Women understand women and they hate each other.

Yesterday we were finished packing early because we've finally hit our slow time. Being a lazy ass, I try to never pass up an opportunity to nap. So rather than come home and take my Christmas tree down I flopped on my bed started reading and nodded off exactly as I intended.

At five minutes after five my work phone rang and woke me up. In my sleep fuddle I missed the call but I knew who it was.There's this one lady in the office who has no concept of breaks. Or lunches. I've gotten so tired of her calling me when I'm sitting in my car on break or at home trying to wolf down my fried egg sandwich that I've stopped bringing the phone with me. I'm not at my desk, I can't answer her question and it's not as if it's ever something that couldn't wait 15 fucking minutes.

So she left a voice mail to let me know that she would send me an email. And because she wanted everyone in the world to know that she was still working at 5 minutes past five trying to figure out a mistake I had made, she also cc'd my boss.

Yet she mistakenly thinks it would be an awesome good time for us to get together over a bottle of wine.

 ***

I much prefer the company over at Yeah Write's Moonshine Grid, so grab a bottle of wine or a cup of tea and join us for some great reads. 

Assholes and Jack o Lanterns

At least once a month I can guarantee I'll regret every word that makes it out of my mouth just for the bitch factor. I know it's happening but I never manage to stop the flow of nastiness.

Today I got to watch that shit happen to someone else. Except he either didn't notice his inner asshole coming out to play, or he was hoping nobody else would notice the smell.

Remember the scooter? My co-supervisor says he's not going to keep the key in it any longer since it goes missing on him all the time. All the time being exactly once.

He also said that if I want to use it "I should ask for the key".

Really dude? I know you're Mennonite and all - but I'm not. I don't wear the dress, and I do shave my legs (when I feel like it). I'm not willing to act as if you are in any way superior to me, simply because you have a penis. I happen to have a vagina and I'm not afraid to say the word vagina just to chase you out of a room.

Don't hold your breath waiting for me to ask for that key, I'll be too busy trying to avoid the smell of asshole.

Since we're talking assholes....

Asshat #1 carved pumpkins with his girlfriend last night and now she knows that normal doesn't happen at my house.

Pumpkin number one is a vagina. I'm kind of impressed the kid knew what a labia was.

He actually blushed while he was stabilizing his pumpkin genitals with a finger in the pumpkin vagina.

After years of drawing sharpie marker dick pics on his brother's back it wasn't much surprise when the second one looked like this.

Makes me glad we don't get any trick-or-treators.

Skittles and further proof I can be an asshole.

During a conversation I was mentioning that I needed to pace myself when alcohol is involved otherwise I can be an asshole. My 18 year old said "you always are an asshole, you just let it out when you've been drinking"

I couldn't even get mad because it sounded suspiciously true.

***

When The Skittle Man was interviewed, I kept wondering at the odd odor I was smelling. By odd, I mean stinky. For some reason I looked down at the floor and realized he was wearing socks and sandals. He was also wiggling his toes and wafting foot odor towards me.

All of his references indicated he was a reliable steady worker. Since closed toe shoes are mandatory at work, he was hired.

The Skittle Man hadn't worked for some time, so his first day - and it was a long one - left him dripping sweat. I thought for sure he wouldn't show up for a second day, but he did. My co-supervisor complained that he hadn't showered yet on the third day.

At the end of the week, he was asking me some questions. His breath was awful, but then we aren't allowed water on the pack house floor for food safety so bad breath can be expected. I increased my personal space bubble by at least a foot.

And then it happened.

I opened my mouth to say something and tasted his breath - from two feet away!

On Monday, I related the experience to my co-supervisor. He laughed, but I really don't think he believed me. Towards the end of the day, I saw Skittle Man corner him and start talking. Then I saw my co-supervisor say something - and make the eew face.

I asked him what happened.

Him: I tasted it.

Yesterday I saw my co-supervisor get cornered again.  Skittles! Taste the rainbow! popped into my head and hasn't left yet.

So yeah I'm usually an asshole.

But even assholes laugh at googly eyes.

Bunkhouse woes and morning wood.

There's no getting around it. Bunkhouse life can be hard on our offshore workers. Picture anywhere from 40 to 60 men or women living in one house. We have a men's bunkhouse and a women's.

