Passive aggressive fantasies

He sat across from us, leering, sizing us up. I sank farther and farther into my chair, desperate to escape. He might as well have been wearing an open-buttoned shirt, chest hair sprawling, with gold rings, a dirty moustache and a cigar dangling from his mouth.

LEASE! He screamed over and over again, though I did not want to lease. I wanted to buy a car.

It was the first car salesman of my first car-shopping experience, and I HATED IT.

I felt like a little kid, unable to follow the conversation, growing bored with every diagram he drew, explaining why leasing a car was a better option.

It was one of those moments when I wanted to jump out of my skin, stand up and yell STOP IT!

Here was the fantasy scenario that I played over and over in my head after we left:
Charles: HEY, YOU SHOULD LEASE A CAR, NOT BUY ONE! *condescending chuckle*
Me: Charles, listen to me. I'm going to make this easy on you. I don't like you. I do, however, like Sean here, though he duped us into discussing finances with the dirty likes of you. I want to buy a car. I have money, I know exactly what I want, and I'd like to get one from this fine establishment. Now shut up, and let me give you thousands of dollars, please.

Here was the ACTUAL scenario:
Charles: HEY, YOU SHOULD LEASE A CAR, NOT BUY ONE! *condescending chuckle*
Me: *slinks lower and lower into my chair, avoiding eye contact, wanting to stab myself in the eye with Charles' pen.*

Why does it have to be so GD DIFFICULT? I HATE CAR SHOPPING.

Abercrombie and sex hair

Woman after woman stepped out of the small, warm room with flushed faces and sly grins. Sex hair and shirts askew, they stumbled from the kitchen back to their desks. Next was my turn.

I was nervous. Of course I had picked today to wear skinny jeans for the first time ever. I felt uncomfortable and apprehensive, but that was all about to change.

I stepped into the haven and was greeted by the aroma of lavender, the sound of naturescapes, and the white hot smile of an Abercrombie model.

I gulped like a teenaged boy about to get his first lap dance. THIS was our company masseuse? Why couldn't he be an old, fat lady?

Soon, I was crumpled into the massage chair, worrying less about whether my underwear was sticking out of my jeans an more about... well, nothing.

The fifteen minutes went by too quickly, and I cried a little inside as I shook the model-I mean masseuse's hand and returned to the toils of my desk. All in all, this new job isn't half bad.

Hug or HANDSHAKE?!

I watched him move down the row of coworkers; each one got a hug. I fidgeted in my work clothes like a five-year-old on picture day, sweat beads starting to form on my forehead.

This would be he first time meeting the president of our company, and I felt vastly unprepared. All of the huggers had met him before. And though I'm usually quick to hug, it seemed inappropriate for the president of the company.

Closer and closer he got, until he stood in front of me. I extended my hand and started to introduce myself, but he brought it in for the real thing. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a hugger on our hands.

The rest of dinner went fine, although I happened to get pushed into the seat directly next to him at a table of twenty, in one of the fanciest restaurants in town. (I'm not the fanciest lady, if you havent noticed by my constant stream of curse words.) I tried desperately not to spill on myself or say anything inappropriate, the "that's what she saids" sitting on the tip of my tongue.

I managed to make it through with one faux pas: I noticed everyone around me ordered the scallops or a salad, but naturally, I took the opportunity to order a delicious steak. It was about the time that my coworker whispered in my ear that the pres was a vegetarian. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I guess next time, I'll skip the steak and just order vodka. Maybe that will make the hug or handshake fiasco a bit more tolerable.

The dog mizer

I watched her squat on the floor in front of Meg's cubicle and piss right on the floor. I swear she was grinning.

It was about that time that I realized that "bring your dog to work day" is nice in theory, but highly fucking irritating in practice.

Do you know how hard it is to get work done with puppies chasing each other around the office? Not to mention we had free food brought in today (yay!) which made for a begging free-for-all.

I tripped over leashes, smelled pee all day, and nearly fell out of my chair twice when the demolition of a nearby building caused a barking frenzy.

A great dane + a doxen + a busy fucking day = a very angry PGG.

Call me the dog mizer, but i think I'll stick to my mews. And maybe work from home next bring your dog to work day.

F*ck off, buddy.

I held my gaze straightforward, hands on the wheel, expression determined. A silver Volvo sped up to pass me in the left lane, and a small blue car kept pace with me on the right, clearly trying to get my attention.

Seriously? I thought. Fuck off, buddy. I LIKE driving in the middle lane, and your middle finger isn't going to ruin my Tuesday morning commute or change my driving habits.

I had cruise control on, so my speed maintained as he kept so obviously To the side of me. I grew annoyed at pretending to not see him, but i am stubborn as an ox and I wasn't giving in.

Finally, I saw him pull ahead of me, and I relaxed now that our game of chicken was over.

My passive aggressive middle finger was halfway raised when I realized it was one of my friends.

Guess maybe I should pipe down the road rage at 7:15am.

Trying to score dope

God dammit. I was late, it was raining, and all of the parking spots were taken. Frustrated, I drove around to the back lot, where I had never parked before. I shuffled quickly to the building with an armful of bags and my coffee cup, scanning the wall for the door.

I spotted it, scanned my keypads and grabbed the handle. Nothing. I scanned it again, and pulled on the door a second time. Again, nothing. What the hell??

I backed up and read the words on the door: "Addiction and Recovery Center."

Oh shit. Not the right door.

Embarrased, I lumbered around to the front door, and the key worked. Whew. I headed up to my office for the day.

I thought I was in the clear until I received a call from the front desk around 5pm asking me if I had tried to come in trough the wrong door this morning. What the- how did they KNOW? My face turned red and I burst out laughing as the receptionist explained that I had tripped an alarm and that it recorded that it was my key that had done the job.

So much for trying to fly under the radar for the first couple of weeks...

How soon is too soon?

2 and a half weeks. 11 days. That's how long it took for me to drop the first "that's what she said" on my new coworkers. Too soon?

How soon IS too soon to start letting your true colors fly at a new job? I mean, I went from PJs, Maury, and swearing like a sailor all day every day to: is pink sparkly nail polish appropriate? how soon can I start wearing flip flops? And most importantly, can these people handle my Michael Scott impressions?

Turns out, they can. Hours after my first TWSS, i received my first email about zombies from a fellow designer. Thus began finding a middle ground between the me that sleeps with a pink gingham pillow and business casual me.