According to Kevin from IT, I am a Lyrical Peacock. I forgot how this came about in conversation, but I’ll take the compliment. Not every writer can say they received this exact comparison/compliment, though my goal is to go from Lyrical Peacock to Rhapsodical Eagle…
Yesterday’s fridge poem struggled to happen. This week has been full of changes and happenings; some good, some bad, but all stressful. My manager at work took an indefinite leave of absence for untold reasons, and the lady temporarily(?) taking her place is changing everything-up. I actually love the new manager because I’ve always enjoyed this lady, and she does not give me heartburn like my previous manager did. The girl who covers me at the front desk quit a week ago, and my back-up chick who covers the front desk is on bed rest. So, I had to train somebody new and pray I can use my last vacation hours. There was then a debate about my remaining hours because the HR department claimed the customer service department and I only received 16 hours of comp time while not getting to participate in summer hours, rather than the 24 that math(2 hours per Friday we didn’t get to go home at 3 times 12 Fridays = 24 hours) and our manager promised. We did win that last day in the end though. Damn right! It sad we had to fight for what was promised to us though. I also had to hand hand address a bunch of company Christmas cards. Ugh. By the end of the week, I was drained. I also felt tired because my lunch was shifted an hour earlier, as a new change to my daily schedule, and it made the afternoon unbearable! I was so uninspired and frownie towns that I almost did not write a fridge memo. Being me though, I forced myself to write one, and the reason I didn’t post this blog on Friday before I clocked-out was because I also forced myself to write a blog article for work about controlling your eating on Thanksgiving. Yay for persevering, but boo to early lunch.
Herbert the Homeless Hoagie
Herbert the homeless hoagie,
sat, crying in the rubbish,
and feeling very grubbish.
Five fifteen had come and gone,
and he’d been left behind,
his future undefined.
The garbage can then trembled,
and darkness filled the room,
as Herb fell to his doom.
When the hoagie’s steak eyes opened,
he could not believe his cheese,
to find a food camp filled with refugees!
Deserted desserts, lonely lunches,
forsaken foods, outcast hors d’oeuvres,
and expired strawberry preserves.
They built a community and home,
to live lives of dumpster luxury,
and Herbert heaved a sigh of glee!
Now Herbert’s a happy hoagie,
But you should feel disgraced,
to let such a yummy sandwich go to waste!