The kitchen must be shared, and with that many people all wanting something different, there's never enough room for everybody. I've heard of some men or women having to wait until midnight for a turn at one of the stoves.

Jamaican's and Mexicans do not normally eat out of a box. There's no such thing as throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and calling it good enough.

Sleeping arrangements are rows of bunkbeds. As one woman described it you roll one way and see a naked lady, roll the other way and see another one. It's one of the reasons most offshore workers will work while ill. There's no peace to be found at the bunkhouse.

Showers are banks of stalls with a curtain to offer some modesty. With only 14 of them for 60 women, I would imagine most showers are kept brief no matter how plentiful the hot water is. 

I was talking to a couple of the ladies towards the end of the day. As someone who requires a significant amount of alone time, I can't imagine living cheek to jowl with another 59 women. I mentioned my sympathy for the situation. One of the women recalled a time where she had mentioned the bunkhouse issue to a higher up.

Worker: Sometimes women need some privacy. Like when they have their monthly troubles and feel uncomfortable dealing with that with so many people around.

Higher up: Well just imagine the men when they are having their morning troubles.

This is how I wound up with a mental image of 60 men staggering around half awake tenting their boxers. No faces or anything. More like a herd of those male underwear mannequins.

Kind of like the scene from Toy Story with the claw and the little space guys milling around. Only instead of space guys it's legless and headless torsos with morning wood.

I almost pissed myself laughing.

Granola Bars, Crazy Hours and Fart Walls.

Yesterday, I had one of my workers text in that he couldn't come to work because he hadn't been able to go #2 in 4 days. When my co-supervisor showed me the text my response was "Are you kidding me? With the hours we've been working I bet half the people here haven't been able to shit in four days yet they're all here!" I might have been more sympathetic, except he had already been absent for one day earlier in the week. Plus - I'm just not. Sympathetic I mean.

Let's face it, there are certain "digestive issues" that accompany working ridiculous hours. For starters, most of the time you really just don't have enough time in the morning to sit and relax and give your morning coffee time to work it's magic.

Plus when you work crazy hours, healthy eating kind of flies out the window. I tend to grab granola bars throughout the day and follow it with a meal of highly processed carbs smothered in cheese. I know granola bars are usually pretty high in fiber, but it's been my experience that it's not really the pooping kind of fiber. It's more the farting kind of fiber.

I have mentioned before that aging has brought the nasty surprise of "fart incontinence" right? So it shouldn't have really been a shock that when I arrived at work and bent over to put my bag under the desk one tiny little fart escaped.

I mean we are talking an entire work week of crappy food and no time to let nature do it's work here.

What was shocking about that tiny little fart bubble, was the smell that assaulted my nose when I stood up. So I immediately slammed the office window open, but before I could make it over to the exhaust fan my co-supervisor came hurtling into the office. Right into my fart wall.

That slowed him down a bit.

Thankfully the only thing he said was "I know I didn't do that!" I'm even more grateful that I didn't start snickering like an eight year old.

Like I've said before, I can be an asshole sometimes.

***

If you're looking for a great place to hang out this weekend, you can't go wrong at Yeah Write's Weekend Moonshine Grid. It's like the worlds greatest house party, one where you can loaf around in your PJ's and forget to brush your teeth.  So click the button below and check it out. 

Home before dark - WTF happened?

Miracle of miracles - today was a "6:30 today, 6 tomorrow day".

I kept asking my co-supervisor why the extra half hour. I mean six should be as good as 6:30 right? How much work would we really accomplish in that half hour.

He wasn't buying it.

Then I asked him "are you sure you didn't really mean to say seven tomorrow?", because seven sounded more than reasonable to me.

He didn't buy that either.

I also tried to convince him he really meant to say five tonight.

It seems my powers of persuasion are non-existent, so we went to 6:30.

It's become a rare treat to be home before dark and have plenty of time to prepare a healthy nutritious meal.

Such a rare treat that I'm celebrating it by ordering pizza.

I've always said vinyl gloves look like condoms

Nine tonight, six tomorrow and prepare yourself for supper. Which means expect more of the same tomorrow.

Seriously, I would sell my soul for a seven o'clock start.

But then while I was walking up and down the line, checking that the ladies were still trimming up the tomato vines and weighing correctly a couple of the ladies stopped me.

I groaned inside thinking it would be more conversation about piece rates, but they surprised me with this.

