| Cold Front 01.23.2002 - Cold Front The tickle I developed in my throat last night matured to full-on cough up my pancreas levels by the time I woke up this morning. When the first thing I do with my day is fall out of bed and hoark up something that closely resembles a tiny gelatinous bust of Regis Philbin, it's difficult to focus on the tasks at hand. Somehow, I was able to pull it together and head to work so I could pretend to be a useful member of the labor force while attempting to finish my column. Although I was successful in accomplishing both of those tasks, in true Jeffy fashion, I did a completely half assed job. Seriously. My column and job performance currently only have one cheek. It's upsetting. I very rarely get sick, and that's probably a good thing. When I'm under the weather my bitchiness and laziness quotients get multiplied by a factor of ten. As I'm fairly bitchy and lazy on a normal occasion, one can only imagine what a ball of sunshine I am when my head weighs about seventy-two pounds more than normal due to snot overload. I had two applicants come in this morning and I was a complete bastard to both of them. Usually I harbor hostile thoughts towards the people I have to deal with at work, but I also usually have the sense to keep those thoughts to myself. Discombobulated from coughing like I just used Denis Leary's skull to smoke an entire field of tobacco and frantically trying to finish a terrible column, I couldn't really control myself. I would say terribly rude things but it wasn't like they were coming from my mouth. It was like I was watching myself say these catty things to people who just came in to get a job and no matter how hard I tried to stuff the words back into my mouth, I couldn't. I think, perhaps, I should lay off the cough syrup. Thankfully, the associates didn't seem to mind too much. Frankly, they would be shit out of luck if they did mind, because there's really nobody they could complain to other than me. I felt like I was in a schlocky sitcom and I was the stoner fast food/video store/trendy clothing store employee who sassed the uptight mother of six sarcastic youngun's, and when she asked to see my manager, I shocked her by saying, "I am the manager, dude." Thankfully, the applicants came and went early, and I was left alone in the office for the rest of the day to bang out my four thousand to five thousand characters of assiness and e-mail it to my editor. I had an Alanis Morrisette moment when surfing the internet kept me from finishing my column about my internet addiction. Why, yes, it is like rain on my wedding day. Ironic, indeed. Because I couldn't focus, I turned my column in three hours late. Fortunately, nobody seemed to mind. You'd think, though, that if I took extra time to get it done, I might have used some of that extra time to keep it from being completely terrible. You'd be wrong. By the time I finished, it was time to head home. When I got there, the decree I discovered that people were not taking my "keepin' it clean" rules to heart, as dirty laundry, books, lawn gnomes, actual gnomes, various other debris littered the living room while dirty dishes covered the kitchen counter and sink. I asked Jackson if any of the stuff was his, and when he said "no," I deposited the dishes and junk in front of Roommates Chris and Ihsan's door. Shortly thereafter, I wrote another note stating that peoples needs to keep they business clean and specifically asking Chris to clean up the sunroom that he destroyed, but didn't clean up as promised. I retreated back to my room for fifteen minutes of non-stop coughing. I came out momentarily to talk to Jackson when I found a note on the board from Chris (who I didn't know was home at the time) that read: "Jeff - This pissed me right off, but coughing all day kind of relieved me of any and all energy. First of all, asking him not to adorn the living room and kitchen with piles of his shit seems like a reasonable request. Asking me to control the weather is not. Does he think I'm Ted Turner or something? I must respect that he may not value a clean apartment as I do, and as such, I can't expect him to clean continuously. However, I do require a clean apartment, and although I can't expect him to clean, he has to respet that I'm going to get unwanted items out of my sight. He is lucky I didn't just throw all his shit in the sunroom so his cat that he doesn't take care of would piss all over it. This may be an option in the future. If you're reading this, Chris, I ain't mad at ya. I just need cleanliness. We might be better friends if you came out of your room occasionally when you are home. That is all. Because he hooked me up with some NyQuil, Jackson is now officially my Kinky Lord Of Darkness. We each took a shot and sat down to watch the new season of The Real World. I hate all these people. I'm not sure if it's because they're bland, their shock points just aren't shocking anymore or I'm bitter because I didn't get a callback, but this season of The Real World is just bound to piss me off. It's probably a good thing that the NyQuil completely knocked me out by the time the episode ended. I hope this passes soon. -- Jeffy |
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