Frustration

I think there must be some sort of cabalistic secret society at work in my office. Their goals are shrouded and mysterious, but their tools consist of the singular ability to withhold work until 5pm. At this point, they have consistently dumped said work on my lap with the immediacy of eating a popsicle on a hot summer day while wearing your wedding tux. Suffice to say they expect it done fast, and when asked why they didn’t give the request sooner, the answer is a silence that can only be explained by their early exodus for the weekend. Life is good, but sadly sans comic for today.