I've always said that vinyl gloves look like condoms. They one-upped me and used one to make a condom for a tomato penis. Note they even made sure to leave the reservoir tip. 

So of course I took a picture - which really got the girls laughing. 

A little later, one of the guys came up and said the girls told him to come and see my picture. So I showed him, and a couple of other guys. Some laughed. One said "what the fuck is that" which leads me to believe condoms are not his birth control method of choice. 

Next the girl on that line all told me that L wanted to see the picture. Now there's three Mennonite ladies all in a row wanting to see my picture. 

My picture of a tomato with a dick wearing a condom. Did I mention they are three very sheltered Mennonite ladies?

Which is when I said "Can I show you a cute kitty picture instead?"

Nine tonight, six tomorrow and prepare yourself for supper

Two days in a row of working until 9 pm, after starting at 6 am, means I am officially dead dog tired.

To make it even worse, I had our Controller sitting at my desk all damn day. Tying up my computer and my chair, which meant I got to spend the entire day on my feet. He also had the heat on in the office full blast, which really brought out his personal aroma of old man. It took about 3 hours to clear the air of heat and smell after he finally left. It was like somebody had canned that Value Village old dusty clothes smell and let it out in my office. 

So then I asked one of the young people (anyone under 30) if his mom used Gain laundry detergent. Original scent Gain has a very distinct scent to me, and I kept catching whiffs of it.

K: To be honest, I used L's deodorant this morning because I didn't make it home last night.

L is a girl - one of the other Young People, and not his girlfriend either. Just good friends.

K: I figured watermelon was better than BO.

It was my best laugh of the day. 

Unfortunately, The Swinger is no longer mad at me. Which means he's talking to me again.

I'll work harder on pissing him off tomorrow. Which will be a 6 am start as well.

I honestly don't care if I never eat another damn tomato again. But I do have a tomato dick pick for you all.

Hyper-irritability Ruled Today

Honestly I haven't been to a Doctor in at least 3 years. I haven't been sick so I just haven't gone. I used to just go to a walk in clinic but then found myself a family doctor - and then never went.

I had forgotten how damn frustrating it could be to make an appointment.

I started last week. I called on my lunch, and found out there's no receptionist on duty at lunch time. Then I called from work at 4 - again no receptionist on duty at that time.

Seriously - I want that bitch's hours.

So I called the next day. From my pay as you go cell phone. I got through, started negotiating an appointment (that is what it felt like - negotiations) and ran out of minutes.

Today, I started again. I repeatedly got the "your call is important to us blah blah blah" and hung up, because I'm paying for those minutes. From 9 am to 12 pm I tried to get through to the receptionist.

At one point I was so frustrated, I was afraid I would get through and tear a strip off her. Which would earn me a "needs meds" notation on my file and the shittiest appointment times available for the rest of my life.

Finally at 3:30 I got through - so yeah, I'll finally be looking after my health. When I list my symptoms of fatigue, muscle cramps and Aunt Flo's extended visits, I'll be sure to add hyper-irritability to the list. I seem to have that symptom in spades.

Speaking of hyper-irritability - The Swinger felt it's edge today.

I had heard rumblings that he felt he was underpaid and not getting enough hours.

He gets shorted on hours because to be completely honest - he's a pain in the ass. Plus the other Shipper/Receiver works twice as hard and actually helps get things rolling in the morning. The Swinger just walks around yapping and irritating everyone.  

This afternoon he made a mistake and vented in front of me. I have to do all this paperwork, blah blah blah, they don't pay me enough, blah blah blah. 

I lost my temper and told him that if he wasn't happy there were at least three people waiting in line for his job and that he should try checking out the job market to see what people in our area are really making now that all the manufacturing jobs are gone.

He didn't like that so he whined to the other supervisor. The other supervisor told a little fib and said "you should listen then, she's above me."

The Swinger was even less happy to be told that I was his boss's boss. Which I'm not really - because I turned it down.

So I've got a doctors appointment and The Swinger isn't speaking to me.

In the game of life, I won today. 

The Swinger, Cramps, and the Not Long Weekend.

Most of the time, I try to avoid starting conversation with The Swinger. Once he starts talking it's nearly impossible to get away from him.

Friday I was desperate though. I had cramps and I knew The Swinger had a stash of Ibuprofin in his locker. So I asked him if I could have a couple.

