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10:10 p.m. - 2006-08-08 Paula�s Very Bad DayWork has been a nightmare lately. We acquired GE as a customer and conforming to their tight rules and regulations, rules so tight that the multinational corporation itself must be constipated�.it is more work than I feel is worth the trouble�.then again, maybe that is why I am not the President of a company with a $104,000.00 per year salary, plus perks and bonuses. In my opinion, I now think that GE must be a corporo-terrorist organization, disguised as a customer but is actually a corporate machine, designed to kill people who have to work in corporate America by burning their brain cells out one at a time. Mine were completely shot by 9:00 yesterday morning and yesterday morning was Monday. I drug my sorry ass home Monday night babbling something about documentation procedures and counting over and over again to 1000 in my brain only to reach 1000 then start all over. A commercial jingle kept going through my head, yet at this point I don�t remember what it was. I did a load of laundry and schlepped it on up to the bedroom when it was done. This morning, still comatose, I dressed, pulling from the pile of clean clothes. I went to work. Joe and I had a discussion in his office that made him angry at the Chief Engineer. He walked out of his office ahead of me and stormed into Greg�s office and slammed the door. Greg�s office has two windows in it; one facing the main hallway Joe ran through and which I followed and the other facing my work area. Joe paced around Greg�s office and I went back to my work area hearing his Jack Benny voice through the window. Tap, tap, tap. I heard on the glass behind my desk. I looked up to see Joe motioning me over to the closed door. I rolled my eyes figuring that I was now going to be drawn into the petty argument that had something to do with following a constipated procedure. I went to the door, it opened a crack and Joe stuck his face out and one arm, pointing to the direction of the hall floor. �Look down there� he said, before closing the door quickly. There on the floor was a pair of my quite large purple and white flowered underpants, and they weren�t in a nice little clump where one could think them a rag or some other piece of fabric, no, they were stretched nicely into a form that announced loud and clear, �I am a large pair of cotton, come all the way up to your armpits, old ladies underpants.� Apparently, they hid in a baggy pant leg and I was either too tired or too brain dead to feel them. I walked around for 2 � hours with an extra pair of panties wadded up in my pant leg before they came flowing out to become a part of my life�s MOST EMBARRASING MOMENT. I have no idea if anyone else saw them and am thankful no one picked them up and commented. I pretended Joe was the only one and entertained the idea of telling him that they must have worked their way into the pant leg in the dryer but I decided that it would be better to say nothing and wait for the passage of time. Who was it that said �Anything, with the passage of time, becomes nothing.��.some wise Greek philosopher perhaps. Let�s hope this is the case. P. I. Yarnsmith
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