NOT.FEELING.THE.LOVE.AT.ALL, NO.NOT.AT.ALL

Yesterday some stuff got moved around in the room where I'm working, and there, on the table, was THE WOODEN PENCIL OF MY NIGHTMARES.  It had a BROKEN POINT with jagged wood shards sticking out at dangerous angles.  It a NO eraser left, which means somebody erased until they rubbed METAL ON PAPER.

I had the major heebs.  MAJOR.  I picked it up from the middle, and hurled in towards the garbage can, but missed.  Not being able to stomach the idea of taking my life into my own hands again to actually put it IN the trashcan, I left it, thinking somebody awesome would save me from it. 

I went to bed last night feeling slightly safer, but still concerned.

This morning I got to work, walked up to my spot at the table, and BAM!!!!!!!  THE DAMN PENCIL WAS AT MY SPOT.  Now I'm not saying I don't perhaps SLIGHTLY deserve this for not making damn sure the thing was disposed of properly, but COME ON. 

I took the pencil and threw it away in another office Fffffffaaaaaaaar fffffffffaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr away.  Then I told my team that their evaluations on this job would for REAL reflect this injury.  Marquita noted that the people currently in the room were not the people who placed the offending object, and I pointed out that they stood by while evil happened.

Which is just exactly what happened in Nazi Germany.

I can't cotton to the idea of putting an actual picture of the torture device here, but here is a drawing.  Or as my friends in Boston say, a drawering.