**What I am about to tell you is fucking unbelievable. I just want to preface this story by telling you that you may want to get your ciggs ready, because you'll need one after reading this.**
There was a "mysterious" gas smell all over Manhattan this morning (seriously). Well, the mayor had already announced that it is nothing dangerous when DEB comes up to me. So, Deb is that woman in every office that constantly complains about things you could give two shits about (could NOT give two shits about?). Deb is, I suppose, laterally superior. I am, however, in no way Deb's assistant or even in the same department. I'm already cringing and pretending that my peripheral vision is failing me. The conversation went as follows:
DEB: Hey Jess, this gaseous smell is making me feel a bit uncomfortable...
"Jess": ...[continuous blinking]...
DEB: So, I'm just a bit worried.
"Jess": Yeah, well. They're are some people watching CNN in the lounge.
DEB: Okay, do you think you could maybe, if you have the time, find me a surgical mask? (YES! I wanted to STAB HER!!! I felt like I was on Punkd or some shit)
"Jess": ...[uncontrollable fit of laughter, repressing urge to strangle her with her shawl]... Yeah, I really don't think I'm going to have the time. But, you know it might be a good idea to hold a napkin over your mouth if you are that worried.
(I tried to say this last part as sympathetically and sincerely as possible as to dodge any insubordination bullet)
UPDATE: And I shit you not. I just walked by her desk and she is holding a KITCHEN TOWEL to her face with a fan blowing directly on her. Too bad she can't get her hands on the precious miracle potion that is Ginga' Ale.
