The stars unaligned and my job officially got sticky. I've been bombarded with a mountain of spreadsheets. And to make matters worse, the brand of toilet paper at work is called Classique. It's one-ply.

My boss definitely senses that I might be looking to get out. She asked if I ever turned in the commitment letter that obligates me to stay with the company for at least ninety days. She's smart, because I have not.

"IIIIII caaaaaan't reeeeeemember if I gave you that or not."

"Look in your personnel file,” she said. “If it's not there, fill one out."

Yikes. I guess I have to bite the bullet and be here for another two months amidst this chaos, and it is chaos. Nobody knows anything and most of everyone's time is spent putting out fires. And did I mention Classique? A horse tranquilizer sounds pretty nice. So do math skills. I used a calculator to add 23 + 11.