What is it about work that brings out another person?
Seriously, at work, I'm crazy about working clean. I get annoyed at my coworkers for not scrubbing the plates before they go in the rack. I get mad when I see a thing of chocolate sauce go into the dishwasher without a thorough rinsing because now the sanitizing liquid is all chocolatey and that's not fucking sanitary anymore is it? How can you call the sinks clean if you're going to spend the next three hours doing dishes in it? How are you going to just mop over that raisin some kid squished into the floor and pretend it's not there?
In the meantime, my house is a fucking wreck. Stove's all greasy, counters are all scuddy, the floor's got cat hair and coffee grounds all over the place. Why can't I bring that sense of order and functionality home with me?
It's like I'm two different people. Pain in my balls, it is.
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