This is why I tell jokes.

Apparently, I’ve been demoted. Not in the less money sense, but in the less responsibility sense. During my complete flake-out over the last few months, my duties have slowly been, let’s say, moved elsewhere. Whereas I was in charge of projects, now I simply participate. The people in the office don’t talk to me much anymore. They never invite me to lunch. I’ve become the step-child. Now I run errands. I still do some research, some spreadsheets and website proofing, but overall my duties have basically been swapped with the previous errand runner girl. She’s being taught how to do training sessions. I’ve been sent to pick up ice cream and dry cleaning. I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it. She works hard for these people, and me being the emotional trainwreck that I am, have not been much help as of late.

I’m not upset by this, after giving it some thought. I chalk it up to karma.

Yesterday, I didn’t call and ask my boss if she wanted something from Starbuck’s, while I was out running errands. Well, I called the office, asked if anybody wanted anything, and one person responded. When I returned with nothing for boss lady, she proceeded to run around the office and tell everyone what a bitch I am. Loudly.

Ahh, the medication must be working because I’m finding this funny in a sick and sadistic sort of way.

To make up for being so nasty, she buys you ice cream or some other treat. Like an abusive parent, that one.

My name is Luca.

Anyway, back to my errands. Today I had to go to the post office - grr – don’t even get me started on having to visit the United States Postal Service to mail something this time of year. Two clerks for 20+ people? Hello? I’m starting to feel like a real scrooge. Bah. Humbug. I also had to pick up the dry cleaning and locate an Apartment Guide. Sounds easy, right? I get the dry cleaning first. Probably not the best choice. He brings out 10 pieces. I think, ok, yeah, I can carry that. Then he brings out 10 more – all heavy sweaters. Rock on. He asks if I need any help. Nah, I can get it. Uh –huh. Yeah. I manage to carry the 100 pounds of clothing to the car without incident. Goody. Off to the post office. No parking. I hate the holidays. But all I need to do today is check the PO Box, I don’t have to stand in line. Finally get a spot. Yay. Off to a convenience store in search of an Apartment Guide. Store #1: All out. Store #2: Don’t carry them. Store #3: None left. Store# 4: Every one but that one. And finally, store #5: I give up. By now I’ve been gone a good 45 minutes from the office. I decide to head back and resume the guide search later.

I’ve been working here since August, and I still haven’t received a sticker for the parking garage, and we’re not allowed to park in the two-hour parking, even if we’re only going to be in that spot for two hours. No, I have to park on the roof. Yay. The roof. I somehow managed to gather up all of the thousand pounds of brick-like sweaters and various other items. I carry this awkward, wire hanger mess down three flights of stairs. I could feel some of them starting to slip. I stopped on the first floor to re-arrange the pieces. There. I had it. Until I got to the building’s front door. People saw me carrying this pile and none of them held the door for me. As soon as I reached for it, I dropped half the clothes. Yep, that’s right. My boss’s dry cleaning was still dry, but clean? Not so much.

A woman inside saw me cursing at the door and came over the help. Thank goodness for her. What a mess. Things had come off of hangers; plastic bags - everywhere. We finally got it basically put back together and I heaved it onto the elevator. Almost there. Just a little further. When I went to press the button – you guessed it – I dropped the sweaters. Again. Have I mentioned how heavy these fuckers were? So I’m standing there, in the elevator, holding half of my boss’s very rumpled dry cleaning, while the other half rests haphazardly on the floor of an elevator that probably sees thousands of feet every day. Eww. While I’m gathering up the pieces, the elevator makes two trips back down to the first floor. People get on. People get off. No one offers any assistance. I hate people. Finally, I deliver the dry cleaning in very near its original condition; (when I say original I mean how it was when it arrived at the cleaners in the first place), and went back to my desk. And here I sit, doing menial tasks for people I don’t like in a place I don’t want to be.

Merry effing Christmas. :)