Here’s something I learned yesterday: Do not pick a fight with a chicken.
(You’ll look like a full-blown jackass.)
(YOU will. Not me. It’s now accepted from me.)
It’s rare I have rough days but sweet mother of all things in the universe that hate me…yesterday was the sweet-mother-of-all-things-in-the-universe-that-hate-me day.
But that ain’t the big deal here.
By the time quittin’ time hit, I was over it. Over the computer that absolutely refused to boot up at 7:42 am. Over the shoe that broke at 8:07 am. Over that same computer that made me into a giant, over caffeinated…well, (I’m just gonna throw crap to the wind and say it) butt hole…because it still was flipping me off at 9:09 am by still refusing to boot up.
(Asshat. I still hate it.)
The day would never end. And it wasn’t even mid-morning. And I was pouting and stomping around like a damn buffoon.
(A buffoon with one shoe, mind you.)
(If I still dated Xanax, I would have been making out at second base and on my way to third with it by this point.)
At 10:17 am, I threw my head back and blew a loud huff into the world because it should have been 2:19 pm by then.
At 11:04, I gritted my teeth and grunted kinda loud, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” because it should have been 3:31 by then.
Everything that could go wrong yesterday, did go wrong yesterday.
At 4:02, I had nothing more in me. But I had juuuuust enough for a fight. And I was kinda looking for one.
I’m sure this might be hard for you to believe, but I tend to have an on-going conversation with me.
In my head.
So, at 4:15 I say to me: (In my head…) Yo. It’s close enough to 4:30. Get your purse and get out.
Me: These people hate you today anyhow. Hell, I hate you today…so you know they do. They’ll be glad to see you go early.
Me: Especially the boss. He’s off tomorrow anyhow…consider it a gift to him. Not that he gave you a gift of telling you to leave because your belovevd favorite shoe broke, but you just go on and gift him by getting out of here now.
Me: Dude, just shut up. Get your purse and go. Nobody will know and I guarantee you, nobody will care. The work joint is quiet anyway. Just go.
So…I grabbed my purse. While I’m still talking to me. Actually, I’m past talking and have moved on to griping.
In my head.
Well, this little metal chicken is on my back desk. Beyonce’. And just this week, a coworker who went to Mexico brought her a souvenir. A sombrero. So, she’s been sporting it all week.
(No. “I” didn’t get a souvenir, but however…Beyonce’ did. Yes. She did. Not me. Her.)
At this moment, I’m leaving. Early. Kinda sneaking and kinda being really quiet about it. Because my last nerve has had me and my broke shoe and everyone I’ve come in contact with, swinging on it since 7:42 am.
I grabbed my purse, rather quietly slung it over my arm and instantly, all hell broke loose.
I hit the chicken.
Beyonce’ started bouncing and screaming (not literally…just making a big ass racket with her stupid metal beak) and knocking crap over and making all kinds of noise and the more I grabbed at her the more she bounced down the desk and flopped around like a complete fool and the more she bounced and the more she flopped the louder she got and without thinking or even taking a breath, I scream OUT LOUD:
“Damn it, Beyonce’!! Get your shit together!! Stop it right now, act right and get up!!”
Yes. I yelled OUT LOUD. At the damn chicken. The metal chicken. That is not alive. Just standing there.
Well, now laying there.
In her sombrero.
Nobody said a word. Not. One. Word.
Except the big boss. Waaaaaay down in his corner office, he yelps out: “WHAT THE HELL?”
And one of my work sisters very calmly say to him from her desk without even looking up, “Oh, it’s just Carrie and her chicken.”
(Like THAT’S normal.) (Really??)
(I thought that was a little too damn nonchalantly said…but whatever.)
(Just Carrie and her chicken?)
(Just Carrie and her chicken.)
And he then yells out, waaaaay down in his corner office: “Oh, Ok. Have a good one, girl…see you tomorrow!”
Like it’s no big deal. No big deal at all.
It’s no big deal I’m screaming at a chicken. It’s no big deal I’m making a big racket. It’s no big deal I’m trying to sneak out early.
And at that very instance…my day started heading back up. Way up.
Because how can you not start to see a little ray of happiness and sunshine and delight when you live 8 hours a day with people who don’t find THAT SHIT odd?
Yep…that’s what I thought, too.