  Someone told me I should post all of my work escapades, because they're funny reading, so I took her advice and here's the latest installment. This is from the last 10 minutes of my day at Crazy's yesterday. Note to Crazy: If you tell me what your day's schedule is like, maybe you wouldn't have to tell me we're in a hurry all the time. Yes, I am always on time, but only if I know what time to be wherever it is that I need to be. You don't tell me at 3:52 that you are supposed to meet a student on campus at 4:00. You live 12 minutes (when I'm speeding and there are no stoplights or traffic) from campus.
What's that? You have a package that needs to go out today from FedEx? Oh, well, I'll just turn back time and make sure it gets to the FedEx drop by 4pm. Nevermind it is across town and I have to take you to campus first. Nevermind it's 8 minutes to 4. No, I'm a miracle worker, I can do it.
I'm superwoman! Sure, we can stop at the computer store to pick up a new mouse. No problem. I'll just put time on pause for about 20 minutes and we'll get there no problem. Oh, you want me to drag that dry cleaning (the same dry cleaning I dragged up the stairs the other day, complete with a left shoulder that felt like it was being set on fire and stabbed all at once, but no worries. you not hurting yourself is FAR more important than me not hurting myself anymore than I already am) back to the closet?
Why didn't you tell me that when I was dragging the shit upstairs the other day? "No, we can just leave it sit here on the kitchen floor and Charlie will take care of it. " Okay, so why didn't he take care of it? I saw him there, he was eating a bowl of soup. He didn't look too busy to put away the damn dry cleaning. And Charlie?
Let's not egg me on by asking why we haven't left yet, because we're going to be late. That will only lead to me hitting you in the head with my fist. Okay? Good. Why is it that you, Charlie, can't drag your wife to campus? You're not doing anything at all today.
I'm pretty sure those are flannel pants I see you wearing, and that it's clear you slept in that tshirt. Oh, and when I'm pounding on the door with my head because I have both hands full of her crap, could you maybe tear yourself away from the television and open the door? That'd be great. Oh, what's that, Crazy? You want me to find your blue pants for you? Any idea where they are?
Oh, they're in the closet. Okay. Oh, you want me to bring you a blue shirt to go with them? You do realize these don't look at all good together, right? You do? Well, then why are you wearing them together?
With your ugly black Nikes. And white socks. You realize you embody the very image of a pain in the ass professor, right? Oh, you do, well, at least you know it. What's that, Charlie? You need a sandwich?
Um, get off your ass and get it yourself. I don't work for you, so fuck off. Okay, it's 3:59 now, you think you're ready to go yet? Oh, you are? Oh, you haven't combed your hair yet? Um, you do know that nobody can tell, right?
You look like that all the time. Okay, let's go. We ready? We are? Are you sure? Oh, you have a garbage bag of things for me to take to campus with you?
Okay, yeah, we can do that. Why do people carry their non-garbage items in garbage bags? I just don't get it. It's not garbage, but if it's in a big black garbage bag, it's going in the garbage. Buy some luggage, or a nice shoulder bag or something. Because that would make sense.
Oh, nevermind, you don't ever make sense. No, Charlie, I am not bringing you a sandwich. No, Charlie, when I take her to school and get her other errands done, I'm going home. Where people are sane. Yes, Charlie, you're going to have to make your own sandwich tonight. 
