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It's everywhere. Everyone has it. No one, it seems, will escape this flu season without some war story to tell of sleepless nights and post nasal drip.

The Staff at The Restaurant has been inundated. Daily someone calls in sick, and just when I started to take it personal I hear stories of some places shutting down completely because no one is well enough to show up to work. So again - it's been crazy. A mad dash of covering shifts, rescheduling meetings and just general attempts to get through my own days without dislodging my right lung as my body seems want to do.

And it seems to be the week of nothing going right.

I found an envelope buried on my desk containing - wait for it - Christmas gifts for a couple of crazy kids back East. And to add insult to injury, the box I did actually manage to send out before Christmas was returned to me.

It was a lovely thought, really, a care package for A Friend in Italy. As if she needs a care package, right? Hello - she's in Italy. But even The Old Country isn't perfect, and everyone should get a care package in the mail, right? I was so angry when I got the return notice at the post office I began stomping around whining dramatically that no good deed goes unpunished. I blamed everyone - the Post Office, the entire US Transportation System, all of Aviation, even my food supplier. He's been on my list this week, anyway, so he seemed like a fair target. What part of "send me bacon" sounds like "500 #10 Cans of Tomato Paste"???

I was on a roll - shouting all of the injustices to the poor person on the other end of the phone. She listened, patient and kind, and then interjected a little. "So this package to Italy. Did you have the right address on it?" I sighed and rolled my eyes, "Of course I did. I checked and double checked."

"Well, humor me. Check again. And read both outloud."

This Friend of mine, she loves being right. Even more than I do.

"Ok - ready?"

"Ready"

"Address I have - 103 Box 807... Address on box... 807 Box 103... DAMNIT"

Honestly, it's not even a matter of being dislexic. It's just a matter of being stupid.

So The Friend on the Phone mocked me a little, I grumbled back, said soemthing hateful about sending her tomato paste, and then coughed so hard I peed my pants a little.

Good times.

Posted by Foodwhore at March 13, 2008 03:42 PM

Posted by: Lisa at March 13, 2008 05:24 PM

Posted by: alfagirl at March 13, 2008 05:26 PM

Posted by: Juliet at March 13, 2008 07:30 PM

Posted by: Jennywenny at March 14, 2008 09:59 AM