Working 9 to 5...

...What a way to make a living. Dolly Parton got it so right. All taking and no giving. There are always stressful days and weeks at work and general workplace frustrations that are sent to try us. This week, my office gripes bubbled over when they collided with almighty PMS. It has not been pretty. I've been exasperated all week by things I would normally shrug off and laugh about. Things like:

• The photocopier (there was not a jam! It lied! Although I fared better than my poor colleague, who had 90-odd booklets to copy and bind and couldn't get the stupid thermal binding machine to work - 'INPUT JAM' was all it said to her - so we had a chat about what kind of jam the damned thing would like. My money was on blackcurrant.)
• My computer (it was making a funny high-pitched squealing noise - I don't profess to be a technological wizard but I do know that when a machine screams at you, it's not good. I was, however, helpfully told to look out for smoke)
• The new scary franking machine (ate my letters)
• My waste paper bin (how can a bin go missing?? And why?!)
• The man who made me a hot chocolate in the cafe. Not only did he not use enough powder, which made it taste like dishwater, but he didn't stir it properly to get rid of the lumps. Shoddy.
  
• A colleague who is so incompetent I was annoyed simply by thinking about their past acts of sheer uselessness and had to get up and run away as soon as I had an inkling they were going to come and annoy me to my face. Harsh, but true.
  
• Myself, for forgetting to charge my faithful companion - my little blue iPod. All week long I've consequently had to suffer the vocal incompetency of The Most Annoyingly Voiced Coworker Ever Bar None. Her voice makes me want to rip off my arm and ram it down her throat. And I'm not a violent person.
  

And as if that wasn't enough, someone then committed the cardinal office sin. They stole my coffee cup. Stole it! How very dare they. Ooh, I was so incensed by this thievery and desktop robbery that I made a poster and stuck it up in the office kitchen (I say kitchen, it's really a cupboard with a kettle), complete with a Googled picture of my poor cup and a reward. OK - not much of a reward (a leftover Chomp bar I found in my drawer from Halloween), but still. I reckon it's being held to ransom.

I know I sound like a bitter and twisted old crone, but hey. I'm allowed to be narked. Now shut up before I bite you.