The Battle Hymn of the Infertile.

  Warning! This blog can't be read without this song "Safe and Sound," by Electric President running in the background.

                                            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnUdlFdTWcA

I would consider myself a reasonably strong person.  With the exception of my bosses, boss there is not much out there that intimidates me, makes me cry or breaks me down. I take a lot of pride in being strong, resourceful and able to handle tremendous amounts of stress that would cripple most. I'm battle hardened but not weary. 

Except, that's not entirely true. That's what I tell myself every day. Everyday-when I go to work and lead my team of amazing battle ponies. It is what I say to myself everyday when I lead my household of reluctant feral Man-children towards the road to something that resembles civility. I am a warrior in high heels. A woman. Fearless- Unstoppable- Unbreakable- I am a survivor of a multitude of devastating huricanes and tsunamis that have crashed upon the sandy shores of my being...exposing the rocks...leaving me somewhat jagged, but better for it. Sturdy. Predictable. Honest. Immovable in the face of a storm.

I am in control over every part of my life.

Except one. This one tiny thing. The smallest, easiest thing in the world literally brings me to my knees...  Like a butterfly crushing a diamond into sand.

So small it is measured on a microscopic level; the egg meeting the foreign invader and creating a life almost like magic. Except I am...

Broken.

Hopeless.

The ability to conceive and bare children, is something I do not posses. The very physical thing that sets women apart from men, the thing so many women take for granted, the one thing that is so easy that even a monkey can do it- is the one thing I simply can not do and I am mad as fucking hell about it.

Over the years I have had wide range of emotions; unexpected emotional side effects if you will. Fear, Anger, Depression, Anxiety... the constant feeling of failure and defeat weighing me down like I am carrying wet stones in my pockets. All feelings I never expected to experience over something so small. So small, yet so incredibly large.  A monster I can not slay. I want to take the stones from my pocket and hurl them at this...this monster...this thing... like David slew Goliath, but it's too big, a Leviathan, and I feel so very small in it's face.

I have been to doctors and doctors of doctors. I have been on a cocktail of pills that could almost count as a meal. An edible rainbow in the palm of my hand that promised a bouncing bundle of pure fucking joy at the end.

I have become the queen of the pregnancy test; forming very strict rituals about when and how I take the test. How much urine to collect, how much water to drink before I test, what type of test to take. I strain my eyes looking for that second line, holding the test up to the bathroom light and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger so the plastic test window could catch the light at just the right angle.  That stupid, glorious faded pink line. The line- the one that has the ability to change my life by simply making itself visible. Never shows itself. And I, female warrior extraordinaire of the new millennium, leave the bathroom crushed.

Like sand.

I just want the water to carry me out to sea. Suck me under - take me out with the tide.

I have been pregnant in the past and have had miscarriages. The pain that comes with the loss of an unborn child can not be measured or compared to anything else. It is unique. It is not the same pain a mother feels after losing her child from a long illness or to a war or in a car accident. Each of those carry their own unique pain and set of emotions that simply can not be described or compared to one another. But it is a pain none the less. A deep personal pain that you can not share with anyone else.  The pain I felt, the sadness was so deep that it did indeed carry me out to sea and washed me away with the tide. I lost myself. I stopped going to work. Gained weight, stopped doing anything that I had previously enjoyed like singing karaoke and art. Soon, going out into public became very difficult. Just seeing a baby sent me into waves of guilt and sorrow.  I would burst into tears or begin shaking. I must have looked insane. I was afraid of myself. I couldn't trust myself to not lose it in fornt of people. I let myself down. I let everyone around me down.

So it was just me. Just me the lioness.  Until then, I had never met an enemy I couldn't conquer. Never faced a battle I couldn't win. Never met an obstacle I couldn't overcome. And now I was facing the biggest monster in my life totally alone. I had lost my roar. Lot my ores...lost my mind.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome right?

Only I couldn't.

I was so alone. This was something I could not make the Viking understand.
Or his Parents...
Or mine....
or anyone. I was completly alone. Just me and my failure.


                                                        And a silent watching God.

I wanted so badly to have a baby. To nurse near to my heart. Small dimpled fingers reaching for my face with bright, twinkling, powder blue eyes;  milk bubbling from the corner of a small smile.

