Going "post"al...

Listen up, people, I have something I need to get off my chest...and no it's not my bra, scumbags...I effing hate Post-It Notes. That's right, I hate Post-It Notes and I'm not ashamed to admit it! Sure, they come off all innocent and cute with their pinks and blues and yellows. Hell, they even make you think they're helpful, they have a compact shape and a gummy residue that's good for stickin, but that's a bunch of malarkey, if you ask me. Let me break it down for you...

Okay, so the Post-It seems like a good idea at first...you answer the telly in your office, it's for a co-worker who happens to be tied up(not literally unless you work for an S and M mag), you offer voicemail, the person on the phone is suspicious of voicemail(this happens to me every day and will probably soon be the subject of a boog), you offer to take the message manually, you dig up a Post-It pad, scribble down the info, pull the note off the pad and stick it somewhere so that you'll be sure to see it, therefore remembering to tell your tied-up co-worker. And no, smart asses, you don't bring it over to the other person's desk, you are in the middle of something...and yes, checking Facebook is something! Plus, it's their message, they can haul their cookies the 27 steps over to your desk and retrieve it themselves. You might be a message service, but you sure as shit ain't no delivery service...oh snap! Anycheeto, 15 minutes go by(it takes that long to untie someone usually) and your co-worker is no longer tied up...and you no longer remember that you took a message. Your memory is jogged 20 minutes later, when you decide to "post" a boog...you say to your co-worker "Oh crap, I have a message for you...it's from...shit...crap...it's from...shit...no, not really, stop making me laugh I'm trying to find your message! Dammit, it was, oh jeez that lady, with the talking, you know, she says words...and talks...come on, you know who I'm talking about!" and while your bumbling your way through your self-induced office charades, you're frantically searching for the Post-It that you put in a place where you'd be sure to see it. Only by this time, the first layer of gummy has faded enough for it to fall, and in all your desk rustling, the Post-It has affixed itself to bottom of your keyboard somehow, only you don't know it because how the eff would a Post-It get under your keyboard, right? So there you sit, scurrying around your desk like Choco the hamster(R.I.P. buddy!), clawing at papers, inadvertently shredding them into a desk-nest while in search of the rogue Post-It. Your co-worker, no longer amused since this has been going on for a half hour, is now standing over you and she starts naming people it could have been. This only causes more panic, you start opening drawers, flinging files about, you rip through your garbage can as if you accidentally chucked your grillz in there(what, grillz aren't appropriate work-wear? well no one told me!), you stand up, hoping the birds-eye view will help you spot the Post-It, but no...it's nowhere to be found. Your co-worker has now resigned herself to the fact that you may never find it and is hoping the person will call back. Defeated, you sit down, wipe the sweat from your brow, put your shirt back on, take a drink of water, grab a couple Advil with shaky hands, but you drop the Advil...one rolls under your keyboard and...eureka...the Post-It has been spotted! You yelp with glee to your co-worker, waving the Post-It about and in your exuberance, you knock the other Advil to the floor. You push back your chair to get it, it's too far underneath the desk, you have to Army crawl, you come up triumphant with the Advil...but where the f*ck is the Post-It now? Somehow, it's on your back, only you don't know it because who can see their own back? No one, that's who! And you don't know that it's on your back until you leave to go to the bathroom 2 hours later and someone goes "What's on your back? Hey, that looks like a Post-It Note!", but you're not happy about it because by this time your co-worker has already missed the chance to go see a free showing of "The Women" because that's what the call was about and no matter how many times you tell her that you heard that movie sucks she doesn't care, because free is free.

Okay, so that last part about "The Women" didn't really happen, and I might be exaggerating a smidge, but you get the idea. Those friggin Post-Its get stuck in the damndest places, onto papers, the front of my desk, onto my Binaca, in Whitey's butt, and wouldn't you know I almost faceplanted into the printer when one latched onto the bottom of my flip flop. And, no lie, I have had Post-It Notes stuck on almost every part of my body, my hair, my back, my elbows, my leg...hell, if I were ever inclined to sit at work nakey, I would have really had Post-Its stuck on every part of my body...hey oh!

Maybe it's just me who has these troubles with Post-Its...maybe I'm the only one with a stack of Post-Its thick enough to hold a window up...or prop a door open...or be used a booster seat for a wee child in place of a phone book...okay, that's probably stretching it. But if it is just me, then maybe it's time to go back to my old high-school note taking standard...on my hands...in ink or permanent marker...how very professional of me!