So I flipped the light switch on to get a clear view of the mouse. A couple flaws with that plan (which didn’t occur to me until after I was fully awake, as I clearly was not when I concocted this crazy plan):
1) I had to actually come within 2 feet of the mouse to turn on the light. So after I saw it on the ground, I continued to walk TOWARD it in order to turn on the light.
2) I neglected to consider that the mouse might ALSO see the light and scurry away instead of hanging out for me to inspect its rodentness.
Fortunately for my middle of the night illogical logic, it was not a mouse. Quit squirming in your chairs. It was a travel pack of Kleenex that had fallen off the counter. You can understand how I could be confused, as tissues wrapped in cellophane have an uncanny resemblance to furry tailed rodents. People have been confusing the two for many, many years. Hey, it made sense in the middle of the night.
I have avoided them for WEEKS! Part of the beauty of my plan was that I would leave them in my drawer at work, and since I have been traveling lately, I didn’t have access to them. Of course, I could have driven to my office to rescue them, but that would have been CRAZY. It even seemed crazy when it crossed my mind this weekend, but fortunately (in this case), I am lazy and the prospect of driving to work seemed like… well, too much work. But now – they are RIGHT there… if I roll my chair to the right, I can reach them. And there are starving children in this world – it would be a waste to let these cookies go stale. I suppose I could send the cookies to them, but think of all the gas and packaging materials that would have to go into the shipment – and I would have a tough time contributing to global warming even if it was for the cause of reducing world hunger. Competing priorities.
I should go. I have to rescue those poor helpless Samoas (I am protesting their new lame-o name – I anticipate they will bring it back next year due to the revolution) from my drawer. Give them a better home – um, my stomach? Or I guess it would probably be more like my hips or my rump shaker. A technicality.
One of those things that makes my day significantly better…
Opening the door to the bathroom stall at work and finding the toilet seat still up. Not because we have a coed bathroom (do you think I am Ally McBeal?) but because nobody has used the seat since the cleaners came through. How beautiful - a pristine seat gleaming at me, untouched by any other behind. Not that I can even validate that the cleaners actually clean the seat – they might just raise it so they can squirt the blue cleaner into the bowl without dripping and leaving the evidence. Or, they might wipe it with a nasty rag. Or, they might wipe it with a paper towel and no cleaner. But I like to think they squirted every square inch with antimicrobial cleaner and wiped it down with a clean rag/fresh paper towel. Let me live my dream.
Now you know what makes my day. I’m a simple girl.
Upon arriving home from my March Madness trip to SoCal (southern California for those of you who live outside of Ahnold’s jurisdiction), I found a puffy package in my mailbox. I ripped it open, hopeful that it was my long lost (okay, fine, only five days, but it seemed like forever) wallet. Except that it felt kind of skinny – and it was. No money inside. Not that I expected it. When I resigned myself to the fact that my wallet was not in any of the four thousand pockets of my purse/laptop bag/suitcase, I proclaimed, “I don’t care if they take all the money, I just want to get my license back so I don’t have to stand in line at the DMV.”
So why was I so bummed to find a cashless wallet? Perhaps because when I looked at the return address, there was none! It said “Sender Not Identified, General Delivery, San Francisco.” Question is: why didn’t the mysterious good(ish) samaritan not want to be identified?
1) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel found the wallet without cash in it and didn’t want to be accused of taking his own reward (my mother’s theory).
b) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel is wildly famous and didn’t want to draw attention to his celebrity status to avoid appearing in the latest issue of US Weekly as a hero.
iii) Good(ish) Samaritan Daniel took his reward in advance.
For those of you who guessed iii, 3, or c - you are right! Well, I don't KNOW that you are right, but I am 99.99999 (repeating) percent sure that this is the correct option. Even considering the statistical variance of .000001 percent, you are still right. A+++++ right. And here I am - missing my cash, but still in possession of my newly renewed license, all my cancelled credit cards, my blood donor card, my library card and the receipt from my grocery store allowing me to get a 10 cent discount per gallon on my next gasoline purchase. Good news is that Daniel will not be donating pints of blood under the auspices of yours truly, I will not have exorbitant library tabs run up in my name and my next gas purchase will likely be below four bucks a gallon (if I go today - if I wait until tomorrow it might be $5.39/gallon). Other good news is that I no longer have a lingering concern that I will have to do something amazing to pay back the good karma that I received for getting my wallet back – I am confident that Daniel voided the karma exchange by taking all the cash out of my wallet.
