YOUR MOTHER DOESN'T WORK HERE.......

As some of you might know, GT281 works in an office with
other “ADULT” cube dwellers. Let’s see now how many are
there? There are 6 cubbie dwellers, 4 office occupiers, and
1 hottie receptionist, all bound together working shoulder to
shoulder (laugh, laugh) towards a common, if misunderstood goal,
of making money for the “COMPANY”. Which from now on shall
be referred to as the company. Now I work just one cubbie down
from the reference book area, which I call the historic information
clutter, because the newest of these reference books is dated 1985,
but I’m sure that all the information is still up to date and accurate.
In this reference area is also a counter where a person can stand
and look thru the aforementioned reference books and then put
them back onto the bookshelves,
WHERE THEY GOT THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.
But this never happens. My cubbie is situated just 20 ft away,
and I’m the only one who has to walk by this reference area to
get to my internet viewing station, no one comes this way unless
they want to view something in the reference area. Now I come
to the point of this tale of woe and misery, please note, that in the
sentences above I said “ADULT”, all the dwellers in this office are
between the ages of 24 and 103, and none, not a single one lives
with their parents, except the hottie receptionist who has woes of
her own and just recently had to move back in with her folks,
just for a little while, so she is excused, besides she’s hot.
Now as ADULTS, working along side other ADULTS, you would
think that maybe just maybe they could clean up and put away the
messes they make every single fkin day, but they don’t, their
self-minded pig-o-ramas, and I guess they think that since I’m
the closest one to this reference junk pile that I will do it.
Not a fkin chance, or maybe they think their mothers will come in
after work and clean up after Jack or Jill, just like they did when
they were 2 ½ yrs old. So each day the reference junk pile grows
and grows, books and reference whatnots, piled higher and higher
each day, overflowing onto the floor and onto the top of the cubbie
wall tops, and the book shelves get emptier and emptier.
I can only hope that one day, the boss will come walking by and
then an avalanche of reference thingies will fall and break his
big left toe, so then maybe just maybe, he will put down
his good right foot and send out an e-gram to everyone telling
them what pigs they are, and that,
YOUR MOTHER DOESN’T WORK HERE,
CLEAN UP YOUR FKIN MESS.
The same goes for the lunch room too, only it looks like something
you might see at a hillbilly pig farm.................