Today my coworkers decided that the May birthday people (Joan and me) needed to get their asses in gear for the Last Birthday Luncheon. (In an effort to curb costs, the traditional monthly birthday luncheon is getting axed after this month.) My coworkers soon realized that neither of the May birthday people really give a darn about the whole thing.

Sam somehow implanted the idea that I wanted KFC into the group consciousness, and so the gears started moving towards gathering KFC orders. Once the list was assembled, they tried to make one of the May birthday people place the order—citing tradition, or somesuch.

Except that the May birthday people had decided that, if the others really wanted their food, they’d be willing to place the orders themselves.

This whole incident (I, of course, was the one who realized that Joan’s and my lack of interest gave us power over the others with respect to this lunch—Joan’s not that evil) earned me the honor of having Claude (or, as I like to call him, Crabby), placed at the entrance of my cubicle. Crabby is a plush crab toy, and the official office indicator that the person beyond that point is in a foul mood.

I was having a blast. I have no idea why I was labelled grumpy, though that too humored me in its own way.

The rest of work was extraordinarily dull and repetitive. I came in to discover that a couple inches of paper covered in small text had been dumped on my desk; the attached note indicated that I was to compare two lists of procedures (one list from the hospital, one generated by our billing system), to see which ones we had never received. So I spent my entire day looking down at my desk, trying to read small text that became progressively blurrier as the hours passed.

I estimate I only have a day and a half of this task left to go. ::sob::