The moral of this story is (it is a simple one): don’t lose your wallet.
And based on my last post, you might be wondering if I am out of town… well, yes, yes I am. Today is my last day (supposedly) on my project in San Francisco, and I am flying out of Sacramento tonight for 2 fabulous days of March Madness (more on that in a later post - yes, as the writer's strike came to an end and finally we will have good TV again, you will have new blog posts to read from yours truly).
To retrace my steps (which I have done a hundred times): I had an early meeting this morning (6:30am to be exact) at the office. I got up early, thought I had enough time to get ready, pack, get out of the hotel and walk to the office (about a 15 minute walk). Of course I miscalculated, AND when I got outside I realized it is still dark at 6:20am. Damn you, daylight savings time, damn you (except at night when it is still light out, then you are fine, daylight savings time). So I got a cab.
I know I had my wallet out in the cab, because I got my money out to pay the driver. And then, when I went to get my wallet around 9:20am (I mistimed everything this morning and 2 meetings later, still hadn’t had breakfast), it was not there. I went through all my bags over and over… searched the floor, searched the offices I had been in… nothing. I started to panic… I called the hotel, went out and looked on the street in front of my office building (right… like a wallet would have just laid untouched on a city sidewalk for 3.5 hours), called the taxi company (which I think was the taxi I took, but I can’t say for sure)… seriously? Is this happening to me?
Then I called Scout and 1) asked him to get my shiny new passport from home so that I could board the plane tonight and 2) asked him if I should start canceling my cards. Which I had to make a list of, and I am not sure it is complete. Do you know what cards you have in your wallet?
Dialed the first 800 number and spent 3 minutes trying to get through the “please enter your account number” prompts. Finally got through after endlessly pretending I was calling from a rotary phone by ignoring the menu selections, explained to the girl that I was reporting a lost card and then... she asked me for my account number. I held back the rage and said again, “I LOST my card, so I don’t HAVE it to give the number to you.” 37 security questions later, card is cancelled. One down, three to go. Second verse, worse than the first… joint card w/ Scout yielded a crazy customer service rep who was practically yelling at me. I hung up on her, called Scout and told him he had to call in to those crazy peeps because I couldn’t deal with them. Subsequent craziness so on and so forth with the other cards…
At home for lunch, Scout noticed a message on our home phone. It was Daniel – he said he found my wallet. But he didn’t leave his phone number (and I think we are the only people in the world who don’t have caller ID on our home phone). Of course he didn't leave his number. Why would he? It's not like people with missing wallets need them. So I told Scout to leave a new message on our answering machine: “You have reached Scout and nro – if this is Daniel and you found nro’s wallet, please call her cell phone at 867-5309.” I guess it is good that he found it, but it would have been exponentially more helpful if he left a contact number. Is that asking too much? I guess I should be happy that someone was responsible and respectable enough to attempt contacting me at all. But I will reserve final judgement until I have my wallet in my possession.
Hopefully I will get my wallet back – any bets on whether my cash will be there or not?
How do you reenter a party after a lengthy absence? Do you just slip into the room and hope that among the craziness, nobody noticed you were missing? I was going to just slip into the room, but after getting an email from a faithful reader asking if “nothing random was going on in my world” lately, I thought you might all wonder where I have been (and if not, you can either continue reading just to indulge my self-flattery or traipse off to the never ending fun of youtube).
[editor's note: As I was posting this, I just got another email wondering where I have been and if I am okay. Nice to know I am loved.]
