Oooooooh, waily waily, curse you, Papa John! You know your pizza encourages me to eat garlic sauce until I smell like Van Helsing and have intense gastrointestinal unhappiness, but you continue to bring it to me anyways! And to send me a postcard for a free pizza? For SHAME! But it was really good, and Callie Jean says “send more chicken.”
For the fourth day in a row, I have had to go up the creepy stairs at work to wake up one of the computers I need for my network (I wish I was kidding, I really do). Now, number one, stairs are not anywhere near the top of my list of favorite things… especially stairs like these ones which are a little too tall or tilted or something and make you feel like you’re going to pitch off them at any moment. Also, I only have 2 methods of judging distance: “Too far” and “Close enough” and upstairs is definitely “too far.”
But the worstest part is, everybody I work with says the upstairs is haunted, and as we all know, I work in the wee — read DARK — hours of the morning. So the last thing I want to do is start off my day with a Ghost Adventure, and there’s no one in the building to save me if I were to get ectoplasmically attacked. The tales range from somebody having a heart attack to a DJ HANGING HIMSELF in the storage room, so there’s really no good option.
So, I must conclude that this constant stairclimbing is some kind of plot — either to get me killed by ghosts or make me lose weight. I’m not sure which is worse, but then I am still high on garlic sauce and chicken.