After a while the sadness turned into extreme anger. Still hopeless, at least in the baby end of the spectrum. The hard part of me, the gladiator threw out a life line and towed me to the shore. I went back to work. I soldiered on. Forgot about babies as much as I could.

Until today. I had been putting off my yearly doctors visits because it seemed that the act of going there was like visiting enemy territory and giving away my position. Every doctors visit brought more pain, more realization that this one thing was always going to kick my ass. Like superman visiting a Kyrptonite rock museum. So I just didn't go. It's been 5 years.

I sat on the torture table with my baby powdered feet resting on the stirrups, paper gown doing a
shit-tasic job of covering all my assets, my butt literally trying to eat the paper sheets they put down for whatever reason. I remember thinking that I know women who should just resort to buying paper sheets and then the doctor came in while I was giggling like mad to myself.

I was nervous.
Scared.
I already had tears in my eyes and she hadn't even said hi yet.

I was an emotional time bomb ready to explode. I tried to hold it all in, but the water was too strong. the floodgates ruptured from the weight of the rolling tide and I was terrified that I'd drown in it all. It had been so long since I told myself I would not feel this pain. That I would not go back to the doctor. I had been holding this in for so, so long.

She just hugged me.
She hugged me like she knew everything I was going to say but didn't. Something I simply hadn't allowed anyone else to hear or see for fear I'd lose myself again to that dark, dark water.

She hugged me and then she gave me something I had lost when I floated out to sea. Long lost and forgotten.

HOPE.

Throughout the course of our visit she slowly and steadily built a lighthouse on my rocky beach. A guiding light. A beacon. A piercing light so that when I get pulled back out to sea from time to time I can find my way back. And I will...find my way back.

Yes there will be more pills. But she had an energy about the way she spoke, as of she knew that this current course of action was a sure win. She gave me renewed hope and handed me my prescriptions- like a nautical chart and a treasure map-

So here I am again. Captain of my own ship. 

I can not let the Leviathan drag me under; sink my battleship.

The Ever Elusive L.

This is a dramatic reenactment of an actual conversation between a bawz and their subordinate. The Bawz had been trying desparetly to get the subs picture for PR, but it seemed getting a shot of bigfoot was easier.

Bawz: I tried to find you on facebook but couldn't find you. Anyway- we need a picture for our PR team.

Sub: Me? I'm on facebook...hmm can it be any picture?

Bawz: You must be clothed- you are on facebook? You are in super stea;th mode then.

Bawz: Much like that L was in stealth mode just then.

Bawz: It was like Hi fucker you can't see me. I'm the Rambo of the alphabet. I can be silent- I can be invisible....Take the word colonel for example. See me in there? Yes you do, but I have the super fucking ability to make you pronounce me as an R beotch. What now?

Sub: what?

Bawz: See how I can blend in? Like here >>> L7<<< POW! Bet you thought I was a square just then. I'm shaking things up.

Bawz: Here I am again...stea;thy like in...... LlAMA.<<<<POW! What am I? Am I an "L" or an "I" or HOLY SHIT.... I can even be a #1. omg. I can be anywhere!

Bawz:  IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII <<<Was that an "L" or an underscore? You will never know. You will never know where I might be hiding next or what form I can take.

Sub: That was totally random and....probably the stupidest thing I have ever read.

Bawz: Excellent- now about that picture? You gonna send it in or?

Sub: it's in your in-box now.

Bawz: Great because my next step was to sta;k you and take a picture of you pooping.

My Fucking Thor Pez Dispenser

"if you don't stop fucking taking pictures of me I will break Thors little Pez head right the fuck off."

The Emotional Vampire

Emotional Vampires are a real threat people. They can't be taken out with silver bullets, wooden stakes through the heart or by direct sunlight. Don't worry about eating garlic either as the only way to stave off an Emotional Vampire is to pretend you are a bean bag when they come into the room. If you don't breathe, they can't see you. Every family has an Emotional Vampire and they can be found virtually anywhere. Though they do not glitter in the sunlight, you can spot them by the needy looks on their faces and the tiny glass jar of souls they carry with them.

This is the story of a friend of mine who I will name Oz who was nearly killed to death by an Emotional Vampire. Since I can not re-enact these dramatic scenes for you by interpretive dance, I have asked Hobo Harry to draw some pictures for you. Warning: What you are about to read is horrifying...