Busy, busy, busy in my random world lately. Much that I would have loved to write about, but as those thoughts were floating around in my head, they never quite made it to (virtual) paper. I have been traveling to San Francisco these past few weeks. It is about a 2 hour drive in the middle of the night with nobody else on the road, 3 hours if you try to go during the working man shift. Since I can’t even stay up to watch the 10 o’clock news, I go during normal people awake hours. The train has been a savior – takes a little longer, but I don’t have to pay attention or deal with traffic. And I’m saving the environment! Maybe – not sure how fuel efficient the trains are, but the little paper slips they put my tickets in have shiny advertisements that lead me to believe I am backing Al Gore. Never mind all the paper wasted in printing those shiny ads…
After figuring out how to park my car, use that squirrelly parking self pay machine (well, after Officer Fong added 2 parking tickets to his quota for the month courtesy of yours truly), get my train tickets, know where and what time my stop is at, how to transfer, where the bathrooms are, where the snack car is, which seats are best, how to make sure that nobody sits next to me… what? You thought I just hopped on the train and went? This blog isn’t called nothing random overlooked for no reason. I consider all things mundane and irrelevant to others – powered by the tiny hamster wheels spinning in my head. After all that, I am now able to do the trip on autopilot, and have collected my thoughts on the activities of my fellow environment saving passengers.
Following are the rules of the rails...
- Sleeping (please try not to snore or drool)
- Gazing out the window as we cruise through the vast farmland, rolling green hills (before they turn brown for the summer) or along the beautiful and no longer oil filled bay
- Reading the paper – I have always thought that reading the paper is such a grown up activity, so if adulthood is measured by newspaper reading, I am probably about 5 years old. They look fun, but trying to open and flip and fold those humongous sheets of paper, having to locate the last 2 sentences to the article on the front page among the personals just seems like a lot of work. And I don’t like getting the ink on my hands. Okay, okay, AND I like just clicking around on the internet to read the news. Truly a member of the digital age here.
- Talking quietly on your cell phone. I said QUIETLY. I don’t care what you are having for dinner, how long your mother in law is visiting for, what your stock portfolio did in today’s market.
- Work on your laptop – although I will not be working, because I can only work in an office. Personal policy.
- Surf the internet – don’t mind my lustful gaze at your aircard, for I am sure that I could accomplish much internet reading during my travels.
Please DO NOT:
- Clip your nails – although I have no issues permanently damaging my hearing by blasting my (not)iPod, there is not a setting powerful enough to drown out the clipping sound of clipping nails. And I know you are not picking up all your fingernail remnants, buddy. Yeah, you. Leave the clippers at home – just pretend you are flying and they are not allowed on board.
- Board the train without showering in the past 24 hours. When the doors shut, we are all sharing the same air. Your BO is just too much to handle. Plus, it might be undoing all the environment saving, as you are contaminating the air.
- Talk LOUDLY on your phone (see item 5 above).
- Sit next to me. Even if you have neutral body odor.
Um, they just announced a derailment yesterday in the area we are passing through right now. Perhaps I should read the news more often. Happy rails to you!
I pulled them right off the bed.
But now they have a pinkish hue,
And as for me, I’m feeling quite blue.
I did not buy sheets that were pink…
This really stinks!
Don't think I painted my ENTIRE living room - just half of it. I wanted to see if I really really REALLY liked it before painting the whole room. Phase 3 of deciding if I like the color has commenced. From the posterboard test to the square on the wall to an entire wall. Doesn't everyone do that? No? Just me? No wonder Scout looks at me like I have three heads...
So, I am having paint panic. Do I like it? Yes. Do I love it? Not yet. Will I love it? Not sure. I suppose I should finish painting the rest of the room (phase 4 of this obviously life altering decision).
In case you are wondering what it is supposed to look like: this is where I got the idea. On my walls, however, I feel like it looks more pastel-y than in the picture. Although Easter is coming up, that was not the look I was going for. (Yes, I recognize that ending a sentence in a preposition is a first class grammar offense, but I have been inhaling many fumes lately, so that is my excuse.)
More to come on the ongoing paint saga...
So imagine my surprise when I saw the little blue holiday marked on my calendar at work! I was giddy all day on Tuesday in anticipation of this free day. I immediately sent an IM to Scout so I could rub it in his face. You know, cause I love him and all, but really... he has to go to work and I don't... that is worth some gloating!