The Swinger: blah blah blah, what's it for, blah blah blah.

Me: Cramps.

Now The Swinger is a single 40 year old man. I thought that would end the conversation nicely.

It didn't.

The Swinger: blah blah blah, when I was out in the greenhouse I had some Percocet for my back. I gave one to one of the ladies one time for her cramps and she said it worked great, blah blah blah.

Honestly, I was grateful for the Ibuprofin. Really I was, but discussing my period with The Swinger isn't my idea of fun - or even okay.

So far, the only topic I've discovered that puts the man off is if I start yapping about my dog. Especially if I spread the proud doggy mommy on thick.

Three day weekend? Pffft, as if. 

Here in Canada, it's a long weekend. For the rest of the country anyhow. For myself it's a regular Sunday only weekend.

To make it worse, some people will be taking Monday off. The locals, and especially the Mennonites because it's also a Mennonite religious holiday. All of this means that Monday will not only be me working resentfully because it is a holiday, it means it will be me working Monday frantically because certain key people will be missing.

It will probably be a long day too. 

Sometimes life just sucks giant monkey balls.

Pack a Pint of Peckers

We're packing a new variety of tomato at work. You do know where this is going right?

That's right - boxes of tomatoes that look like one eyed bandits. Honestly, I had to walk away. I just couldn't take all those peckers looking at me.

I've got no idea how they taste - I'm guessing bland and fleshy.

Being nice is over-rated.

Remember the work phone with the number that gets around? Yes well, it's still giving me headaches.

I rarely get oddball calls on my work phone anymore, so today when it rang and "unknown caller" showed on the display I answered.

Me: Hello, it's Vanessa.

Caller: Hi, I just found this number in my husbands wallet.

Me: Well I don't know what to tell you - this is a work phone.

Caller: A work phone?

Me: Yes, a work phone.

Caller: Oh, Okay.

I hung up and went about my Sunday. I knew it wasn't over though, because I had an idea who the caller was.

Round 2...

Me: Hello, it's Vanessa.

Caller: Hi I called earlier. I'm J's wife.

Me: Okay and?

Caller: Well do you sometimes give him a ride to work?

Me: You're his wife, don't you give your husband a ride to work?

My Brain: While you're taking his paycheck and not giving him any spending money? 

Caller: Well I do, but sometimes he gets a ride. It's just he told me that you're his supervisor and he has your number to sometimes get a ride?

My Brain: Yes, because you're too effing lazy to get out of bed and drive your husband to work. It fucks up my day when I'm down a guy. 

Me: So your husband gave you a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had my work number and yet here you are calling me because you don't believe him?

Caller: Well um yeah.

Me: Yes, I gave your husband my work number so that if he was ever in a bind he could catch a ride to work with me.

My Brain: And I threatened him with death if his psycho wife ever found out about it and started calling me. 

Caller: Okay, sorry about that.

Me: Have a nice afternoon.

Yep, completely self inflicted. I knew she had a screw loose, but damn I hate having my work day frigged up because some lazy skank couldn't be bothered to get up and drive her husband to work.

And of course it didn't end there...

Then I get the call from the husband with apologies and explanations.

Me: Honestly? Your marital drama is none of my concern. Have a good afternoon. 

And it still isn't over...

Next comes another call from the wife. She sounds drunk or high or who the fuck cares. She starts apologizing.

Me: Can I explain something to you? Sunday is my only day free of work. It's the only day I don't have to think about work. It's my only day to myself - free of worries. I would like to enjoy that day if you don't mind.

Bitch, you don't want to make me flip my bitch switch.

Can I Have a Do-Over?

It all started with a nail.

J: I just found this on the floor - somebody could have really hurt themselves on that.

He then presented me with a nail. Kind of like a finishing nail. One of those headless nails that could be as long and wicked looking as you want, but unless it's sticking out of a piece of wood it's harmless because it can't stand up on it's own.

Me: Right, somebody could really hurt themselves stepping on a nail lying on it's side.

Thankfully J had walked away and didn't hear me. 

K: It's a good thing you don't make a habit of saying what you're really thinking.

There was some heavy sarcasm there. I laughed about it and started trying to edit my thoughts before they came out of my mouth.

Let's call that an epic fail.