Oz took on the position as "The Boss" at a magnetic shower curtain plant after her predecessors sudden dissappearance.

It soon became obvious some of her team-members required a little more attention than most.

She met those needs with a smile on a daily basis, even offering Needy special side projects and frequent coaching.

Needy could be impatient and demanding, still Oz was willing to adress Needy's concerns and continued giving her some extra special attention even...

though she was quite busy with her role as "The Boss."

She always made time......

Always....though the constant demands had begun to wear her down.

No place was sacred.

Yup...Oz was still trying to go the extra mile for Needy...though she grew cold form the constant blood loss and could no longer feel her legs.

So cold....so.....dark.

Then one day Needy found out she had sucked all the blood out of Oz. She simply didn't have another drop left. So she drug Oz's body to the Boss of Bosses and declared that she needed a new Oz as this one wasn't suiting her needs anymore. Needy told Oz's boss that Oz never paid attention to her and was a big meany head. Oz was too tired to fight.

The Boss of Bosses had long ago suspected that Needy was behind the dissappearance of Oz's predessesor, but she had no real proof. There was no way to get rid of the beast and since they could not Sparta kick Needy into a deep dark hole, Oz was moved into the basement with the rats for her own protection. There Oz tried to regain her strength and was given a rum and coke transfusion followed by a Bloody Mary. The Office was unable to kill off the Needy so she continued to devour more souls until she had grown too large to fit into the building anymore.




I joke about Emotional Vampireism but it is a really real thing. Chances are you know at least one. Not sure if the person beating down your office door is a vampire? Here is an excerpt from Judith Orloff MD'S site
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judith-orloff-md/how-to-deal-with-draining_b_807069.html :




Types of Emotional Vampires

1. The Narcissist
Their motto is "Me first." Everything is all about them. They have a grandiose sense of self-importance and entitlement, hog attention and crave admiration. They're dangerous because they lack empathy and have a limited capacity for unconditional love. If you don't do things their way, they become punishing, withholding or cold.
2. The Victim
These vampires grate on you with their "poor-me" attitude. The world is always against them, the reason for their unhappiness. When you offer a solution to their problems they always say, "Yes, but..." You might end up screening your calls or purposely avoid them. 
3. The Controller
These people obsessively try to control you and dictate how you're supposed to be and feel. They have an opinion about everything. They'll control you by invalidating your emotions if they don't fit into their rulebook. 
4. The Constant Talker
These people aren't interested in your feelings. They are only concerned with themselves. You wait for an opening to get a word in edgewise but it never comes.
5. The Drama Queen

These people have a flair for exaggerating small incidents into off-the-chart dramas.  Always late for work or absent.


Know anyone who needs constant attention, admiration and praise, even for the really small stuff? Do they act weird around you if you didn't answer their e-mail right away? If you answered yes to any of these questions then you better practice your bean bag skills or move to Antarctica.  

CareBear Stare

So I was in serious need of a good ol Fashioned CareBear Stare. I look back on my posts over the last year and realize what a selfish, ungrateful total bitch I am.  And if you had asked me if I thought I was a good person, I would have said yes. I wasn't. I'm not. I have a lot of growing and learning to do which is mainly why I created this blog. Well, that and I was delusional and thought maybe people would find my narcissistic ramblings humorous and to a degree they are, but re-reading some of them is painful and not just because of the grammatical errors and terrible puns. Growing hurts. I took some time off from blogging and gaming and have been doing some soul searching. I realized that my posts had been increasingly negative, pitiful, and I had been walking around with this poor me chip on my shoulder for far too long. I have been more negative at home and at work and it took a while for me to find the root of it all.

Me. 

How Warcraft Sucked Me Back In and Wood Working...Will Blizz Make It Happen?

 So, WarCraft sucked me back in after almost 6 months of vacation. It started with an e-mail I thought was a scam. "Come Join us Ozmarelda for a Seven Day Free Trial." The e-mail sat in my inbox for a while. But every time I checked to See what Karate Unicorn was up to, there it was...like a beating heart...pulsing. The Viking got one too that he had been trying to ignore as well. Then one day we buckled. There we were sitting at our desk checking our e-mails when suddenly, we looked at each other, making direct eye contact and somehow knew without saying a word that we needed to activate this seven day trial. It had to be done.