Now, what should I do with my day? I have so many plans, and so little time...
1. I could shop. The commercials tell me I should shop. Everyone knows that presidents like to shop, and as such, retailers have big SALES to celebrate this holiday. Even our current president thinks I should shop - he is even giving me $600 (Or maybe $1200 if I get the mail first and don't say anything to Scout... but I probably have to split the dough with the other half that qualifies me for the "married" status - especially now that he has read this) to spend however I want! I have yet to receive said money for spending, but if I charge it, and then pay interest on it until I receive my check from the expeditious government processing department, then I could share my economic stimulation with the financial industry, too! It's a win-win! But I don't want to commit to my first idea - I would like to keep my options open...
2. I could park my ass on the couch and finish season six of 24. Which I want to do and don't want to do all at the same time. I love love love Jack Bauer (who doesn't? and if you don't, what is wrong with you?), but if I finish season six, there is nothing to look forward to. Since I have only watched the show on DVD, I always knew that when I finished a season, I could start the next one whenever I started to get the shakes and go through beep...boop...beep...boop withdrawal. But when this one is over, there is nothing to look forward to... it is the end. With the writer's strike (I know it is over, but do you think they are going to write the whole next season in a day?) and Keifer in jail (I know he's out, but I'm making a point here!), it is going to take forEVER to get season seven. And what, you expect me to watch it LIVE? Please. Wait from week to week and actually have a use for the "previouslies" instead of scoffing at them because I just saw that scene seventeen minutes ago? But I can't watch them without Scout, so on to plan B (or plan 3, as it may be)...
3. I could drive over to Santa Rosa to watch Stage 2 of the Tour of California. I could rent a Winnebago and get a cute little table and sit on the side of the road with a baguette and a bottle of wine, toasting the peleton as they zoom by in a swift collection of colorful spandex. I like this idea, because I could make a sign. But I am going to the prologue at Stanford University on Sunday, so maybe two days of driving 4+ hours to watch other people exercise is a bit much...
4. I could paint my living room. For the past 14 months, I have been talking about painting the living room. The previous owners had it painted an orangey rust color. A perfectly fine color - I mean, it wasn't chartreuse or cotton candy pink or anything heinous like that - just not a color I want to look at all day. I fell in lust with a beautiful paint color on one of those home shows. You know, the ones where you can renovate a room in half an hour without even getting paint all over your clothes (as long as you have a TV crew on hand). The show was kind enough to post the paint color specifics on their website, so I went down to my local home improvement store and bought a tiny sample. A cute little paint can that fits in the palm of your hand and gives the illusion that painting is a dainty task. I brought my miniature paint can home and painted a couple swatches of posterboard to tape to the wall. (I told you I always have posterboard on hand - you didn't believe me?) After tilting my head to the left, then to the right, about 115 times from 47 different angles, I decided I like the color. Kind of. And Scout proclaimed that he liked the color enough to paint a section of the wall to see if we REALLY like it before we paint the whole room. So I did. Well, technically I painted a couple sections of a couple walls. To see it in different lights. And next to different things in the room (fireplace, floor, furniture). What I neglected to consider before graffitiing my wall with squares of paint was that I will either have to paint the whole room by the end of the month, or paint it back to the orangey rust color before hosting RunnerGirl's baby shower. So, maybe I will be painting on Monday.
Happy Friday! (or, um, if you are reading this on another day of the week... Happy whatever day today is!)
Recap from the discussion hubs and I were having last night:
Him: So, what time is the flight tomorrow?
Me: (confusion - looking around, as if the walls are going to illuminate with my trusty planner's contents and tell me why he is leaving on a business trip on a Thursday, and I have no recollection of this... but all I eek out is:) HUH?
Him: Aren't you whisking me away to Paris?
Me: Oh... hey, that's MY line... and no, we aren't going to Paris. I sent my passport in to be renewed, so I am stuck in the country for 6-8 weeks (really, more like 10-12 weeks, but the form says 6-8 so I will give them the benefit of the doubt, even though I have no reason to do so)
Him: Okay, how about Hawaii?
