Bitch.

Unfortunately, today I was the bitch.
This day was just really unpleasant from the moment I was awakened at 8am by some noise that I thought was a chainsaw. It was loud, obnoxious, and shattered my delicate sleep on the one day I get to stay in bed and snooze. This noise continued for over two hours. I never figured out what, exactly, it was because the trees in front of my apartment have way too many leaves. I can spy so much better in the winter.
I got to work already irritated. I was tired, I have no clean clothes, and as much as I like the sleeping-in part of a closing shift, I hate closing. I just feel like I'm playing catch-up all day.
Twenty minutes before a meeting I ran to the PO to mail off some books. I have, in the past week, developed a serious dislike of my post office. It's really busy, there are only three counter people, and they are s o o o o s l o o o o o w. Most of them are nice enough, but that's part of their problem--they should stop chatting and get a move on. I just watch them gabbing away and I'm like, "There is no way someone can talk that much for an entire shift. What exactly IS their hiring process? Do they stick the person in a room and see how long they can carry on a conversation with themselves?"
So, I have twenty minutes. I am the second person in line. Two of the clerks are in transactions with people that take the ENTIRE TIME. Finally the guy in front of me heads to the third clerk. And, finally--after, mind you, TEN people have lined up behind me--the third window is clear. As I start to walk to it, the woman takes out a sign. Window Closed. The hell? I sigh, go back to line. Wait another minute before it becomes apparent that I'm going to be late if I stay any longer.
I mean, that's just ridiculous. But it's not like the PO is really a real business. It's not like I can be like, "I've had such bad service and had to wait 35 minutes, I'm not going there anymore." I have to go there. I suppose I could use UPS or FedEx, but that just wouldn't make sense for what I'm mailing (i.e. books). I mean, I've learned not to go after four or around noon, but 2:30 on a Tuesday shouldn't yield a twenty minute wait when I only had one person in front of me. GRRRR.
I get back for my meeting, go to lunch, and proceed to get in an entirely ridiculous argument with my sister because I'm so agitated that she's the easiest person to yell at.
I finally calm down by closing time. But that doesn't go easily and I'm stuck in the freaking basement for twenty minutes rebooting a computer that wasn't properly shut down. I finally leave quite late and decide to grab take-out from this cafe across the street.
And this is where I turn into a raging bitch.
This cafe--they are slow. They are SO slow that I rarely go there, never would order a cooked item, and god forbid someone in front of you wants one of their specialty frozen yogurts, where they mix it themselves. Since all I want is a salad, I figure I'm fine.
WRONG WRONG WRONG.
Three people in front of me order fro-yo.
I order salad with a side of hummus.
Two people behind me order fro-yo.
The woman just keeps taking people's orders without making any move to the kitchen. Finally another woman appears.
The first woman makes the LAST people's yogurts. Then starts on the first people's. I am doing the crossword, trying to ignore my grumbling stomach.
Finally I go stand by the counter, waiting for them to acknowledge me. More people come in for yogurt.
"Um....can I please get my salad?"
I would say at least fifteen minutes and six customers have gone by.
"Oh, this is yours?"
It's been sitting there, with the hummus, on the back counter.
"Yes..." I say through gritted teeth. I mean, really. Was I supposed to guess that it was ready? Is it really my part of this equation to have to ask my salad?
"Oh, do you want dressing?"
"No, I'll just take it, thank you."
She meanders over to the plasticware.
"I don't need that. Just the salad."
"Napkin? You sure you don't want dressing?"
"No. I just. want. my. salad."
I'm sure I look like a raging bitch, but seriously? I'm hungry. I've ordered dinner. It's ten o' fucking clock. I really think that the frozen yogurt could have waited a minute because those people have OBVIOUSLY ALREADY EATEN DINNER and were AFTER me.
I finally get home and flick on the kitchen light, which promptly blows out. Fabulous.
I turn on my living room light. Sit down, turn on the Sox game, and begin eating my salad, which I don't even want anymore because I'm so pissed off.
Three minutes later, my living room lamp blows out. I don't even make a move to find another source of light.
I just sit there, bathed in the glow of the TV, blindly stabbing my fork into the bowl of spinach until I start laughing at how ridiculous I must look.

And then I call my sister to apologize.
I feel guilty about my attitude toward the cafe lady, but seriously, they need a better system.
And the PO can just suck it.

[ETA: Coincidentally, two of the blogs I link to have recent posts about getting slightly irrationally bitchy. At least I'm not the only one. Thank god I'm not the only one.]