Bite the Bad Guy

It all started this morning, over a cup of coffee and burnt eggs. There was a spit of optimism in my step but in the back of my mind I wondered what, or who was around the corner. Despite this momentary seer of paranoia I continued getting ready for work; there was a nifty little jingle looping over in my head. It was odd, you know? Without reason or cause I was happy but I assure you it didn't last long.

The walk to the bus stop was unusually warm. Seriously, the snow was melting and the kids walked with open jackets. I walked with ease since the ice beneath my feet had melted into a puddle. What the fuck? It's December for Christ's sake?

Before I had reached the bus stop two loaded buses drove past sending slush in every direction. Fortunately, and really odd, none of it had landed on me. A smile, one tiny indication of what was happening inside me, peeled over my face. I was glad, and really surprised that none of the slush landed on me. It was like God placing his, or her, huge hand in front of me, to shield me from the wet mushy ice. So far it was a great fucking day!

Like a wet dream, reality had to pinch me in the ribs. In moments, I glanced at my watch and notices that I'd be late for work...how did that happen? I tried not to panic and focused my attention on the dishes at home. It always amazed me at how some don't make a mess at home while I, who doesn't do all the much aside from write, live harmoniously with dirt. It's like I attract dirty dishes...maybe it's the Italian in me or the fact that I live alone but it's like the dishes pile along with the dust.

So upon walking into work I was greeted with pastries and home baked goods...talk about a warm welcome! All I needed was a cup of non-office coffee and I'd be set. Sure enough before I had even taken off my jacket my little co-worker friend had walked into my office and asked to walk with him to Starbucks (ok fine, it was this organic coffee shop that charges wayyy to much for shitty coffee but since it's fare-trade people shut up and pay the extra dollar). You would think my co-worker was gay, his shoe laces match his sweater, his sweater match his t shirt and of course his t shirt matches his eyes but sadly my little homo he is not. But opinionated he is with a dash of sarcasm and a wink of charm...hence why I enjoy his company.

So I had my treats, my organic coffee (Fare Trade at that!) I was ready to work. Unfortunately both my computers weren't. To add salt to my sugar cookie shaped like Santa, a show that would be airing tonight couldn't be found. To punch me in the gut, I couldn't access my voicemail but my phone insisted that I had messages waiting. Outlook was out to lunch. My office door wouldn't close and I had broken my last cigarette. What happened to my joyous, celebratory, something to write home to mom about Monday go?

The day progressed with a grind. Co-workers expressed how dysfunctional their day was...at least I wasn't alone. Office drama sored like an STD in a bathhouse and I had to pee. Did I mention I started detoxing and drinking 3 litres of water a day? Did I also mention that every time I attempted to use the washroom there was an 'urgent' conversation or that a show needed work and I'd have to wait on the captioning. Or a closed captioning file that needed to be encoded disappeared? Or at one point I cramped and thought God who was once protecting me from slush was now laughing in my tortured face?

Mondays suck and not because I work in TV. It's like we're given two days to forget our roles in the corporate jungle and in doing so we forget how to walk. Like a drunk on the dancefloor, we're misguided by the beat of the drum and we end up looking like the spinster uncle that no one talks to but insists on dancing out of sync. What sucks is that by the time Friday rolls around we're back in the swing of things but itching to be done with it as we look forward to having 2 days to do what we want...to sleep in...go drinking with friends we shouldn't be friends with and to forget that on Monday the sun will flirt with us...the homemade baked goods will leave a smile on our face and the little homo-wanna-be will have a whitty yet sarcastic word and my damn fucking computer will do something new to freak me out. Being a grown up is anything but a welcoming Monday because there's no such thing as a welcoming Monday and a nifty jingle. Perhaps there is a nifty jingle but what are they selling?