EXCUSE ME WHILE I RANT

This is an insignificant rant, really. There are so many other things I could bitch about in regards to my place of employment, things that affect my life a lot more. Like the fact that I'm coming up on two years without a raise, or that people constantly change their minds after asking me to do things for them resulting in stupid amounts of work and stress for me because they can't just fucking make a decision. But today, I'm mostly fine with the big things. I have a few projects going on, like I get to decorate the office for the holidays. Fun! I am pleased with that.

Except, right, I have a pointless rant.

As I have mentioned, I order lunch for the whole office every Wednesday. It's really the highlight of my week, I never feel more productive as a member of society or more proud of my college education than when I'm serving food to a bunch of entitled start-up babies. Maybe six months ago, probably more, I started writing the restaurant o' the week on the white board in the kitchen, so everyone would know what to look forward to and would stop asking me.

So, everyone has stopped their Wednesday inquires...at least on this topic.

Except for one.

Every single damn week, he IMs me and asks, "what's for lunch today?" And every single fucking week I reply, "It's on the board, but it's X."

Every week.

And he doesn't even say thank you.

#(*%&@#*(&$(

I cannot explain to you why this drives me crazy, but it does. It does. It stirs up a stormy sea of frustration in my belly. I have actually started shaking before. It irritates me on a visceral level, deep in my soul, and in fact, the offender in this situation has completely lost the sexual appeal he used to hold due to his incessant, willful ignorance. I know he really cares about that. It would probably break his heart if he knew. But come the fuck on---he could look at the damn white board one of the numerous times he goes into the kitchen every morning. I'm sure he can read, I think literacy is a job requirement. Come on. COME ON.

I feel like one of these days someone is going to piss me off with something minuscule, something completely inconsequential,  and I'm just gonna snap. They're gonna ask where the extra plates are and I will rage. The irritation of a thousand other little things will boil up inside me and Bitch Taylor will get a chance to come out. She doesn't get to very often and has only made a few cameos at work.

She is scary.

I've started trying to find amusement in most of the ridiculous shit that occurs at the office, but this one little thing is just driving me nuts. 

Clearly, I need a new job.

Anyone want to hire a slightly unstable receptionist?