Sometimes words just fail. . .

Here in my office they have started an initiative to recycle. Let me splain. I live in the deep South. Recycling is not only not practiced, it isn't even really encouraged. Having grown up in the NE, both the spousal unit and I have the life long habit of doing so, to the point that we have two garbage cans in the kitchen. One for recycling and one for garbage. And yes they are even labeled.

Since we started the actual request to get everyone in the office actively involved I have been keeping a plastic shopping bag at my desk to gather cans until I get more than ONE AT A TIME together to take down to the community location for gathering in the Ground Level.

This morning I went to get some ice for my brought from home beverage of choice and decided it was time for the current bag to be taken to be added to the collective. Not some huge feat of daring or abnormality. At least I didn't think so. Apparently I was mistaken.

I no longer work for the Serial Killer in hiding boss Ramirez, it is very rare that I actually see him let alone speak with him. Lucky me I have seen this person no less than three times this week. The third time being while I am armed with my bag o' cans to take downstairs.

Me: "Hi Ramierz <not really but you get the drift>. Three times in one week seeing each other, must be a new record."
Ramierz: "What are you doing with that bag of cans?" Not hello. Not how are you. Not yes how about that. What are you doing with that bag of cans.. . .
<insert blank stare here>

Me: "Taking them to the ground floor to add to the collective of all the recycled cans. You know, as part of the initiative that we have posters up for?" What I wanted to say was, Practicing being a bag lady on my break time. ASS!

Folks, these posters are ALL OVER THE BUILDING ON EVERY FLOOR IN SEVERAL LOCATIONS. You would have to be of supreme self absorption to miss these posters or what they are asking us to do.

In that moment I pushed the elevator button, and noticed while I am standing there waiting for the elevator, Ramirez is headed towards the rest room, but for some reason my bag of cans FASCINATES him to the point that he keeps turning his head to stare at it over and over.

I have never been so happy to get onto an elevator and have the doors close in my life. I was waiting to be tackled and have my "PRECIOUS CANS" stolen like the Ring of Mordor.

Creepy little bastard. . . .


  1. See, in our office, we have a "Going Green" type initiative, YET? We do not have the bins, by which we might, yanno, COLLECT THE RECYCLABLES.


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