After a day and a half of randomizing and sorting and generally messing with our study data and spending time with my friend Excel (we're not on speaking terms. Excel knows why.), and then doing things wrong and changing minds and restarting, I couldn't imagine hearing any sweeter words than when Whitecastle finally declared, two minutes before five o'clock: All set. You can go now.
Well, Jason's words came close: I love it when you talk apes.
It's been so busy at work that I find myself doing work most of the time. Instead of plotting what to eat for dinner. Or read the Times. Sometimes, being told to go is exactly what I needed to hear. That does not mean, of course, that a great chunk of my day is not still spent displeasing my superiors.
(It's lunch time and DocNice slowly heaps one tablespoon of dressing after another onto his salad until it is a giant red blob)
Moi: Do you have enough salad there in your dressing?
Whitecastle: You know, the next RAs we hire can't be as lippy as the ones we have now. None of them have any respect.
(he then "usurps my position in line" [his words, not mine] while I lean over to grab a sandwich)
Moi: Please, go ahead in front of me, Doctor Whitecastle.
Whitecastle: Exactly.
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