I suppose I'm bitter that I have no fun whatsoever at work. My cube neighbor is Jesus Guy and every convo we have turns into how I need The Lord in my life. I'll ask him if the pallet on the pallet of duct tape is taxable, and suddenly, somehow, I will never be truly happy until I accept Him as my savior.
The new girl successfully managed to demote back to her old job, and now they will have to hire another doucher entirely for me to teach to order industrial shredders. I had explained that it was nessary for the governor of California himself to inspect a specimen of sample shred and approve it for purchase. It's a five-year process she didn't get very far with, so now the shred is back on my desk, fuckin up my pink decor and spilling over into the wheels of my shit chair, which is still not ergonomical GOD DAMN IT.