Our office is closed on Fridays. Meaning closed to patients. I am usually the only one there because someone has to draw the short straw. I'm here in case a stupid patient pulls out their wire or decides to eat taffy and ten of their brackets fall off. It's usually nice and quiet and I get caught up on all the work I don't have time to do when patients are bothering me.
However. As those of you with access to Gmail's chat feature can attest, there are times when I am really, really, REALLY bored. And yesterday it was decided that checking personal e-mail and websurfing from our computers was STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. To quote every single character on Grey's Anatomy . . . SERIOUSLY? Seriously.
Today has been quite an adventure. Earlier someone called and, when told the office was closed, asked what I was doing there all alone. I replied, "Oh, just hanging out . . . answering phones," but NOT before the following response popped into my head:
"I run a brothel out of the office on Fridays. The sign might say closed but we're open for business, if you know what I'm saying."
The list reasons I should not be allowed to talk to real, actual people on a daily basis is getting a lot longer. SERIOUSLY. And I'm going out in Cincinnati (the big city, people, compared to Dayton) tonight so I plan on expanding that list even more by tomorrow morning. Wish me luck.
PS: I'm really disappointed that Poohead Buttshits will no longer be the first words people see when they visit my blog.