Here is what is going to happen: get home from work, ask each other what we are having for dinner about 3-5 times, finally settle on something glamorous like mac & cheese or pizza. Debate whether we should watch more episodes of season six of 24 or the latest episode of Reno 911 on our tivo. Hey, I'll light a candle - it will be romantic.
I know that the likelihood of a bridge collapsing while I am on it is pretty slim, but I also know that it CAN happen (just ask the fine folks in Minneapolis). So I take precautions to aid in my survival, should it be necessary. I open my window a crack so that in the event that my car careens off the edge (which would be quite a feat, since I always drive in the middle lane) and I survive the however-many-feet plummet to the icy waters below, I will be able to open my door to escape. Science (in particular, the Mythbusters show) says that due to the difference of the pressure of water on the outside of a sinking car and the pressure of air on the inside of the car, mere human strength cannot open the door until the pressure is equal (which means: it is filled with water... which would make it tough to breath, I think. So, I want to be prepared. Yes, these are the things I am thinking about when I drive over a bridge... ESPECIALLY when I see new bridges being built to replace the one I am on that very second - and strangely enough, that has happened THREE times recently. Either bridges are all reaching their expiration date as printed on the container, or the Dept. of Transportation had an excess of money in their budget this year. Ummm.... probably the former.
Here are some highlights of the time spent with my ass in a seat, traveling companion at my side:
- I drove the first 3 hours while Scout read his book. I know, wild and crazy road trip! We forgot to bring our markers to make signs to passerby "Honk if you're horny".
- The radio choices in the miles between the cities that had more than one exit were: country, christian, country christian, and one lone pop station. After selecting our option (pop), I was delighted (delighted? did I turn into an old bitty on this trip? who says that anymore?) to hear Jon Bon Jovi crackling through the airwaves. I would have blasted it, but Scout is not a fan of blasting music, and constantly warns me about ruining my hearing (he must be in on the conspiracy with my parents, who have been warning me about that same thing since I was 13... hello? people? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!), so in lieu of blasting Jon Bon's dulcet tones, I took a break from my knitting, repurposed my knitting needle as a microphone (works just as well as a curling iron or brush, FYI, ladies) and started singing along. And when I say singing, I mean belting. Wooo-ooooaaaah... we're halfway (really only about a third) the-ere... Wooo-ooooaaaah... livin' on a prayer... Scout winced for the entire song, and during a break in the singing (when I was reenacting a guitar solo), he wished me hoarseness. Unfortunately for him, that did nothing but strengthen my resolve. Take my hand and we'll make it I swe-ear...
- My car has a tape deck player in it (I know, right? Scout thinks it is the last car out there with a tape deck - he is all snooty now that he has his new car!), and lo and behold, there was a tape in it. So we hit the "tape" button (click, click, whir) and listened to the high quality sound of Billy Joel's Stormfront. For those of you familiar with this album, it has the song that will get stuck in your head for days, "We Didn't Start the Fire"... it was always burning, since the world's been turning... Sorry, back to the story. As soon as it came on, Scout started to sing the words. I feel like "sing" isn't the right word for that song - you are essentially trying to whoosh all the words out and gasp for air between verses. Anyway, I was completely enthralled with this (skill? talent?) that I had not seen before... seven years - I thought I knew everything about him? So I rewound and made him start from the beginning, and he did very well! I got a crush on him all over again. I know, my standards are unreasonably high.
- Next trip, we are totally bringing our mix tapes... have to dig them out of the time capsule buried in our backyard. Kidding! They are in a tape deck organizer next to my nightstand... kidding again! I'm not THAT weird. But I am weird enough to still have most of them. Hey, they could be antiques someday!
- Upon departure from our driveway, I started the timer on my watch. So I could know how long it takes to get there. As a rough estimate, I think I looked at my watch about seventy three... make it seventy four times during our trip. Then forgot to look at until halfway through dinner after we had already checked into our hotel, unloaded our car and driven to Scout's aunt and uncle's house. Seriously, I should put a post-it on my steering wheel to remind me to check my watch when we arrive!