Remember washroom B with it's malfunctioning paper towel dispenser? After pushing the lever at least 50 times I had an entire 2 inches of paper towel. I came storming out and grabbed a foot or so off of the roll sitting on the janitor's cart.

Which would have been fine, except the janitor saw me and could tell I was frustrated. Do you think? There was probably a damned thunder cloud over my head with lightning bolts spelling out "Danger - Stay Clear!" So he started apologizing profusely about the paper towel dispenser.

In other words he was apologizing because I was being a bitch. So I went up to my office where I may or may not have bawled a little bit and got my composure back.

I wish I could have kept it for longer than five minutes. Today was destined to be one of those days where I cringed every damn time I opened my mouth.

My Brain: Don't say it, don't say it -

My Mouth: Looking at those fake fingernails makes me want to vomit. It's like someone stuck a fake fingernail on a toe.

My Brain: Would you just STFU mouth - you sound like an obnoxious bitch. You are being an asshole again.

The entire day went like that. It's pretty bad when you're so bitchy you don't even want to be around you. 

Can I have a do-over?

Linking up with Theme Thursday hosted Jenn of Something Clever 2.0. Click the button and check it out.

I Don't Miss Working in an Office

Up until last August, I worked in an office. It was clean, relatively quiet and the hours were a whole lot more regular. I was also kind of good at it.

Where I work now for most of the year there are forty to sixty other people working in my department. If somebody is making me feel twitchy and bitchy I have the option of biting my tongue and backing away. Somebody else will likely make me laugh and the twitchy feeling will go away.

In most offices there are only a handful of other people. I spent a lot more of my day talking to or hearing people that may not have been my favorite that day. I also got to spend a lot more time pulling little daggers and other sharp objects out of my back.

Once in a while, I wish I was back at my old job with it's regular hours and familiar tasks. Then one of the ladies from the office calls me.

Usually she drones on and on in a monotone voice that I can barely hear about some relatively minor thing. Sometimes she complains about how difficult somebody else is making her job.

She reminds me of me when I worked in an office.

I may not have figured out what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I don't want to be that me again.

Microsoft is an asshole and the lift-truck drive test.

Five today, seven tomorrow was the word last night. I double checked my phone to see the day was indeed Wednesday and then started harassing my shipper/recievers to get me out the door by 5:15.

I don't think they really cared about my tales of woe and an empty fridge but they had me out of there as early as possible. I've got food y'all!

Microsoft is an asshole.

Around my house, if it's Wednesday night and I'm linked up to Yeah Write conversation is not permitted. Wednesday is reading night and I've got a system. I start from the bottom of the grid and work my way up. If I read a post and can't think of a suitable comment on first read that tab gets left open. Once I've made my way through the rest I go back to the open tabs.

So you know what happened last night? Microsoft updated Windows and took the liberty of restarting my computer for me. It's a good thing I also right down each post as I'm reading and whether I've commented or not.

Microsoft is an asshole.

The Lift-truck Drive Test

So remember when I was supposed to test for my lift truck license, only the guy who was certified to do the drive test was sick all week so I didn't have to do it?

I wasn't so lucky today.

It was the first time I had ever even sat on the seat of a lift truck. I did remember to do up my seat belt. Then we ran through the levers. There's three of them. One for up and down, one to tilt forward or back and one to move the forks from side to side.

There's also turn signals on the opposite side of where mine are on my car, and a gear shifter (?) for reverse, neutral and forward on the left of the steering wheel which seems pretty ass backwards to me.

Wanna know what else is ass backwards on a lift truck? The wheels are. The front ones are fixed and the back ones turn.

Ever driven a pick up truck on a slippery day with no weight in the back? That is what it feels like to steer a lift truck moving forward.

In my day, I've had my share of fun with driving a pick up truck. You know, giving the gas pedal that goose that will have the ass end swinging around just right to go around a bend. But that was on purpose.

On the lift truck, I just felt like I was losing control.

So the tester told me to try it out going in reverse. Did I mention I have a stiff neck today? So first mistake (in reverse) I put my hand outside the cage to try and turn my torso enough to see behind me. That's a no-no. You could crush your hand doing that if you backed into something.

Next up was lifting a pallet. Only to pass the test it's a pallet stacked on another pallet. I wimped out and lifted the bottom pallet. And drove around in reverse - because forward wasn't working so well for me.

