Oops. Today will probably go on my permanent record. It was an easy, breezy day at the Greenhouse today. Assemble some equipment, perform a bit of maintenance, balance your chest on a bench while you tilt your head upside-down to find a LAN cable that was right here just a second ago... it was the sort of good, productive day that makes you feel like you traded a spit-handshake with karma.
That's why I was in a good mood as I walked through the hallway this afternoon. There was a spring in my step and a song in my heart. One of my superiors (probably my supervisor's manager's team leader's boss, if the org chart stayed still long enough for me to read it) commented on my cheerful countenance: "Be careful, Denton," he cautioned, "you'll never get a promotion unless you start looking more stressed out!"
"Right," I replied, and then I immediately slumped my shoulders, staggered around, and started pounding on a concrete wall with my fists. I must have been putting my heart into it, too, because I've still got pins and needles in my right hand even as I type this.
I'm not sure if my response was the correct one, but it happened before I had a chance to correct myself. There's something I'd like to point out, however, that will hopefully distract you all from my remarkably poor judgement:
When asked on the spot to demonstrate signs of stress, I have absolutely no idea how to proceed, instead confusing it with lunatic rage.
Perhaps this is proof that I really do have a good time at work... either that, or it's proof that my old mates in Grande Prairie really needed a few extra long weekends.