One morning as I was doubled over with cramps on the toilet, I asked myself, self, is this the worst week of your life? No, I concluded, remembering that I had once worked for Personnel, it was not. In Personnel, I spent four months hiding in bathroom stalls, on no colon cleansers whatsoever, weeping. The difference between these two times was that I had a thing called "hope" this time around. I would take my last round of shit pills Friday night, whereas I saw no way of escaping Personnel.
I spent Thursday afternoon alternating between the toilet and rolling around in my car vowing to call in sick Friday. But that would be met with so many furrowed brows, I told myself, clinging to my colon. They didn't believe I had kidney stones, why would they believe this? And why would I want to tell them this? Fine, I'll go to work, I decided, begrudgingly.
So I made it into work Friday and pulled up my email. The first one I see is from a contracted vendor who has copied everyone and their dog. "Why did you order this blanket?" they asked. I felt my colon churn. "It's open weave, and inmates can hang themselves and kill others with it." I calmly closed the email and walked toward the bathroom reevaluating whether in fact this was the worst week of my life. *I* had wanted to go to Big Lots and grab 9,000 pink non-open weave blankets. Nice fuzzy ones, yanno? But no, this was a bureaucracy. Management picked out an open weave kill yourself and others blanket and now I looked like the complete idiot. I mulled all this over on the toilet until about 4:09 PM, at which point I went home. It was deffy fuck this shit o'clock.