The Full Hot Orator (wickedflea) wrote,
The Full Hot Orator
wickedflea

One of the first e-mails I got this morning was from the editorial assistant, who said there were pink and blue muffin tops in the kitchen, which she'd brought in by way of announcing that she's having a baby in July. Hey, I thought--muffin tops, that sounds pretty good. But I didn't want to be the first one in the kitchen to start scarfing them down, so I did about an hour's worth of work before I headed out of my office. And right there in the hall were the press director, the marketing manager, and the business manager struggling to angle this HUGE-ass table through an office door. So of course I helped them get it in there. I thought I was done, and then they were all, OH CHRIS, you can help us with the OTHER table!

Fine. I'll help you with the other table. Well, it turns out that the fucking thing is DOWNSTAIRS, and we have to maneuver the fucker into the elevator. OK. So we do that, manage to close the door, and hit "2" for the short ride up to the second floor. Yes, just a short little jaunt, shouldn't take long at all . . . in fact, it shouldn't have taken even this long . . . Um, why are we stopped? And what's the deal with the door not opening?

Twenty flippin' minutes I was stuck in that blasted elevator holding that table angled up against the wall. You ever have to make small talk in a hot, stuffy elevator for twenty minutes while jostling for position against a piece of furniture? Of course you haven't. This stuff happens only to me. :P

All for a goddamn muffin top.
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