I work at a botanical garden. There’s a gallery there. I’m at the front desk. Some people want to stand there and talk to me like I’m Lucy from Charlie Brown. They think that the only thing I do all day is count people (actually I do count them). I hate them (except for the ones I don’t hate). Would somebody tell these people that I work there? My desk has a high back extending up from the flat part — like a shelf — so the public can’t see me fiddling around underneath it – maybe that’s it.
Two days ago I fucking wrote the blog post for our website; today I composed some ‘thanks but no thanks’ correspondence; I looked over the artist database that I created for edits; I ate 15 girl scout cookies; I mailed 30 brochures; I ordered lunch for the sun room project committee, &c, &c, &c. And finally, my proudest moment, I explained some of the art in the gallery to some kids in a real loud and authoritative voice because I didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about.
The rat bastards who come in to chat (excepting ones I like) because they’re needy and self-centered – get a goddamned life! In the name of Zeus I did! This guy comes in and talky talky talky blah blah blah he says. I finally say, ‘Ooookay, now, well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day now. Nice seeing you now, there.’ Frank Fucker doesn’t get it, so I say, ‘Ooookaaaaaayyy now there, I’ve got to get back to my work now…so, I’d better…” This guy looks down at the menu that I was trying to order from for the meeting and points, saying, ‘You’re not working – that’s a menu.’ I read ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’ so I didn’t bludgeon him with the stapler. How dare you, Frank Fucker??!! How DARE you???!!!