Upon logging in, I was supposed to see that all of my toons still had their clothes on. There they were, staring at me. The 5 sisters who were transferred to Grizzly Hills from Arygos against their will then left alone in the black void  created by the guildageddon inevitably brought on by really bad players, ridiculous changes, a terrible immature and inexperienced server and an overly "nice and accommodating" guild leader. The guild was pretty empty. The few surviving members of our guildageddon shown like green nebulas against the pitch black space when I opened the roster. The guild bank seemed....dusty.

Trade chat was still ridiculous, but most servers have their trolls and retards and trade chat queens and kings who scream for attention like unloved children. I ignored the retardation and looked around at a few things, but still...I found I had no desire to be there. I did miss my friends. I had a lot of friends on many servers, whom Blizzards real-ID allowed me to still talk to so I hit them up to say HI! before I dissappeared again.

Whats this you say? A whole new area has opened up? Dailies? blech.

What? They are cool dailies like the on the Isle of QD?

OOOh new gear?

What? More gold?  

New mounts?

This interested me. I had to see what this new place was all about. Now, if you ahve ever rolled with me for any length oftime you'd know how much I hate dailies. I hate dailies so much that I still have never gotten exalted with the Kaluak or the Oracles, or the Netherwing people, or Ogrilla or anyone on purpose. I hate dailies, especially the Oracles because I had to fly all over the effing place. But, I was going to suck it up and give these new dailies a shot.

The quests start out in Hyjal and for some reason my Hunter who had half of those quests completed had to start from scratch. I assumed maybe the quest lines had changed so I did them again with the viking. To my surprise there was a lot of new stuff going on. I even had to save Thrall and once again he is totally not going to remember me, but that quest line was awesome.  I have a toon crush on Thrall and I don't care if I am alliance. Rippling hard body of green muscles...Expressive sky blue eyes. Looking at him is like looking at the rolling green hills of Ireland against the ..(record scratch)

Moving on...

Anyway, once I had phased into the new area called Firelands, I was able to see some of the new stuff Blizz had come out with.

Holy shit.

There are fire spiders, and fiery druid lions and  druid bears, OH MY! And, the dailies are not ridiculous. I mean it, I did not sped a ton of time doing them and I didn’t have to run all over the effing place and the rewards you can get for doing them....amazing. (jazz hands)

So we explored the place some more, accidentally got an achievement called "King of Spider Hill" which was fun as hell to do. I must say, everyone needs to get this achieve or at least try.

What's this? ZG and ZA my all time favorite instance next to Kara have been made into 5 man heroics? And even better I can run with my friends on Arygos and Icecrown if they are on my realID? There are new mounts? There's a reward for tanks and healers (sometimes DPS) if they tank randoms so the wait time is less retarded for DPS? No way.

I ran with my old friends form Arygos and some of the friends I had made on the Hills and it was awesome. A perfect balance except for me noobing it up because I couldn't remember rotation or skills. I am still very skiddish to attempt tanking again for a while since I beat my head against the wall so many times in the heroics before. At least on my hunter if the group is terrible I don't feel like I am responsible for it.

The Viking renewed my account. I was still hesitant, but he was not and so I decided I'd give Blizz 30 days to win me back as 7 days was just not enough. Slowly my guild came back to life. One by one guildies who had left after the guildageddon began logging on.  Guild chat was alive again, vent was reactivated....conversations were happening. Some of the players who were shit terrible now out geared me and were schooling me on rotations. This is good I thought.....I,m not holding hands. I like I like!

and then it happened....

I effing tamed Sambas. That bastard cat I had been hunting for forever landed right in front of me in Twilight Highlands and so did the rare cat in Zul Drak, and the bear in Grizzly Hills,  and the spirit cat in Schollazar. Then I discovered Winterspring has new pets and a mount you can get and the daily grind is not too horrible though I probably still won’t do it.

Ok Blizzard, you win for now. You applied pressure on all of my weak points. I give I give! Friends, pets, old raids, mounts, fun achieves, new goodies and gear. Now...if you can update the holiday events and implement wood working as a trade I'll be hooked for good lol.

