Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Who Stole My Fucking Mug?

My office mate, Elle, and I are sitting at our desks when I see Shana, the office spaz, poking her red face hurriedly into nearby cubicles.

Me: (calling)  Shana, is everything alright?

(Shana is breathing heavily and steps into our office.)

Shana: I don't know who it is that stole my fucking mug--excuse me--mugs.  MUGS!  I wash them and leave them to dry and then I come back and they're not there.  I eat my soup out of them.  I'm sick and tired of it.

Me: I'm sorry.

Shana: There was one with kittens on it and a cat that was the handle, like it was a little ceramic cat body curved and stretching up on the side of the mug to look into the mug and that was the handle.  Hard to miss.  Then there was one with bears on it.  The bears were fishing and catching salmon and they were wearing hats.

Me:  The salmon were wearing hats?

Shana:  The bears!  And then the one I lost today was red and big and had flowers that looked like they were drawn with crayons.  Really great mug.  Now I can't eat my soup and I'm fucking pissed.  I'm checking every fucking cubicle and office.  I'm going to kill that person when I find them.  Sorry.  Sorry.  I just have low bloodsugar.

(Shana leaves as angrily as she entered.  Elle turns sheepishly towards me, then brings up the bear mug from underneath her desk.  It is dusty and has a rotten apple core in it.)

Elle: Oops.  Do you think she'll be mad?  I didn't know this was hers.

Me: We're you listening to her?  You better go fess up or she's going to come back in here, rip your head off and use your skull for a bowl.

Elle: I better wash it first.