Dream Therapy

Oddly enough, I do remember the dreams I had between bouts of tossing and turning last night. They all involved me deviously getting back at Mr. S for jacking me over on my work time. Like hell I owe him hours.

Hmmm.

So, I sent my own typed response to the note I got yesterday from Mr. Bigbossman (frankly, I think it came from his idiot accountant, who basically runs the office), and have not heard a response. I asked for them to please provide me with the timesheets I didn't make copies of so I could establish that I, in fact, never went 11.5 hours in the hole, making it impossible for me to be in there now. Lack of response could mean a) she didn't come to work today; b) she needs time to formulate an intelligible reply (the woman mistook resent for recent in her original note); c) I'm screwed regardless and will end up having to work my tail off.

That said, I spent two hours scrubbing floors. Mr. Bigbossman recently had the guest parking space in the garage painted. Green with a white border. Last week he came to the manager, distraught, "The guest spot is dirty!" Like, duh, dude, it's a parking space. Anyway, so I was instructed to mop that, then I did the equally glamorous scrub-job on the recycle center floor. And I swept.

It took me two hours. I'm contemplating telling them it took three. Pretend work will really help recoup those hours I didn't not work already. ;)