A happy Sourpuss is not a happy situation because it's always malicious.
Let me say that Sourpuss is borderline retarded, has a childish mentality and the whole adulthood thing is biological rather than psychological. She annoyed the fuck out of me today but I remained quiet and stoic which is not unusual for me. Sadly people forget that I am as constant as the northern star but when my unchanged attitude doesn't change during a personally stressful situation it's bound to be ascribed to me being butthurt about the bad news. Sourpuss is an evil and vindictive woman who will twist anything in her favor regardless of witnesses who say otherwise because she has the Little Sister is the GM card to play every single time.
What's important to remember if the company does go belly-up then there's no chance Sourpuss will find anything anywhere considering her age unless it's being a fucking greeter at Walmart. Always best to fight schadenfreude with schadenfreude. Morseo I simply assure myself that these people are nothing to me and once everything's over I'll be hard pressed to find the bile and spittle for their eyes.
Of course I'm rational and won't burn any bridges because that always comes back to bite people in the ass.
Still don't care if anyone from Usury, Inc. is viewing heptapod.org.
So want to hear my theory? Of course you do because you came to heptapod.org to read my drivel and dross.
Our sister company Repo, Inc. is supposedly closing its doors for good and the guy who worked up there was moved down to the processing department and supposedly will be simultaneously trained in collections. Let's not forget they shitcanned the original woman who pulled faxes and replaced her with a long-lost sister from Arizona.
Lastly I wasn't the only one who received bad news. The other person had more seniority than me and most assuredly had a larger paycheck. In short they realized they're paying people too much without understanding that kind of cash breeds loyalty and other positive things despite catty office politics.
Let's just say it's guerrilla (looks funny with two rs and two ls but the spelling is correct so do spaniards say 'gwerr-eeeyah'???) combat in the streets, hiding in doorways and blowing the shit out of giant alien robots which are too realistic for my own good.
Fortunately the dream wrapped up with a domestic situation. Someone was in the kitchen with spivak. Someone was in the kitchen I know. Someone was in the kitchen with spivak but there wasn't a banjo anywhere. Either way two big asses in the kitchen only served to underscore the reality of its humble size.
Well the other person went to bed in a huff because of a regular cyclical event. Eventually I got everything straightened up and retired finding the other person asleep beneath the huge pile of books on my bed that also exists in waking life.