Fuck on a fuckstick....

There was a massive pile of crap outside my works door when I got in
this morning... All their old carpet samples and bits of brick and
other assorted building materials. Boxes of old papers and books and
unused designs. I work for architects. These people are magpies.
They don't throw shit away. *Ever*

"Uh... we've changed a few things around upstairs. You may need to
move some things to get to your desk." You've done what now?! But
but but... crap.

My office is being renovated. For over a year, probably closer to
two, I've had my own floor which has given me the space and freedom I
need to... work... in peace. Otherwise known as check out blogs and
email folk whilst getting paid. Now they're going to shift stinky
boys up here whilst the longroom's being rebuilt...

I wonder if I can assert any sort of claim on the boardroom... I
should definitly test the waters... Perhaps I could pull the ol' but
I'm too fat to be climbing stairs!

To add insult to injury- Someone stole my damned pen! My boss told me
I could punch him. So I did. I then marched back upstairs and have
since gone on strike. I've been sitting here for a good 45 minutes
now justifying my decision not to work by asserting that I need my
pen... Sure there are other pens and I could always try doing some
non-pen related activity in the meantime...

I figure I need some more time to glare at my surroundings.

...

*glare*

...