I won't be loading trucks anytime soon because I flunked, but if you ever need someone to drive a lift truck backwards, I'm your girl.

Tonight it was five today, eight tomorrow but I don't really care since I'm now booked off until Monday morning. 

Now I'm off to finish reading and commenting on the grid. You should check us out here, because I'm one of the editors picks!!!! And if that isn't enough over the top awesome, I also made it onto the The Best of the Grids!

A rambly post and Whoo Hoo - a three day weekend coming up.

Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and bring a supper - it's Tuesday.

It has to be since my co-supervisor has huge red bags under his eyes. The price of being a fair skinned blonde - it's impossible to hide fatigue. 

I told both my shipper/receivers they needed to haul ass tonight. I can't eat pizza two nights in a row, unless I want to be constipated for a couple of weeks.  

Can I just say this is the last time I'm skipping groceries on Sunday? I'm down to a handful of coffee filters and nary a paper towel in the house. Worse, the odds are pretty good that when I finally do make it to the grocery store I will forget both of those items.

I had to dig pretty deep in the freezer to find some chicken for dinner. Which then had to be defrosted. So it's 9 pm and dinner just went in the oven. Most of it will probably be somebodies lunch tomorrow, because everybody's snacked on whatever could be found.

I don't even think I can scrounge up something for the crock-pot. Although I'm going to try - since I've gone and linked up to Yeah Write again. If you've got a great well written post under 500 words - you should too. It's a great community for bloggers who write and writers who blog. 

There is some light at the end of this week though. I've booked Friday and Saturday off. If I get around to making an appointment I might even get my hair trimmed and my eyebrows waxed.

Plus, with 3 days off I've got more time to push Weekend Funnies #7, so get your funny on and come link up on Friday.

Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and be prepared for dinner.

Today I walked up and down pack lines using my loudest clearest voice "Seven thirty today, seven tomorrow and be prepared for dinner." The girls on the lines roll their eyes as they mouth the words along with me - it must be Monday.

There is a certain rhythm to my week. One that's dictated by tomatoes. Nothing is picked on Sunday so Monday will always be a long day. Tuesday and Wednesday will be much the same. Thursday might end an hour earlier, and Saturday if you're really lucky you get done by 5.

Fridays are the best because the needs of our offshore labor dictate we will be done by 3:30 on pay weeks and 5 on non pay weeks. It's the only day of the week you go to work knowing when the day will end.

Most days we find out around four how long we will be working and what time we will start the next day. It could be six, or seven or some lucky days - eight. The only plans you can make with any degree of certainty are that you won't have time to do anything after work.

Weekends are brief things. Blink and you miss it.

The hours are grinding me down quickly and the season has only just started. Within a month I'll be walking the pack lines saying "Nine today, six tomorrow and be prepared for dinner."

Pants that fit weird, Bosses, Pizza and Boobies.

You know how sometimes you've got that one pair of pants that just fits weird? I was so tired this morning that I just didn't give a shit, so those were the pair I pulled on.

They're some weird ass version of skinny jeans - if a size 14 could ever be anything remotely close to skinny. In order to allow this miracle of "skinny" jeans, they have spandex in them.

No they are not those god awful jeggings - they're denim. I've got some taste.

For whatever reason, even though the legs fit close all the way to my ankles (which makes my feet look HUGE by the way) from the crotch up, they're baggy. So baggy, that I don't even know if the zipper works because I've never had to use it.

If I were shaped like Humpty Dumpty they would be a perfect fit.

I spent the entire day pulling my pants up. Every third time I would have to pull my underwear up too, since as my pants were trying to slide down my ass they were taking my underpants along for the ride.

It makes a long day even longer when you're wearing pants like that.

And then the boss showed up...

Near the end of the day the owner came out to the pack house floor. We're doing a brand new pack that takes forever.

He told us everything we were doing wrong and was shocked that we hadn't come up with a better solution.

Trust me - I see things from his point of view. Business men go into business to make money, not lose it. Still that Just. Was. Not. Fair. We had tried to get some discussion going about our concerns. I had sent an email to my manager right away. We didn't get any sort of response, advice or a conclusion Monday, so I delayed the order. Tuesday we had to take some sort of action and that was what we came up with.

