B365V2.45 - Bitter much?

I am forgoing the bench today for the booth.  This was one of those days that called for a trip to the Squirrel Cage before I ended up going postal at work.  As I have said before, I do orders for a few different locations at work.  Other than our order, everybody else is primarily cigarettes and tobacco.  Part of the reason I went in so early on July 4th was because I had two other orders to do besides my own. Which would have been fine if I got them on Monday, but I didn't.  While I put them inSaturday evening, Sledd didn't bother pulling their online orders until Sunday night, too late to make the Monday trucks. So, where I was supposed to have three orders to paw through on Monday, instead I had 6 to paw through today.  And nobody would leave me the fuck alone to get my work done.



Starting with a call off at 7 am, I had 30 different text messages at work.  I was at the point where I literally wanted my phone to make a high velocity impact with a concrete wall. Every time it would go off I would scream, " Just leave me the fuck alone ".  What can I say, I am not a people person.  Then we got a customer complaint regarding our deli, I asked Ed to handle it only because I would have snapped on our employees if I took it.

And thus I find myself @ the Squirrel Cage, not my home away from home, but a place where the employees may recognize me but the customers do not.  Which is fine because I would prefer not to be bothered.  For the last few days now I can just feel the tension building up inside me, like some one needs to take a meat tenderizer to my shoulders.  My normal trick of tilted my head to the left or right until I hear a pop isn't working, there is too much stress collected back there for any sort of relaxing popping noises.

So I decided to come here, with a walk home through the park, just to mix up my daily routine somewhat.

But while I am being a dick here I might as well go all in.  The U S women's soccer team winning the World Cup does not equate with a new American love of soccer.  It was all nationalistic jingoism.  People got to sit in the crowd or at bars and chant USA, USA, USA.  Remember when Brand Chastain took off her top after scoring a goal, and the buzz about her being on the pitch in her sports bra.  Anybody seen Miss Chastain since?  Maybe the side of a milk carton perhaps?  Mark my words, in two weeks this achievement, just like the soccer achievements before it with be scrubbed from the American conscience as if a collective amnesia had crossed the landscape.