Sweating it

Still here at the sweatshop. It's beyond quitting time, there's nothing left for me to do today, and yet, here I sit. Why? There's this one guy who's still here and I refuse to let him have the factory to himself. He's just the sort of character who's a little too smart for this job. The kind that you have no idea what he does on his own. A comment once made about him was "I wouldn't be surprised if he has his own little clothing operation on the side, and just works here to get the little things he needs for his own place."

And so I sit and blog.

Really, if you were to meet this guy, you'd get the same slimy feeling I do when he's snooping around. Guess what one of my first orders of business will be when I'm in charge? *whoopah* (That's the sound of my whip cracking.)

While I'm big and bossy here at work, outside, I'm a big wimp. Case in point:

I was walking to the shop from my car yesterday, when some dude cycles by and makes a pass at me. Of course I accepted his compliment graciously* and proceeded to cross the street. No sooner than I get across the street when I hear someone calling to me. Turns out the dude made a u-turn and was on the other side of the street, calling to me. I called back that no, I wasn't single and continuted on my merry way...until I saw him make one more u-turn. So I did what showed my cool best: I bolted for the front door of my building and sprinted up three flights of stairs. I am so chicken-shit. In my defence, as I was running up the stairs, I heard someone burst into the building and start skipping up the stairs after me. It would be conceited of me to believe that it was that guy, but still...little creepy, n'est-ce pas? To date, however, cycle guy has yet to resurface, thank goodness.

Woo-hoo! Guy left the building! I'm free to go without worry. But be sure that I'll be spending more time at work blogging--well, whenever Slimy's around that is.

A definite madness

But at least there's a method to it.

Again, back to the sweatshop. What was once "the" sweatshop is slowly yet surely starting to become "my" sweatshop. I've spent the past two days organizing and putting labels on everything. Really, there is no greater pleasure than seeing all of the files in a neat order in a drawer, all of the labels making sense and matching fonts.

*sigh*

Yet, there is still work to be done. Seriously, this place would be an OCD's dream and nightmare.

Also, I'm finally starting to realize why mom and dad used to get so exasperated back when they had to follow me and Brodder around, picking up after us. I do it everyday here with my aunt. Though apparently neatness and order are not enough to keep her organized. Memory helps a lot in that department. After half an hour of searching through the newly arranged files, she threw up her hands in frustration and plopped herself into a chair, only to realize that the paper she'd been looking for had been pinned neatly to the corkboard above her desk...by her own hand.

I digress...

What I at first thought was impossible is now slowly coming into fruition.

I can do this.