Whine of the Week

Let's disregard the positivity promise for the moment.

I need to bitch.

I just took a nice yoga lunch. Okay, "nice" maybe isn't the right word, let's say it was "decent" due to all that drinking and dancing I did all weekend, but I felt pretty good after. I was in a lovely mood.

Then I came back to work.

And some motherfucker had stolen my chair. My perfectly positioned, well-loved chair.

Now, yes, my yoga lunches are longer than a normal lunch. But they are not decades long. I come back.  I DIDN'T DISAPPEAR. I DIDN'T QUIT. YOU KNEW I WOULD RETURN AND WOULD WANT TO PARK MY ASS IN MY CHAIR.

MY CHAIR. MINE.

I assume a big group went into the main conference room behind my desk for a meeting. And they were short a chair.

They had three options.

a) Take a non-rolling chair from the office next door, a mere ten feet away.

b) Walk back to their desk and fetch their chair, maximum, oh, one hundred feet.

c) Steal my chair like a kleptomaniac.

They picked "c". And now I sit, and wait, in my non-rolly chair, to turn around and scold them the second I hear the door open behind me.