It's been raining here in beautiful, Eastern Massachusetts nigh on a fortnight and I'm lovin' it. I'm not revelling in all the flooding going on in communities north of Boston, upward into New Hampshire, and those found increasingly southward as it continues to rain. I wish those communities and people struggling with the current conditions safe and speedy recoveries.
My point is that I don't mind the foul weather. People often gripe and moan about the wet springs we endure in New England. And the snowy winters. And the wet and increasingly chilly autumns, come to think of it. Although, the unrelenting heat and humidity that blankets the area perennially for some two-week period or other between June and September tends to burn my britches the most - thank Science for air-conditioning - but in the end, I don't mind that so much, either.
Why do I bring it up? Because it's not the weather that's doin' me head in today. It's just 'one of those days'.
I think it began while making my way to work this morning. The myriad of morons on the roadways was (or should I say is - as I'm sure they're still out there now) unbearable. However, I'll leave that tangent untouched for fear of my fingers falling off.
It's one of those days where no one is welcome. Complete strangers walking down the hall ignite a flame of fury inside me, making me want to erupt with a magma of detestation. I can't stand the sound of the human voice. It's as if a blanket soaked in inanity has been draped over my body and tied with ropes of annoyance. Screw Everyone, I say.
And the people sharing my work area are doing naught to help improve the situation.
One guy had a 10 minute argument with someone regarding selling a house that no one was currently living in. There were problems finding someone to sell it, blah, blah, fucking blah... I don't give a fuck, buddy. And now, to my luck, he's morphed into The Incredible Sighing Machine. Clockwork. Every two-minutes or so, whilst doing whatever the fuck he's doing, he lets out a nice, juicy, woe-is-me, sigh. Fuck off, douche.
And that's not the worst of it. There's this prick of a guy that's been in my area for a while now. Condescending, arrogant, prick of a guy. Seems he's having a bit of a day, himself. Periodically sighing and pounding his fist to the desk in frustration over something... maybe the rain's disrupted the fucking little league schedule for the league he's constantly on the phone about. Mind you, we work at a medical software company.
The topper though, is his headphone set. We've got an open working environment where "cubicles" have walls that only extend about eight inches above the desk - so, everyone's visible and audible. Sometimes a few of us will get into some conversations that don't involve everyone and things can get a bit loud. Recently, to combat this, he's brought himself in some headphones. Not your typical earbud or even slick ear-covering design. These are full-fledged, airport runway tarmac, fucking headphones. They're red. He's resorted to wearing these as if to not-so-subtley tell everyone, "Hey, shut the fuck up loudmouths, I've got important work to do and I don't need your distractions." They look like he could have used him with his reel-to-reel tape machine in college, listening to Grand Funk Railroad or Jefferson Fucking Airplane.
Get the fuck out of here, you annoying prick. And take your Smithsonian 'living legend' earphones with you.
So, it's after lunch and the day's half over. I'm going to put on my headphones (much sleeker and cooler, I'll have you know), bury myself in some Sigur Rós or Ricky Gervais Show podcasts, and try and avoid humanity for the next four hours and hope tomorrow isn't like today. Wish me luck, ass hole.