The story, it ends here. How do I know? Because I wrote *THE END* at the end.

The little mcgigglebiggles that make my laptop run and keeps Andy in his happy place (although, at the moment he's in the middle of another tantrum. How dare I suggest we go for a bagel????) have returned to our lives.
We're back, a little beat be up but not wiser.

And now for the last installment in my assistant drama.

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The name Part-Time Savior, will be no more.
I'm rechristening her Part-Time Suxworsethanshovingbambooshootsintoyourfingernails so that we can keep her initials "P-T S" intact(o-mundo).

I'm tired you guys.
I'm so exhausted I can barely lift my little midget (I can call myself that so no hate mail) fingers from Q to 9 but I will keep typing! Even if I don't make any sense.

I came back from lunch on Wednesday to find P-T S lounging at my desk while sitting on my chair.

MY chair.

Did you read the part that says MY CHAIR??

My chair, the one only *I* have had the pleasure of sitting on because it was bought specifically for my tush (I originally typed TUSHIE but who are we kidding? There is nothing "IE" about my TUSH.).
I felt like Phoebe and her Guitar. "Touch it again and I'll have to pound you a little bit"
I felt like Joey and his french fries. "It's Joey food!"
I felt like Andy and his Cheetos. Too many to quote so I just inserted a linky-dink.

In other, more ghettofied words:

Don't sit. Your stanky ass. On my chair!

Okay, that's not the only reason why she's making my life miserable. I was not amused with her persistence in talking to everybody instead of doing her work. This was her SECOND day!

And the bats? You'd figure because they've lived such long LONG lives they'd know better! Nope, not my dear little blind flying rodents. Oh no. They made it seem like it was okay to loiter by MY desk and discuss the traffic situation in downtown Suburbia.

I am not kidding when I say I was SCREAMING in my head.

I cut in like so-eth:

Bee:
So, yeah. How 's that TPS report coming along. [eye twitch eye twitch]

P-T S:
Great! I've caught on! [while still standing by my desk]

I get up and stand in front of her face and start moving forward making her walk backwards. I had to keep my hands at my sides [they have a tendency to want to karate chop, remember?].

Bee:
[eye twitch eye twitch] Uh-huh. Let's journey to your desk and see, yes?

P-T S:
Now that I know what I'm doing, I'm flying through them!

*Them* being elephants with purple ribbons.




Bee:
Mhm mhm. This report? It usually only takes a few hours so I need it done today, m'kay? [I was trying to convey "I believe in you!" but encouragement is not one of the things that make me ME. ]

P-T S:
No problem!

A few minutes later I overheard her say to her imaginary friend Peppito the Blue Elephant (with purple bow blowing in the wind),

"I hope I'm doing this right!"

Holy ColbyJack Cheese Batman!

2:30

P-T S:
Okay! I'm almost done with it! I'm on page 33! When I come back tomorrow I should FLY by the rest.

If it were up to me, I would have said "You know what? How about tomorrow you stay home, have some coffee and watch some M*A*S*H reruns? Maybe lose our address? But look! As a parting gift, here's a SCREEN-PRINT of the definition for the word "Fly".

NEXT!

Sadly, if you come by Shangrila Bee's often, you know that we collect Lollygaggers like some collect crusty old love letters from long dead mushy wind bags (I hope I'm not offending anybody. If you collect such letters GOOD FOR YOU! Nice to have a hobby that doesn't involve sticking pins through butterfly wings -EVIL BASTARDS!-) (hopefully the mushy long dead wind bags will not be offended either because I need another poltergeist like I need another husband.) .

When I went to Glynda and said "She is not understanding the basic system, I don't think she'll be able to handle the rest of what the position entails"

Glynda:
Well, I'm sure you can put up with her for 20 days.

[I know what you're thinking 6 weeks at 5 days in one work week equal 30 days minus 3 plus red frogs equals ?? I don't know but it's not 20.]

Bee:
But you'll be paying her to do nothing. I don't have time to go back and correct her mistakes.

Glynda:
Maybe she can just pull charts for you or shred paper or file something that doesn't involve the computer.

You can imagine the look on my face.
No, you can't because you don't know what I look like. Sure you've seen some pictures but not the true me that doesn't hide behind her hair or when I'm being morphed. You'll just have to imagine my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

At the same time, I'm a little relieved. Now I know that if I come in drunk/high/knife-wielding/goat-riding/bunny-skinning/shoeless/bra-less/BRAINLESS... you know what? Strike "shoeless" that would just be punishing myself, no matter what I do, I WILL NEVER GET FIRED FROM THIS PLACE.

2 more years for me to be fully vested and then I'm blowing this pop stand. Maybe. Hopefully?

Wait, I think it's 3 more years CRAP!

Don't worry about this old girl. I didn't live to be the grand old age of 35 without a couple of tricks up my black hoodie sleeve. I had a little slice of revenge planned.

Glynda asked me not to tell OZ how much she SUUUUUCKS I told her I was not going to lie since that would be putting my ass in the receiving line of his anger.

When I met with the Great and Powerful OZ for our Friday meeting and he asked me how she was doing, I was honest. Glynda kept defending her and he grew concerned that I was spending so much time holding P-T S' hand. His suggestion, to give Glynda instructions and let her sit with P-T S! So now I have 2 assistants that make up ONE brain.

THE END!

*That wasn't the whole argument but there is no point in me relaying how I tried to show her that logically if someone was here to assist you (me) but you (me) wound up spending the whole day doing the main thing then they just had to do the brainless crap then there wasn't much assisting, am I right?