Yesterday was a "not safe for fabrics day" and I shouldn't have gone in, but I did. By the time I got to work, I was fit to be tied; despite leaving close to my regular departure time I was ten minutes behind schedule (I have to get out of the Jeep and go in at 1:20 by the Jeep's clock to start work on time). My mood was not improved when I tried to take one minute to cool off, and couldn't, because some idiot was sitting in the parking lot blasting shitmusic. I compared it to a monkey shitting in his hand and flinging it at people and only got more angry.
Containing myself under those circumstances is hard work. It leaves me feeling exhausted and weak, but doing my job you don't have the luxury of making so much as one sarcastic comment; everything must be polite and patient and understanding even when the person you're talking to is acting like a severely autistic two-year-old on a Pixie Stik jag. Call volume was, fortunately, fairly light, which gave me a minute or so between calls to put my head in my hands and regroup for the next call. Equally fortunate, there were no insufferable douchebags yesterday. The worst call was a pair of Russians who did not speak English very well and couldn't understand what I needed to activate international calling on that line (the SIM card number of their 3G phone) and why I needed it.
You see, to activate international dialing, a phone has to have a SIM, but 3G phones do not have SIMs activated (in the switch, that is) by default; world-capable 3G phones have them but I need the ICCID from the SIM to activate it and enable international calling. I had to speak to both of them, I had to explain to them each three times what I needed and why I needed it, and before I could even get to that point I had to explain to them that they were not going to find the number I needed in their e-mail account.
Around 5-ish the supervisor popped a message to the team, that we were having a meeting. That was where my new supervisor told us that he was not going to be our supervisor any longer, effective Monday. That got me a welcome respite from the phones but the news was bad. My mood, once again, failed to improve.
Lunch was next--about 6:30--which helped, marginally.
But by 8 PM I was just done. I couldn't take any more. Mrs. Fungus had contacted me and my 8 PM break consisted mainly of us discussing what we should do; I invented an issue with her car that needed my attention and asked to leave early.
Dinner, fix her headlight, go home...but none of it really helped much. I felt better than I had all day, but that doesn't really mean all that much when most of your day has been spent keeping a leash on your temper.
Waking up today there was no room for debate. I woke up knowing I wasn't going in; any time the disdainful German guy tried to speak up the reply was an immediate SO WHAT? FUCK YOU! and it was really just a question of what I would say about it to the attendance line and my (for now) boss. I made the appropriate contacts, though, and rolled over in bed. My wife sympathised and told me to rest up; she knows what the past week has been like.
I do get a little disappointed in myself under these circumstances. My upbringing compels me to go to work even when I'm just about on my deathbed; certainly emotional gyrations are not any excuse. But when I get to the point that it's a "not safe for fabrics" day, I have two basic choices: 1) exhaust myself trying to put lipstick on a pig, or 2) tell the world to fuck off for a day. I've spent the last week doing 1, and it hasn't worked, so today it's 2, and I'll do better tomorrow.
That will have to do.
* * *
Last night we got sushi.
This is a real sushi place, where sushi is most of the menu, and they even have a handful of rooms for larger parties, where you sit on cushions on the floor, Japanese-style. Mrs. Fungus wanted to ask to be seated in one, but I demurred, citing the fact that it's rude for two people to occupy a room meant for a party.
Having had lunch around 6:30 I wasn't in need of much, so I ordered three things: kappa maki, unagi maki, and a Scorpion roll, which was fried calamari sushi. Mrs. Fungus ordered three rolls and some appetizers and a salad.
So when the sushi was served, it looked as if they'd forgotten the scorpion roll, but I didn't really mind as long as we didn't get charged for it. By the time we were finished I didn't care for anything else, and when Mrs. Fungus tried to get me to finish off the last few pieces of her order I ate one and said, "This is the last piece of sushi I'm eating this evening."
As if on cue, our waitress appeared with the scorpion roll.
Mrs. Fungus wanted to send it back but I'd really wanted to try it, so I told the waitress to serve it and dug in. Mrs. Fungus found my sudden reversal amusing, not that I blame her. She tells me she laughed about that all the way home.
(We were in separate vehicles, of course, as we'd gone for dinner after work.)
* * *
As I told my wife the other night, I spent the last week wanting to destroy the world; and if I were a little more motivated or a little less lazy, I'd bend all my efforts to doing so. That seems like too much work, though, and so ironically my laziness has saved the world.
I'm a hero.