A rant. You'd probably do well to ignore it.

A few weeks ago I exchanged a faulty headlamp at a local store for a new one. That was good, because I didn't even have a receipt and the one I got had a free mini-light that came with it. Yay. Well screw it because that brand new light was broken when it came out of the box! There are three LEDs on it and only two ever light up. Booooo. So today during my strict 1/2 hour alottment of time for "lunch," I sauntered over to the store to make another exchange (this time with a proper receipt HAHHA) but when I get there, it looks like the damned Trail of Tears, there are so many people in line for customer service that I'd never have time to wait for the exchange and then get back to my cubicle hell. I thought a few times about just going upstairs to where they have literally, a big BIN of these lights, and switching the one I have for another of the same color from the bin. It was easy, I saved everyone some time, and I got the light I wanted. However, I then thought of the security cameras that were watching me shiftily with my hands in my pockets, fondling the box with the old light in it ... and there were stickers on the boxes of the new lights warning of a security tag inside that would summarily cause Hell to break loose if I were to so much as think about mucking about unwelcome in the bin-o-lights. If I risked it and someone even stopped me for five minutes to explain myself, I'd probably be late getting back to work and possibly be giving the powers that be the very reason they were looking for to fire me (even though I've already in effect quit as of this past Monday ... hmm). SOO, I left the light situation be and headed out to procure some lunch, for I had not made one this morning before leaving the apartment and I was in the mood for Subway. So I wandered. And I wandered. And I wandered some fricking more, but learned that there was apparently no Subway where coworkers of mine had told me I would find one. Hot from wearing a warm jacket and cold from walking in the frigid air, I headed back to my building, the biggest, baddest shiniest monument to corporate ostentatiousness in the immediate area, lightless and hungry. After my circuitous pilgrimage through the parking lot (I don't have the proper clearance to get in the back door, thus I spent an extra three minutes milling around in the garage to find the right door) My Subway plans thwarted, I dashed into the cafeteria to assemble a salad of lettuce, spinach, broccoli, ham, tuna, croutons, cheese, and a little potato salad. I paid. I returned to my desk as the chronograph on my watch displayed 29:59. Damn, that was close. Three bites later, my salad was on the floor, the container overturned by a dastardly trick of gravity. Who would have guessed that the egg halves would be more dense than the potato salad? Perhaps if I had factored in the slope of the chair relative to the mass of the tuna, ham, and croutons respectively, I could have avoided the unfortunate dumpage. Perhaps I was just in the mood to give something for the cleaning people to do later.