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October 03, 2002-11:17 p.m. Listen to this y�all. As I believe I mentioned earlier my assistant has been afflicted recently with allergies. Haven�t we all? Some of us, however, have the good sense to see a doctor rather than erode the eardrums of our neighbors by complaining about how we�re dying. As an aside, I�d like to thank the gods and whoever else may have been responsible for having the good grace to move her away from me. Today I was in late because I had a dentist appointment to have my teeth cleaned. As if having someone scrape my teeth and gums with sharp needle-like instruments wasn�t punishment enough, I get to work and she is complaining about her allergies and what do I think could be causing this. I dunno. Pollen and spores would be my first guess. It might be that they are stirring up dust with the remodeling they are doing in the building. When she came back from lunch she was coughing more and came down to my desk and allowed as to how she thinks it is the remodeling because she was fine in the breakroom and now she�s dying and do I have any allergy medicine. Do I look like the freaking pharmacy? I bought you Kleenex, for Christ�s sake, what do you want from me? You�ve been having this problem for over a week. Don�t you think you might have gone to the drug store and picked up an over the counter antihistamine or something? Sa: �I have Benedryl� Whiny: �That makes you drowsy doesn�t it?� Sa: �Yes. Check with ~insert another person�s name here~ Maybe she has something.� She goes back to her desk and hacks up a lung and then goes over to the supervisor�s desk to tell him how those guys remodeling are killing her. She�s dying. Big T (or Helen as he�s known to Phil): �So what are you saying? You want to go to the doctor?� I don�t hear her response but she�s back at her desk when I leave a few moments later for my lunch. My lunch buddy and I have lunch and I gripe about what a hypochondriac my assistant is and how unwilling she is to do anything to help herself. When we leave the breakroom to go back to our desks, we notice an ambulance in front of the building. The ambulance is at our office at least once a month so we head over to reception to get the scoop on who they�ve come for this time. Recptionist: �~Insert assistant�s name here~ has something caught in her chest� Sa and Lunch Buddy: *collective groan* We head back to our desks to try and scope out what�s going on. They have my assistant in one of the glass conference rooms. Her back is to us and a paramedic is beside her. The director and about five firemen/paramedics are facing towards us. They are all wearing the same expression: �WTF?� Big T/Helen is outside the conference room looking stricken. I spy the box of tissues I so generously supplied my assistant so she wouldn�t bug me for mine. Sa ~trying to prove her generosity and concern for her fellow man~: �Hey! I bought those Kleenex!� Helen ~stifling a snort~: �You are a piece of work.� This is the story that I�ve managed to piece together so far: Once she returned to her desk after telling Helen that the remodellers were attempting to assassinate her with their dustmongering, she complained about the stress of trying to make the goals and started bawling and coughing like an emphysemic coal miner. Just as the director walked past her desk, she threw up in her trashcan. Director: �What�s going on here? Are you okay? Do we need to call 911?� Assistant: �Yes� They attempted to get her to move to the conference room so that there would be as little disruption as possible. She claimed to be unable to walk so Helen had to push her over to the conference room in her chair while she clutched the box of tissues (purchased for her with love by Sa) and her trashcan. The paramedics didn�t transfer her. She left to go to a doctor. Tomorrow should prove quite interesting to say the least. **Disclaimer: All characters in this diary are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, real or imagined, is purely coincidental and unintentional.** |
