Pretty nasty, huh?

January 31st, 2016

Hamburger Man, Hamburger Man, doing what a hamburger can?

My continued dissolution proceeds apace.

Since what I've been doing to keep my flesh from sloughing off like a used condom ultimately hasn't worked, I am now going at it from the opposite direction. The problem I have had is that whenever I get my hand wet, it is overwhelmed with pain, thus I have been avoiding getting it wet altogether. The only problem is that in doing this, I have seen my hand flesh get incredibly, incredibly dry.

Which is why its skin is splitting open like an egg that has been dropped to the ground by a clumsy chef. So what I've started doing is overwhelming it with lubrication, hur hur. What's interesting is that once I've properly moistened my hand hide, the pain lasts for a while, but then it transforms into an overwhelming urge to itch. So now it's like I've got three hundred bugs crawling under my skin.

I am taking as much Benadryl ™ as I can stand without dropping dead here at work, on this seventh day of twelve hour shifts, but it doesn't seem to be making all that much of a dent in the constant, needling distraction coming from my manipulators. On the other hand, I am so annoyed at the careless coworker who seems to be sabotaging my efforts as much as he physically can, that no amount of drugs should slow me down.

This clown, he lost, misplaced, threw away, and otherwise lost all the parts I need to continue on the object I came in to work on in the first place. I've recovered almost all of them, but am stymied by the 'otherwise lost' one, which is gone without a trace. I've sifted through his desk, his parts bins, and everything else he's touched in the last week, and this resistor is simply nonexistent.

Which means we were either short one or he wrecked one putting it in the counterpart to the unit I'm building right now. Either way, the jerk is supposed to order a replacement when this sort of thing happens, and didn't. So now I'm up a creek, and I'm without a paddle. So thanks, Dick. The whole purpose of my waking up at four thirty in the morning on a Sunday has been blown. Once I got here, anyway.

Had I known this was going on, I'd have just slept in.

Normally I would just shake this off and order the stupid part myself, but since it's Sunday, I'm about the only person here aside from the security guard. And the parts lady in another department, who did actually check for me but found that she was out of the component I require. So that leaves me to stew in my own, delicious fury juices, listening to the 'music' channel I crafted on the Pandora for a bit.

I will get by, and fill out my shift, but because of this blithering dunderhead, I'm going to have to work eight hours of overtime next week to make up for the progress I'm not making today. And this, this is why I can't talk to him when he comes in tomorrow. Because if I do, I'm going to finally lose control of my editing equipment, and I'm going to get dragged into human resources.

I'm still trying to avoid that.

firebomb@obnoxiousjerk.com