Ever have one of those days where the so-called grown-ups around you are in dire need of a binkie, a warmed-up bottle, and a fresh diaper? One of my co-workers has latched onto my last nerve today and has been steadily plucking it all day long. Patience is not my strong point, so if we make it until 5 PM without bodily injury or one of us (not me, mind you) standing in the corner with a dunce cap, it will be a minor miracle.
Work is one place I have no patience for drama, emotional displays, or anything short of just doing your damn job. Grow up, lay off the baby formula, get your work done, or just go the hell home and let someone more deserving pick up your pay. I earn every penny of my paycheck (and then some, believe me), so anyone who has time to make wee-wee in their adult diapers and then howl about it is too high-maintenance for me.
Actually, I don’t have patience for that kind of drama anywhere. Every time Gary’s ex stomps her foot and shrieks like a spoiled-rotten brat because she just shat herself and no one rushed over with a baby wipe, or demands her way or else she will hold her fetid breath (um, please do), I marvel at how anyone has reached the age of adulthood yet managed to retain full infantile mentality.
How do these people survive? Welding oneself permanently to a teat because of an utter lack of survival skills is nothing but pathetic. The only ones more pathetic are those who stand in as hosts for these wailing and incompetent parasites.
In the end, I will go home, mutter about idiots, then eventually move on with my day. I am grateful, at least, to not be one of these individuals whose very existence depends upon whipping up useless drama and serving as a walking irritant to the more rational and independent people around them.