Cheap caffeine can be very, very bad.
I get the distinct notion that I may have difficulty sleeping tonight.
Since I've been at this dread job, I have tried to curb my caffeine intake for a number of reasons; most notably, the fact that I have less freedom to roam and pee when necessary as I had at my previous employment (mark yet another one down for the "why being a therapist kicks the living shit out of this job/oh dear God, have I taken enough of a sabbatical from my chosen life's work by suffering with these chuckleheads to go back?" column).
Oh yeah, and I've tried this whole "sleep like normal people" thing (grossly overrated, although handy when you work normal people hours).
And after the initial caffeine withdrawal headaches, and re-learning how to nap with my eyes open, I could safely say that I had done pretty well with the whole thing, maybe drinking a can of Diet Dr. P. once or twice a week, and avoiding anything Dew-y unless absolutely necessary.
Alas, my run of good behavior was utterly demolished today.
It started out innocently enough. Knowing I had a crap-ass staff meeting this morning for two hours, and knowing that a bullshit initiative was going to be "presented" to us at said meeting (meaning yet another proposition to exploit our already thinly-stretched resources so that someone else can ride our coattails and claim all the credit was going to be jammed up our arses), I got a can out of the soda machine. Then, one of our trainers, who is easily one of the sweetest ladies in the whole world, and is known to bring us goodies (I like to see it as comfort food), brought us some bruschetta (home made!). Of course, I had to get another can of Diet Dr. P. to complement the perfect combination of mozzarella, tomato, and garlic that was happening.
By this time, it was only 9:45 in the morning. My pregnant co-worker (of Reese's Pieces in the Cleavage Game fame), starts to chastise me for drinking soda so early in the morning. This is rich coming from the girl who is under medical order to not have caffeine, yet used to get Venti Tazo Chai Frappucino Blended Creme, thinking there was no caffeine in it ("Because it's tea," you see,) on a daily basis. She only to realized a few weeks ago that it was loaded with it (according to a helpful Starbucks employee), made me swear not to tell her boyfriend (not for fear of being found dishonest, but more out of a need to not let him know he was right), then came to work the next morning with another one. Sweet. Can't wait 'til the kid comes!
Anyway, I dispatch the two cans over the two hour meeting. Bruschetta and Diet Dr. P. were happily coexisting in my Botanicus by the time we have to get back on the phones. That's when the dicketry started.
Every call I got was from someone whose sole purpose in calling me was to get me to do something they were too lazy to do themselves. And you should have heard all the excuses they were giving me for not doing their own jobs! They ranged from "Our computer isn't working," to "That system is in our office across the street," (I've heard that excuse too many times for it to even be plausible anymore... I mean, how many of these retreads have separate offices "across the street"?) to "Well, can't you just do this for me, or do I have to hang up and have someone else save my lazy ass and do my fucking job do it for me?"
All the idiots called, in rapid succession. I barely hung up with one before the next was ringing in. And all of us were getting hit at the same time.
By lunchtime, my Botanicus had no recollection of the wondrous foodstuffs in it earlier in the day. I managed to eat a sandwich and wash it down with Propel, stuff of the gods (and the occasional Pino Libre, but don't mention that Jaz, or she'll start wondering out loud where the F the Malibu went). This would be my first (and last) non-caffeinated beverage of my workday.
Halfway through my lunch half-hour, who should come into the break room (thankfully, not littered with religious propaganda or Fingerhut catalogs... heh heh, "Fingerhut") but Le Douchebag, herself! No doubt she is here to not only heat her pot pie, but regale me with stories about her wonderful son who I just have to meet because we would "get along so well" (who I have already met briefly, and who has the charm of a bucket of no, which leads me to believe that Le Douchebag a) is really so out of touch with reality that she thinks her boy's a prince, or b) really fucking hates me and wants me to perish). Again.
In my mind, my day was going down the toilet, but fast. And of course, it has to be one of the company toilets with the low pressure. Bull!
But hold the phone, gentle readers! She's come into the break room to not only microwave her pot pie, but to inform me that she is making a quick run to Dunkin' Donuts for iced coffee, and did I want some?
Well...
Twenty minutes later, I had a large iced coffee on my desk. I was halfway through my day. By 2:30, my eyelashes were vibrating. By 4:00, I was doing crappy pirouettes next to Cleavage Game and discussing possible names for the baby. I was supporting her choice for "Adriana" for a girl for the very reason everyone else seemed to be against it: the name reminded me of Adriana from The Sopranos.
"This isn't the way I thought it would turn out, Christofuh!"
Oh, only time will tell if this child should be so lucky!
Of course, this being the height of my caffeine-induced lunacy, I started rattling on about how if she named the baby Adriana, we could call her "Ade," like on the show. That morphed into calling her "Baby Ade," and "First Ade," and "Rite Ade," and "Lemon Ade" if she turned out to be blonde. And of course, in my excited baby-nicknaming fervor, this gem was revealed:
"Hey! If she grows up to go to UF, I can call her Gator Ade!"
Strangely enough, the crickets only lasted for a split second before she bust out laughing and called me a weirdo. I think she knew I had too much caffeine today.
And now it's almost bed time, and my eyes are very wide open, and I'm still talking nothing but bullshit and craziness. I've tried to drink copious amounts of water to flush this caffeine out of my system so I can get some fucking rest.
If tomorrow you see I've blogged at 3 A.M., you'll know it didn't work.
