I Can't Make This Shit Up... Actually, I Could, Because I am Supremely Creative

Thanks to my friend, Ryann, for the title idea. This is going to become a regular segment of the blog in which I discuss slightly insane things people either did, made me do, or said in my presence. It should be a blast!

Working in an office automatically comes with the stipulation that one's office will have some sort of breakroom or kitchen area. The law firm I work at is no exception. We actually have TWO kitchens, but I have never seen a single soul enter the kitchen in the back of the office except to fill up his or her water glass. Which begs the question - why not move the water bottle unit into the main kitchen? I might have to start a campaign.

Despite neatly-typed signs posted all over the kitchen saying things like "your mom couldn't come to work today, so clean up after yourself" and "you will be drawn and quartered if you leave one crumb on the table or one knife in the sink" (guess which one I made up!) people throw their crap everywhere with little to no regard over the fact that I am the one required to clean and organize this mess.

I never considered myself a neat freak, but after a week of working in these conditions, Mr. Clean should be nervous about the status of his endorsement deal. Here we come to the point of my story...

Since I rarely partake in the food and utensils offered in the kitchen, I want little to do with their cleanup. I understand that it is part of my job description, but it's just not FAIR! (Said in a voice comparable to the most annoying child you have ever heard at a fancy restaurant on a Saturday night at 9pm.) Okay, I lied. Here is the real point of my story...

While I was at lunch on Wednesday, one of the secretaries covered the phones at my desk, as is typical protocol. She apparently decided to enjoy a poppy bagel with cream cheese during her coverage. Not only did I find poppy seeds in everything from my computer keyboard to my pen caps, I also had to smell its remnants in the garbage can next to my desk. When one of the lawyers approached me asking me to dig through said garbage can to locate an envelope one of his pleadings (a fancy term for a generic legal document) arrived in, I thought I was going to vomit poppy seeds. As I carefully dug through the garbage in a desperate search for this envelope amongst fifty other similarly-colored envelopes, I thought to myself - "why did I take this job again?" Then I remembered - MONEY.

- Elyssa