Today, after approximately seven hours of uninterrupted bullshit, with a cold, broke, and having eaten exactly one slice of lukewarm pizza, I lost it.
Of course I did. I should have been at home and in bed, nursing a pot of chamomile tea and leisurely working on a crossword puzzle. Instead, I spent the day dealing with unrepentant assholes who persist in thinking that I was put on this earth to tend to their overinflated egos.
So, while walking home after a late meeting with Ada, I lost it, right there in the middle of the street. The last thing I remember saying, or possibly shouting, was “I am so fucking sick of dealing with people...” Then I burst into tears.
After I regained my composure, I decided that it was time to call a strike vote. “All in favour?” I asked myself. “Aye,” I replied. Hence, as of midnight tonight, I am legally on strike, and will remain so until the following demands have been met:
- A living wage.
- Sick pay.
- A home-cooked meal.
- A massage.
- Good TV.
- Cabana boys.
- Cabana girls.
- Vacation time.
- A zero-tolerance policy on assholes.
- Never, ever having to think about gender difference again.