Speaking of woodworking. I remember a few Blizzcons back woodowrking was once again brought up and the developers said they just couldn't seem to make it viable. My head exploded with ideas instantly.

I posted this on Blizz forum and they deleted it . ;( I prolly’ put it in the wrong place.

This was an idea I had for woodworking...

Materials:

PETRIFIED WOOD- this can be obtained from mining
DRIFTWOOD -this can be obtained from fishing
BALSAWOOD
NJORNWOOD- these can be obtained by herbalist (possibly sparkly spots on trees or something)
etc.

Parts:

PITCH extractors can be made by engineers that allow woodworkers to either extract the pitch from trees or stacks of wood much like how ore is prospected and herbs are milled.
WOODEN NAILS
WHEELS
DOWELS
TONGUE AND GROOVE

How they can benefit other professions;

Miners and blacksmiths or engineers could make Nails,
sandpaper, bolts and rivets.

Leatherworkers could supply leather and belts for various projects

Tailors supply the needed cloth

Enchanters dust and other shiney stuff and so on...

Items to be crafted;

Fishing:

FISHING POLES +200,100,50.

BOBBERS +10 or more

FISHING CHAIR (allows players to sit in a chair a little less cool then the one offered in the TCG game.)

FISHING TACKLE BOX all items related to fishing, chair inc. can be placed in this one magic box to save space!

Mounts:

LEONARDO DaVINCI FLYING MACHINE that's what the game is missing...oh so cool

TROJAN HORSE allows 5 players to ride in this jumbo wooden horse with a cool down ofcourse. there could even be an achievement for it called "Trojan Man"  (don't ban me for that)

BOATS can carry a player a little faster over the water than a mount with water walking

SMALL CAR? powered by mechanical squirrels?

Boxes:

JEWELRY BOX a gem bag of sorts for jewel crafters.

TREASURE CHEST mail or give multiple items to a player in these like gift wrap.

CRATES these are like icey prisms to a jc'er. They can have nails, wood, glue or recipes inside.

Weapons:

CROSSBOWS
STAFFS
WANDS
POLEARMS

WOODEN TRAINING SWORDS these can be BOA items that can increase weapon skill ups on target dummies to a point, can also possibly grant xp. (OLD IDEA)

Toys:

GARDEN GNOMES these spontaneously come to life and kick you and while in statue form can be punted.

TOY TRAIN SET

SMALL WOODEN BOY named Pistachio the small boy orc who’s head randomly gets huge AND kicks the garden gnomes and chases cats.
TOY CARS

BUNNIES, SQUIRRELS AND CATS these have a chance to come to life and permanently stay that way.

TOY BOATS (per son's request)

Jewelry and Extras:

PENDANTS can be added to neck epics to offer small bonuses
TOTEMS
IDOLS

TABLETS these offer a place for all those low level scrolls people pick up. 5 smaller ones can be added by an inscriptionist to this tablet to make one more powerful spell.

Random:

BARRELS OF BREW and PONY KEGS

PICNIC BASKET you can place all your cooking mats and supplies in this to save bag and bank space. takes one slot instead of 50.

CAMPFIRE your so awesome with the wood everyone is cooking and cooking fast.
TENTS because they are cool, could offer small amount of rested xp.

BUNDLES OF WOOD maybe help other to cook faster...was running out of ideas.

And lastly they could provide these mats for other professions:

wooden dowels, cogs, knobs, levers, wheels, buttons, shoehorns, buckles and syrup/glue.

 

The Sunday Crowd

       I found this in my computer.  My writing instructor in college asked me to write about my biggest pet peve. It was and still is manners, though my views have changed a bit. I have  learned a good company does it's very best to have little for customers to complain about and I realize it is my job to make them happy, or at least try really hard, even if the customer is unreasonable, rude and entitled and I do it with a smile.                    

                                          Doesn’t anyone practice manners anymore?

                                        By: Ozmarelda Korvinos

 

“Gimme’ a giant pepperoni and a half order of spuds.” She says, chewing her gum obnoxiously while fumbling through her purse. I stand there looking at her blankly until she looks up at me, mirroring my expression. “That’s all!” her head shakes making her double chin quiver as she blurts out at me impatiently. I stand my ground. I will not, I repeat, will not continue on with this order until this “church going uppity pants” says a simple please and thank you. Even if she half mutters it, I’ll be happy. I will press the pay button with my handy-dandy light pen, hand her the drinks and give her tickets to the cook.  

