Otherwise Maladroit

21 September 2001

21 September 2001

An hour to go before I'm free. It's Friday and I should be elated, but Saturdays aren't liberated from the grind. Crummy, crummy boss. As Pavlov's dog I've been conditioned to drool on Fridays and to whimper at the threat of work. Believe me when I say that it's hard to pull that off. I'm backed to a corner with half my shirt wet and my features transfixed in a hilarious expression between a smirk and a pout. All this effort had made my face red, twitchy and hurting. To say that I look "unbecoming" right now would be an understatement - I look beyond Garbage-Pail-Kids-gross. My boss is giving me the stink-eye and I don't blame him. I doubt that it's in a receptionist's job description to scare the visitors away.

posted by Otherwise Maladroit @ 5:26 PM