Only The Spectre of My Own Mortality Makes Me Write Again

Okay, not really. But my birthday was last week, reinforcing the fact of my own increasingly rapid physical deterioration. To celebrate this continued decay, my family bought me sapphire jewelry and the first two Hunger Games books.

I have already read the entire trilogy, and my eldest has started to read the first book. I am thrilled beyond belief, because the dystopic view of the future presented in the story will help prepare her for adult life. I also hope it will inspire her to take up archery and thereby provide food for the family when I inevitably collapse into a useless, depressed heap in the corner of my hovel just like the mom in the book.

It's a bit of a survival manual, actually.

As you can tell, I am brimming with optimism.

So, how's the job, you may be asking. At least, that's what you would be compelled to ask if we were at some sort of forced social gathering where people engage in inane, meaningless conversations and eat dips on crunchy starchy things while waiting for the sweet, sweet alcohol to dim our senses. But something meaningful DID happen the other day -- I saved someone's life.

Well, gave the appearance of it, anyways. My desk is closest to the kitchen, and one of the coworkers still filled with youth and promise was choking on a Dayquil. So I kinda sorta gave him the Heimlich maneuver, and then another taller, stronger, more capable guy gave him the Heimlich maneuver, and he survived. So I actually did something of real value at work one day, which I did NOT see coming.

Mostly, I do things like order supplies, which resulted in the following conversation one day:

Me: "Good afternoon, [Ubermilf's Employer]"
Some Guy: "Yeah, someone there ordered some supplies online yesterday."
Me: "Yes?"
Some Guy: "You ordered the [supplier brand] paper."
Me: "Yes?"
Some Guy: "You can't do that."
Me, irritated and snarky: "Why? What happens?"
Some Guy, surprised at the question, and also irritated at my ignorance/irreverent attitude toward copy paper: "It's stored in the LOCAL warehouse, and doesn't get shipped from the same place as the other stuff."

I am thinking two things simultaneously. One, the website says nothing about this. Two, why the fuck do I care what warehouse they keep things? Just give me my damn paper!

Me: "What are you going to do about it?"
Some Guy, amazed at my impertinence, snaps:"I'll give you another brand!"
Me, snapping back: "Then, do that then!"

I'm thinking I made a mistake, going back to the workplace. My temper is not suited for the office environment. Paying bills on time is overrated.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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