What Not to Do at Work - Courtesy of These Poor Schmucks

So, you had a bad day and things haven’t exactly been going your way. Your husband’s being a slob or your wife’s nagging you about being a slob, your kids are driving you up the wall and your finances are only slightly more comforting than a torture-horror film. Everything has been grinding on your very last, very inflamed nerve. But you still get up in the morning to the soothing sound of the garbage man ruining the seventh trashcan this month, you make some tea because you’re out of coffee, and get into your car. When you’re too far to turn around, of course, you spill your still-too-hot-to-drink tea all over your lap. It doesn’t matter, though; just another little road bump in your day.
You crank up the heat and point all the vents in your car directly at your crotch.

After cooking your upper inner thigh area for twenty more minutes while stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, you get to work and are greeted by a pile of post-its reprimanding you for every single goddamn thing you did last week. The phone rings and the boss proceeds to chew you out for another twenty minutes, while the other three telephone lines flash insistently, over and over and over and over and over again. Warm rage oozes up from the base of your bowels, your chest tightens, your peripheral vision narrows and turns blood red, your eyelid starts to tremble, and your hands start to shake.

But you take a deep breath and go to your happy place (which is, strangely, at the bottom of a ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese).

No, you don’t. You’ve had enough, so you grab the closest thing to you (which is, sadly but conveniently, your petite co-worker) and throw it across the room, you grab your infernal underperforming computer with the sixth sense to crash every time you were doing something important under an unrealistic deadline and stomp it like you were riverdancing for your life.

You let yourself release this infernal pressure, and it felt really, really good. Who cares if you got four years and five years’ probation for aggravated assault and destruction of property, respectively? (You really should’ve thrown Danny across the room).