A Low Point

As part of the remodel being done at my work, a couple weeks ago they were painting.

Background story: Last time I was exposed to paint for an extended amount of time I broke out into a horrible purple rash and, in an attempt to get rid of it, my mom made me go sit outside with these giant 80’s biking sunglasses on for an entire day. Not sure how the sunglasses were supposed to help, but I was desperate enough to try anything at that point. I guess I should mention that the next day was my very first day of high school. And sitting outside with giant 80’s biking sunglasses did not help.

With that lovely story in mind, let’s fast forward to the painting project that was happening at my work. Needless to say, sitting there sniffing paint fumes 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, I was not a happy camper. Thankfully I did not get a repeat of the horrible purple rash (though I did get a giant hive under my left eye), but I did get a nasty splitting headache every day that I sat in that smell.  Nothing worked to ventilate the smell either. I even left the door to the office building open for an entire day, but I eventually had to close it because people kept wandering in from off the street asking me to throw away stuff…or give them a job.

Anyway. One of those days I left work with a horrible headache. And I was not in a happy mood. And I needed to go to the store because we were out of bread. And I still had a giant hive under my left eye.  Reluctantly and painfully, I found a parking spot 5000 miles away from the store because it is always super crowded at 5 pm, and I drug myself inside over to the bread section, hoping to be able to just swipe some Grandma Sycamore bread and run home to my giant luv sac and some Harry Potter.  

Unfortunately, I was delayed by a girl on her phone blocking my Grandma Sycamore with both her body and her cart, and, to make it even worse, she apparently though that wearing leggings as pants is an okay thing to do. I literally stood there, hatefully analyzing every lump and bit of cottage cheese on her rear end that was accented by her slightly see-through, way-too-tight legging things that she thought were pants. The angle of her cart made it impossible for me to reach my bread, and I didn’t think I could handle human interaction without exploding. So I just stood there, glaring, while my eye-hive throbbed with loathing. I imagine I looked like some sort of rabid wild animal. I’m sure she thought that I was crazy.

Eventually she realized I was there, gave me the up-down, and left. Needless to say I snatched my bread and got out of there like the wind.