veektohlee
So today I was wired out of my mind on caffeine. I'm moderately allergic to a chemical in coffee (although, as you know, that has NEVER, EVER stopped me from overindulging in the substance; I'm waiting for the day when the mere scent of java will cause me to fall to the floor and writhe in spectacular convulsions) so I paid for this desperately around 3.00p. Fortunately, I was already off work due to a clever manipulation of a schedule misunderstanding, so I was able to relax for a while on one of the gimp carts in Shoppers and let horrible spasms gradually relinquish their hold on my stomach.
I took the opportunity granted by the extra time to waltz into Beneficial Mortgages and Loans, dripping wet (oh yes, by the way, WET and COLD doesn't adequately describe what the weather was like today, so I'll just define it as "AAAAAAAAH!" and leave it at that), just to ask if they were, perchance, hiring.
They were. I was able to snag a quick ten-minute meet-and-greet (oh God, I love hyphens) with the office manager, who directed me to a specific website with a specific number and asked that I call him first thing on Friday after I've submitted my resume.
Always the self-starter, one step ahead, I submitted my resume tonight. That is, after my cat-induced crisis.
My cat, barely five months old, is not allowed outside yet due to the fact that he doesn't know the area very well (my fault), he still has ballz (not my fault), and he doesn't camouflage very well (this is an issue because I live near backwoods, there are foxes, and he's white - oh, yes, this is also not my fault). Regardless, being a brash and curious little motherfucker, he tries to escape the house whenever he hears the little bell above the door jingle.
When I rushed in from outside after I got home, I wasn't thinking too hard about making sure the door was shut behind me. I was damp and freezing, and the only thing that mattered (for the moment) was changing my clothes.
After I emerged from my room, dry and happy, I noticed something was a bit off. I heard no clinking of Bertram's collar tag against the buckle, I heard nothing crash or explode from his spastic running habits. So I run around inside and outside, searching every room, calling for him around the block, ringing neighbours' doorbells, et cetera.
Where was he the whole time? The bastard had locked himself in the hall closet. I have NO idea how he got in there, nor do I know how the door shut on him, but he was in the hall closet when I came back after deciding to do one last check before bursting out into panicky tears.
He didn't seem phased. He was too busy gnawing on a string dangling from one of the coats.
I suppose, now that all is well in Lea-land, I should do something productive like write or clean or try to figure out what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner. Chances are, though, I'll end up marinating in the internet for a while. At least until I relax from my day.
Or until I die. Whatev.
I took the opportunity granted by the extra time to waltz into Beneficial Mortgages and Loans, dripping wet (oh yes, by the way, WET and COLD doesn't adequately describe what the weather was like today, so I'll just define it as "AAAAAAAAH!" and leave it at that), just to ask if they were, perchance, hiring.
They were. I was able to snag a quick ten-minute meet-and-greet (oh God, I love hyphens) with the office manager, who directed me to a specific website with a specific number and asked that I call him first thing on Friday after I've submitted my resume.
Always the self-starter, one step ahead, I submitted my resume tonight. That is, after my cat-induced crisis.
My cat, barely five months old, is not allowed outside yet due to the fact that he doesn't know the area very well (my fault), he still has ballz (not my fault), and he doesn't camouflage very well (this is an issue because I live near backwoods, there are foxes, and he's white - oh, yes, this is also not my fault). Regardless, being a brash and curious little motherfucker, he tries to escape the house whenever he hears the little bell above the door jingle.
When I rushed in from outside after I got home, I wasn't thinking too hard about making sure the door was shut behind me. I was damp and freezing, and the only thing that mattered (for the moment) was changing my clothes.
After I emerged from my room, dry and happy, I noticed something was a bit off. I heard no clinking of Bertram's collar tag against the buckle, I heard nothing crash or explode from his spastic running habits. So I run around inside and outside, searching every room, calling for him around the block, ringing neighbours' doorbells, et cetera.
Where was he the whole time? The bastard had locked himself in the hall closet. I have NO idea how he got in there, nor do I know how the door shut on him, but he was in the hall closet when I came back after deciding to do one last check before bursting out into panicky tears.
He didn't seem phased. He was too busy gnawing on a string dangling from one of the coats.
I suppose, now that all is well in Lea-land, I should do something productive like write or clean or try to figure out what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner. Chances are, though, I'll end up marinating in the internet for a while. At least until I relax from my day.
Or until I die. Whatev.