It’s becoming a trend with people these days and like a gallant crusader I plan to battle it, the monster named “ill mannered.” People come to my counter and act like barbaric idiots. They are rude and impatient, offer strained smiles and rarely do I hear these magical words, “may I, no thank you” or a simple, “yes please!” These words have been replaced with, “gimme’, yeah, and hell no!”

The worst part is that for some reason, Sundays are the worst days of all.

One would think that Sunday the church crowd will come in and it will be a nice easygoing day. Birds will come in and sing us songs and Jesus himself will come in and pass the garlic bread and turn our watered down diet Pepsi to White Zinfandel. These church people, so pissed off that they had to pay their tithing, sit in wood pews with whiney hot children for two hours, come into this fine family restaurant with an attitude of biblical proportions, apparently forgetting everything they have just learned. Lessons like doing unto others and the like. They come up to the counter with scrunched up faces and pinched expressions as if they’re coming in to a dentist appointment. These same people will come in and rearrange our tables while glaring at us for having our blessed tables so far apart. How dare we not rearrange our dining area for them because they go to church and God is their best friend.

These same people feel the need to complain about everything. “Do we really need to have football on the television? How about some nice 3ABN?” Keep in mind that this is football season and this is Sunday. Some people go to Abby’s to watch football and they go to church to talk about God and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna’ watch some doe eyed, red-headed lady on television tell me that making sweater vests gets me closer to heaven. I feel that since God just chewed them out for two hours for doing the senseless and immoral, they are coming into this fine family restaurant with a bible-sized chip on their shoulders. No one likes to be humbled. No one likes to recognize their own shortcomings, so leave church and head to this fine family restaurant with a guilty conscience. Maybe   they just got tired and impatient at church. Maybe they just really wanted to be at home watching football or knitting heavenly sweaters while listening to Tammy Faye Baker give testimonials on her gluttonous makeup days.

Nothing is good enough for these people. The coffee is too strong, the chickens too crunchy, they didn’t get enough ranch with their mini pizza or our beets are dyed and we just can’t serve dyed beets. These are just a few of the ridiculous complaints commonly heard on a Sunday.

They also make the worst messes I have ever seen. I didn’t even know people could make messes like these and still call themselves homosapiens! Not only do they rearrange the dining room, but somehow they manage to get salad, ranch, pizza, spuds, chicken, napkins, plates, cups and crayons all over the place. Our highchairs have more food crammed in them than what actually got into the child. Some parents will skip giving the child a plate all together and will in turn just dump the Jell-O and cottage cheese onto the table. I shudder when I see this. These are the same people who wonder why their toddler is always sick with something.

In most cases, a family will try to consolidate their mess into a single pile in the center of the table. I am thinking because they don’t want us to think that they are slobs.

One would think that people would get embarrassed if others saw them leave behind a huge god-awful mess. Not the case on Sundays. These tables look like Slimer from

“Ghost Busters” sprinted through there. They do the same to the salad bar. Sometimes I think they just stuck their faces in the crocks and ate out of them.

All I want is for people to say please and thank you and not start a sentence off with gimme’ this or gimme’ that. You can bet that if their children were to say gimme’ this or gimme’ that to them, that child would be corrected immediately. I want people to ask themselves if it is really necessary to complain about things. I am not saying that complaints are not valid. If we screw up on something than we ought to fix it, but telling us that we shouldn’t serve dyed beets is a bit much. I want parties of thirty to not show up 15 minutes till closing and stay an hour after we’re closed.

I just want people to be courteous and think of others. I want to see some

Goddamned manners! Is that too much to ask?

I stare at this woman in front of me. I listen to her sigh as she looks back at me exasperated. I tilt my head “will that be all for you ma’am?” I say offering a false smile.

“Yeah, I already said that!” she says, replacing her blank stare with confusion. I know that she is asking herself right at this moment, “What the hell is wrong with this girl?” I am asking myself the same thing about her.

“Thank you for being so polite and your manners, well, your parents would be proud! We will have that ready for the trough in 30 minutes.” I say as my manager drags me across the kitchen by my shirt.