it was only a matter of time...

the food industry, and, it seems to me, the creation, cooking, and transportation of round breadstuffs covered in tomato sauce and sundry toppings and the cast-offs of cow baby food, seems to attract a certain element of insanity.

there are different levels of this insanity (and yes, c, i know you are cracking up right now). for example, there are the overall nice guys like myself, who are good workers, though maybe a bit off-center. then you have the people who are insane because they have done this job for so long now that they know nothing else and making the numbers look good in the computer is their sole reason for existing.

then, occasionally, you have one walk through the door that you peg right off as the kind to not sell automatic weapons to. the kind that you should never allow to slice green peppers or anything else that involves sharp objects. the kind that is a ticking bomb.

we hired one of these kind about a month ago. i tagged her right off as not being right. this one is gonna snap.

now, i wish i had started an office pool for when the snapping was going to occur, because i would've given her a month, and i would've been pretty fucking close to dead on. could've bulked up my tattoo fund beautifully.

the back story: while i was off delivering pizzas, apparently they asked her to get sauce. the sauce was spilt, getting quite a bit on her shoes, and some on the cuffs of her pants. not hugely noticeable. apparently, according to eyewitness accounts, she came to our manager in tears and said she couldn't work like that. (like fucking what?!? i think, since we are all coated in a thin layer of something at any given moment.)

the manager calmed her down, and routed her on some pizzas. an easy delivery. i come back from my runs, get routed on some more, and while i'm gathering up my pies, she comes in, red-cheeked, wild-eyed.

the manager asks her what's wrong, and she says she couldn't find the address. the manager says, "darth's here, he can show you where it is."

and, o beloved non-existant reader, said driver's head splits down the middle, and a giant onyx-black dragon comes out and she bursts into flame. or at least that was what it felt like happened as i pondered it later.

cause she went from slightly off delivery driver to linda blair, is-thy-name-legion?, i need an old priest and a young priest in the snap of fingers. "i can't go out like THISSSS!" (and i didn't know the back story, so i was standing there, eyebrow on full tilt, wondering wtf she was talking about. i decided she meant with skin on and not burning with an unholy yellow flame)

the manager yells back, and her voice reaches some level only dogs can hear. and of course, my droogs and only friends, i'm finishing the bagging of my runs and getting the sweet cherry fuckstain outta there, cause i will be frigged with a bargepole before i'm gonna help lucifer find some fucking address.

when i come back, she is gone, though the hint of sulfur still hangs in the air. the manager says he thought about giving her the whole week off. which proves he's insane cause i would've had some holy man in there casting her out and telling her never to return.

my only question was, "did someone start a pool for when she was gonna lose it?"

darth sardonic