So I yanked up my saggy, baggy assed pants and pulled out my big girl words. You know - the ones that don't start with an f or end in a k?

I don't mean to be disrespectful sir, but I tried to get some discussion going about this pack yesterday by sharing our concerns. We didn't get any response so I delayed the order until today. 

The owner was very quick to apologize, and that's how you win the respect of your employees.

Pizza anyone?

Just like pizza - minus the oregano.

For the record if you are ever standing above a pallet of ripe cocktail tomatoes in cardboard you WILL crave pizza.

Boobies

Who's got big boobs?

Also? Jamaican ladies have the best sense of humor. Now I just hope the Mennonite lady who was walking by as I was taking this picture wasn't offended. Otherwise I might be in shit tomorrow.

By the way, we had pizza for dinner and damn it was good. 

Goldilocks and the 3 bears, only it's really Vanessa and the 3 bathrooms.

When I'm at work, I have my choice of three possible washrooms. It's kind of like Goldilocks looking for the right chair.

Washroom A is in the most convenient locale. It's also at the coldest end of the Pack House. I stopped using it this winter. When the ambient air temps are a balmy 55 Celsius I can guarantee you the toilet seat will be minus 20 Celsius. That's colder than 32 Fahrenheit by the way.

Washroom B is not so convenient, but warmer. As an added benefit the toilet seat is securely attached to the toilet. The problem with washroom B is the paper towel dispenser is defective. It's also at head height. So by the time you get enough paper towel to dry your hands, your sleeve is wet clear up to your elbow from the water running down your arm.

Washroom C has not just one, but TWO well functioning paper towel dispensers. The problem with C is the toilet seat is only anchored to the bowl by one bolt. One must sit very gingerly to make sure the correct positioning is maintained. If I ever walk in and see a turd beside the toilet, I'll know what happened.

Today, Washroom C was the bathroom of choice. You know why? Because A and B both reeked of urine like a port-a-potty after October Fest.

Seriously guys - there's a urinal in there. How freaking hard is it to hit the damn thing? You're every one of you adults, by now you should have better aim. Do we need a bulls eye around the drain for Pete's sake? Also? Peeing on the lid of the toilet next to the urinal just isn't cool.

Another thing - when you're done it may seem as if all the pee just magically went away but there's a flush handle on those things for a reason you know. It's so that a magical gush of water takes away all your nasty smelling piss. I'm getting kind of tired of walking into the bathroom and flushing the urinal for you. Plus I almost thought I broke it the other day. I guess I shouldn't have hit the flusher so hard with my foot.

Why my foot? Because judging by the puddle of piss under the damn urinal who knows how much was on the handle.

Weekend Funnies - Link up your funny post of the week.

Tomatoes don't celebrate Easter.

My head may still be a little bit fuzzy due to the accumulation of snot on my brain, but I'm finally able to stay vertical for longer than 15 minutes at a time. I feel like a bit of a wimp for using sick days but at the same time grateful I did. I would have never made it through two 14 hour work days like that.

Next year? I'm totally getting a flu shot. There's no way a simple little cold would knock me down like that.

I've been up in the air all week as to whether I should hold weekend funnies this weekend or not. On the one hand, most of you will have family functions to attend and might not have time to participate.

On the other hand, it's a long weekend and some of you might not have a lot happening with all that free time from work. For me, it's the same old same old. Tomato plants don't celebrate Easter, so they continue to produce tomatoes. I'll be working tomorrow and Saturday - as usual.

In the end, I've decided to hold it and keep my expectations low. So if you have a funny post to share, I'll be here for you. You'll be able to link up at 5pm Friday until 5pm Sunday.

While I was laid out by the man flu, I wasn't able to do much of anything else so I got some reading in. Most of my reading is done on my tablet with free Kindle books.

Most of the time the free books are new or lesser known authors. Sometimes there's a gem in there though. Unconventional by J. J. Herbert is one of them. The book details one young author's struggle to get his novel published, all while pushing a janitors broom. Through the story James Frost finds love and faith. For me, as a decidedly non-religious person, I found that James's faith only added to the story.

I was kind of sad when I finished it. The sad you get when the last cookie is gone and there is no more to be had.

Now I'm alternating between a Denise Domning book - A Love For All Seasons (I love me some Historical Romance once in a while) and The Books Of Rachel by Joel Gross. In between naps and work of course.