Sarcasm Bites

As the self-proclaimed anti-Christ of morning people everywhere, it’s no surprise that 7:03am finds my lips vacuum-sealed to a vat-sized coffee mug, and me grunting only when spoken to, avoiding all but the most mandatory of human interaction.

Peering above the rim of my upturned mug, I sit down at my desk, open email, and anticipate the day’s first rendez-vous with Her Majesty, The Delete Key. So much power in such a small container is hardly a thing to overlook.

Mid-slurp into my second sip of delightfully dark, strong coffee, I’m jolted out of my Trash folder trance by a frightful noise. I quickly glance over at my cell phone to confirm that it’s the source of the irksome clamor, which it is.

Goddamn morning people! I’d put your ass in JAIL for calling at this hour! I mutter. Then I hesitate, and suddenly find myself teetering on the slippery precipice between fear and anger. Wait, is someone hurt? Did something happen? I wonder.

Staring at the number flashing on my phone’s screen, my brain kicks into gear just long enough to link it to a human face. Without thinking, I blurt out “Fuuuck!” at far too high a volume. My husband shoots me a mildly irritated grimace.

“Hey, at least it’s honest,” I respond out loud. A bit lewd, but someone’s got to suffer when I’m being hunted down before my first cup of joe bottoms out.

Not to mention, it’s The Client calling, and as any work-ridden American knows, The Client. Must. Not. Wait.

I surrender my java jug to answer my phone, figuring I’ll at least quiet its high-pitched racket. Before I can even say hello, she screams “Good morning!” in my ear in an obscenely upbeat tone. “I’m SO glad you’re there. Aren’t mornings the best? Don’t you just LOVE how much you can get done before the phones start ringing and everything?” she adds. Look genius, I silently proclaim, you’re only alive because I can’t reach your neck through my phone.

It’s too late to fake a bad connection, so I do the corporate thing and attempt to lie in a professional manner. “Yes, mornings are great! So what can I do for you at this early hour?” I ask. My husband quietly snickers from the other room.

Ignore him, and listen to what she’s saying, I remind myself. But all I can do is gaze longingly at my soon-to-be lukewarm coffee.

Fortunately, Ms. Morning Glory seems oblivious to my stupor. Without even taking a breath, she begins blabbering on about a proposal I sent her back at the dawn of time… or maybe it was last week… Whatever the case, none of what she’s saying rings a bell in my under-caffeinated brain, which promptly bows to its survival instinct by entering a deep and thoughtless sleep.

That is, until it hears “so we’ll need all these dates,” which is followed by a dizzying list of days, times and locations. By the time she says “please just confirm that schedule in an email that I’ll forward to the whole group,” I’ve got a pen in hand, and am staring at a blank page.

Waahaaa? I think, still hoping this is nothing more than the worst nightmare of my thirty-seven years of life. You morning dinkwads are why pink slips happen, I remark to myself, newly a-fume with rage.

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence before she adds “Okay? Sound good?” Suffering the ever-worsening effects of sub-par caffeination, I begin a primitive, though audible, attempt at speech, “uhhhhhh, let’s seeeee heeeere… riiiight…. Okaaaaaaay.”

Then, a profound and deafening silence befalls us. Coffee, get coffee. Coffee NOW! I silently command myself.

“Oh, noooo… never mind. Scratch that… it’ssss… offfff” she finally says, drawing out each word before inserting a long pause. “Hold a minute” she adds.

Seconds pass, and still no sign of life. Then she belts out “Not again?!?” into my now bruised ear canal. Seriously, you morning freaks have GOT to get off the mainland! Any more of this, and I’m either going for a machete or an Immodium, I think.

“Sorry, I just got an email” she finally explains “so forget everything I just said.” No worries there! I reply silently. “The bad news is the dates I listed aren’t happening” she adds. Allelujah, I’m saved! My eyes begin brimming over with happy tears when she throws in “but we’ll need to add even more days than I originally thought.”

Panicked at the prospect of yet another schedule tsunami, I slam my mug down on my desk. While fumbling for a pen, I knock over my coffee, rendering my once-blank page a moist and soggy brown. Will this never end? I ponder, overcome with desperation.

“I’ll straighten out the new schedule in our team meeting today and email it to you” she offers as the pool of coffee on my desk waterfalls onto my white shirt.

Just shy of soiling myself, I sit quietly and debate the pros and cons of dipping my phone in my coffee. Pretend it’s a biscotti… I gently coax myself.

See? Mornings really are great.