughing in his face, but it was a bit of a come-to-Jesus conversation. He was genuinely surprised. By the end, he looked like he was going to throw up.

Keep in mind that this did not prompt him to respond to any of my emails today, including one where I suggested that he hadn’t forwarded me a meeting maker, despite my 3 requests, because evidently only Nicolas Cage could forward said meeting, and there’s a terrorist plot, and only Nic can fight it, and his kid is all, “Are we gonna die?” and Nic is all, “I won’t let that happen,” and is crunching his forehead up a lot and running everywhere, and evidently it’s hard to forward a meeting request when you’re running all the time.

I mean, really. How could you not respond to this email?

But, evidently, good communication is sooo not a factor in employee satisfaction.

Couple that with the fact that at Mega Corporate Behemoth, there’s a permanent sign affixed to the refrigerator door, warning employees that said fridge is cleaned out on the Wednesday night of the week of the Mega Corporate Behemoth pay day.

Except that I’m not a Mega Corporate Behemoth employee – I’m a contractor. So, I have no idea which week includes their pay day.

Evidently, it’s this week. Because last night, the cleaning crew emptied the fridge – completely. They threw out my almost-full bottle of salad dressing. Salad dressing! That shit is good for yeaaaaaars! And they just threw it away! Leaving me to eat dry salad! Alone! In my Cube of Despair!

In the midst of my completely stupid find-and-replace task today, I cruised Wikipedia to prevent my brain from completely atrophying. I ended up reading all about John Wayne Gacy.

It’s a coincidence, I swear.

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