Narrowly Escaping Death: Terror in the Lab

I know that writing about work is taboo, but since I don't do any work at work anymore, it doesn't count.

Instead I hide at my little dark cubby-hole-corner computer (where I was banished after the one at my desk died) and write on Facebook walls. It's really not that lonely; I am surrounded by hazardous waste containers whose fumes have been making me hallucinate lots of imaginary friends.

Because of the radioactive waste all over the place in my special home corner, it's the only place in the lab where you're not allowed to eat or drink. So of course I blatantly ignore this state law. Typically I have a coffee mug, a water bottle, and some food next to the computer. I even occasionally follow the 5-second-rule. What the hey -- I don't particularly care for children, so it doesn't matter if mine end up being born with 3 heads.

Friday morning, as I was vacantly staring at someone's Facebook profile who undoubtedly I have not spoken to in years, or maybe even ever, whom should arrive at the Bayliss lab but the State of Virginia Safetly Inspectors. They immediately began harassing one of my coworkers about our unlabeled waste containers, threatening $20,000 fines, so naturally she did what everyone in my lab does whenever there is any kind of problem, annoyance, or obnoxious complaining person nearby: direct them to me.

That's right, she led the state inspectors to me in my little corner, where I was at that moment harboring a highly illegal water bottle (think: $50,000 fine for my lab for this). With the computer in front of me blocking their view of the water, they proceeded to stare me down and lecture me on the dangers of unlabeled waste containers. At this point I was pretty much about to pee my pants, thinking that any second they would catch sight of the bottle.

With no other path out of my corner except the one blocked by the inspectors, and no where to hide my water bottle, I thought I was fucked. But then the inspector decided to turn his back for a split second to inspect some other Illegal Hazard on the other side of the room. I saw my opening, grabbed my water bottle and sprinted for the yellow tape that marked the end of the non-eating area.

I crossed the tape, thought I was home free...and the little bastard turned around and caught me. "EXCUSE me, but did I just see you bring that water from your desk?" He sounded like the brown-noser kid in 2nd grade who is pumped to tell the teacher that he caught the retarded boy next to him cheating on the times tables quiz.

(me, breaking into a sweat) "No, of course not, I know that that area is a non-eating and drinking area. I would never break that rule and had just picked up this bottle from the counter right here."

He glared at me, clearly thinking I was full of shit and frustrated that he had no proof. And then he left to harass some other poor undeserving underpaid lab technician.

Sarah: 1, State of Virginia: 0

Wow, girls are slutty

I'll say this is story from a coworker of mine so as to escape explaining how my office rents space from a larger accounting firm as do a few others so while it seems we work together, in actuality we do not. (Oh wait, i just explained it anyway)

So, over the course of lunch today (lovely time spent sitting overlooking the waterfront at battery park) this coworker (aka non-coworking Banker) is going on about a former client of his in France who would like to visit America.

Fine, not a problem. His thoughts are, "wouldnt it be nice to meet up while she was here... grab a drink, etc."

her thoughts are apparently, "I know someone vaguely in America, maybe I can use them for their apartment." I mean that's a bit cheeky but I'd have to admit I'd hit up friends of friends of friends just to avoid paying for even a hostel

his thoughts are, "Ok, you can stay with me... If you FUCK me" actually these are more than his thoughts, these are his words to her-- albeit jokingly...

her response? ....... "Why not" !!! (is it really that easy?)

I guess a kicker here would be that as this sounds like one of those crap stories in Maxim, "Maxim" is in fact the guy's name. Go figure.

"Why"

Why did I drink 7 drinks last night?
Why did I eat a burrito when I got home?
Why have I spent the entire day looking up Bungalow 8 and Tenjune on the internet?
Why am I moving to Kenya?
Why am I writing this blog when I have piles of work right next to me?
Why did I wake up dry heaving this morning?
Why did I tell my alarm clock to S my D?
Why was I rambling incoherently about cat urine last night?
Why am I going on full-fledge benders today, tomorrow, and sunday?

Why?

A Public Service Announcement

Dear Jamie,

Please stop being a bitch.

Love,
Everyone you encounter daily

i'm moving to nairobi

hey, just thought that i would inform all of my loyal readers that i will be moving to africa in 2 months...i think. the goal is to work for a nonprofit and try to return to the US in 6 months still alive. this is going to be quite a challenge, i know, but after 10 months of listening to bb and sm, i feel i am ready to take on this special challenge. i had a dream last night that i was living in nairobi and working at a human rights nonprofit, and everything was fine--i had friends, food, etc--but then one day i was mugged by these guys with machetes. so i guess im a little scared, but im going. so help me god. i

am

GOINGGGGG

Pick up the pace!

Ok, so as you are already aware, I spend entirely too much time surfing yahoo and google for useless news stories during the workday. Anyway, read this first:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20070502/wl_uk_afp/britainsingapore_070502101857

Ok, so most would react to this by thinking, gee, some of us need to slow down in life, take a breather, what's the big hurry? WRONG.

Maybe it's the competitive side of me talking, but....COME ON NEW YORKERS, PICK UP THE FRIGGIN PACE. What I want to know is how a place like Madrid (wonderful city don't get me wrong, I spent 6 months there) whose productivity rate can be likened to that of a stoned ADDer missing his meds, can blow us all out of the water. And perhaps my feelings in this regard are also slightly self-interested because I'm sick of walking behind people all day that feel it's acceptable to practically get down on all fours and crawl to work.

Ok, so maybe I exaggerate, and it's pretty much safe to say that my perception is skewed as I don't exactly "walk" to work - I more compete in the Olympic one-mile dash to work. This might explain why subsequent to completion of my morning "walk" through the city, I:

a) Want to keel over and die
b) Have broken a sweat and need to re-apply travel-size deodorant included in bag for this very reason (pleasant, yes I know)
c) Have the nagging urge to check my watch for the final time clocked

I know I know. Why would I want to run like a maniac to work, a place to which I dread going every day? But this is not the point. I don't care where I'm going every morning, or where you're going, but no matter what, I know that I have to beat you there.

You others might not be aware that by embarking on a journey through the city streets each morning that you are also unknowlingly signing up for a highly competitive road race against the rest of us, but it's the truth whether you like it or not. If you choose to forfeit entry and not to participate, then you run the risk of being characterized by others that encounter you as one of those foreign creatures that tends to walk at a pace 1/10th the average rate, has the frequent urge to pull out a camera and photograph anything from McDonald's signs in Time Square to the "air" in general, tends to sport a fanny pack, and is likely to elect Olive Garden or TGIFridays as an acceptable place to eat in a city of about 915028190 restaurants....otherwise known as the dreaded New York City "tourist".

With such considerations in mind, if you are a commuter or New Yorker, you may just want to strap on those running shoes and take part in that morning race afterall. And plus, myself and my few other crazy friends are getting sick of trying to hold up New York's speedwalking average rate on our own.

So come on New Yorkers and commuters, pick up the freaking pace already, before our average starts dipping to dangerously low Midwestern levels.