It’s been

Less than an hour and you have emailed me eight times about the fire in your ass that I need to put out. Yes, I got it the first time you sent it. No, you don’t need to come over here across five feet of carpet and ask if I got your email. When your presence beats my preview pane of new emails, we have a problem. Fucking count to five before getting out of your seat after hitting the “Send” button. Or just fucking tell me; don’t email me and then talk to me about the email before I have a chance to actually read the email. Standing there behind me while I read your email is not a highlight of my day. Just like when you watch me do my work from your desk or come by and inspect what windows are open in my task bar before delivering a bullshit excuse for why you came by are no picnics either. Actually, no. Don’t tell me. You repeat yourself a thousand times. Like your emails, I got it the first time. Save my time and my continual repetitions of “Uh-huh,” “Right,” and “Got it.” I’d rather type things like “Fuck off” and sent it in white font in my reply. That brings a millisecond of vindication. Yes, I understand things are urgent and that people want things “Yesterday.” It’s not my fault you sit on things after other people have already sat on them. My coming in early, staying late, and not taking lunches has conveniently gone unnoticed. But the one day when I am seven minutes late, you email me asking me if there was bad traffic or if I had car problems. Next time, I will call you when I am going to be one minute and 41 seconds late so you will know and you can calm the fuck down. But too bad my call will not beat your email that will be waiting in my Inbox.

I need a new job.