- Last time we drove to Oregon (a month ago), my faithful car sustained a massive injury to the windshield, and started cracking so bad (you could actually hear it crack and spread) that we decided it should be replaced immediately - safety first, kids! Can you see where this is going? Anyone? If you guessed "got hit with another rock and need ANOTHER new windshield", you are correct! Oh, the glass guys are going to love us. I like to consider it supporting the economy. Except that I can think of about 1,100 things I would rather buy than a new windshield.
So, after 1,100 miles and 18+ hours in the car (you could figure out our average speed if you paid attention during math class in high school), I was so happy to finally be home... only to get in my car the next day to drive to San Francisco for work. I should have called in sick... carsick, that is.
Bringing lunch to work is not one of my strengths. I realize it would save money if I made my lunch every day instead of going out or scavenging in our cafeteria, but I think I have made my feelings known about cooking. And, yes, slapping some PB&J on bread and slipping it into a Ziploc is cooking to me. So today, when I brought my lunch to work, I was feeling pretty good about myself strolling into the break room. I started to walk toward the microwave when I was hit with an olfactory knockout... someone had been cooking fish in the microwave. I felt like the three bears after they returned home and noticed that Goldilocks had been tousling their sheets. Who would do such a thing? Don't they realize that smell doesn't go away? Now, I know people argue about popcorn in the microwave at work because it wafts through the air, and in about 22.4 seconds (on average), the entire floor finds themselves drooling with the thought of freshly popped kernels. But at least popcorn smells good! Microwaved fish is just nasty... blegh! In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I do not like fish. I have tried. Really, I try fish about twice a year. Just don't like it. Saves me on the mercury consumption, though, so I at least I have that. But even though I don't like the taste of fish, I actually enjoy the aroma of a seafood restaurant. It reminds me of boats, and the docks, and summertime, and... well, honestly, it also kind of reminds me of chicken, since that is what I always get at a seafood restaurant. So, it isn't the smell of fish that I don't like... it is microwaved fish. Horrible. Don't do it. Coworkers don't let coworkers zap fish.
Now that we’ve settled that, what have I been up to lately? Well, this weekend I had my second camping trip of the year. And by year, I mean 2008, not within the past 365 days. Yes, within the first twenty days of the year, I spent 2 nights sleeping in a tent… in less than desirable tent weather (above freezing, but not by much). But, as you know, I am married to Scout, who insists that winter camping is fun. Woo-hoo! I can now say that I know why they put hoods on sleeping bags. I always thought it was a bit much, until I found myself encased like King Tut, with little puffs of frosted breath emerging from my gaping mouth while attempting to shiver myself to sleep. On the bright side, I didn’t have to worry about being devoured by bears, because 1) they were hibernating and 2) I didn’t want to get up and pee in the middle of the night due to the fact that I had to exit my sleeping bag. Okay, okay, it wasn’t THAT bad. But my feet WERE cold!
Why were we camping, you ask? We had a very important double date with the in-laws. They are avid state park tour attendees, and booked a tour for us to Ano Nuevo state park during elephant seal breeding season. Or, as I so eloquently called it: Seal Sex... because I am mature. We have been on this tour before, but no seal sex that time. Just seal babies. If you can’t make the correlation yourself, please redo your high school Health 201 course. So, there we were: me, Scout, Scout’s parentals and 16 of our closest, um, strangers… voyeurs galore. Hey, it’s not weird. It’s nature. But it sure does sound weird as I am typing this out loud. What are YOU doing with your in-laws this weekend?
This past week has been torturous (what? overdramatic?) getting out of bed in the morning. Every morning has been gray and dreary and cold (well, cold for us fair weather Californians – down in the forties – brrrr) and worst of all – I had to work five days in a row. After a full 2 weeks of vacation (reminiscent of the years I spent in school which yielded many more vacations than this crap they call adulthood) and a three day work week last week, it has been a long road to reach this final day of the week.
Since I AM an adult, I decided each and every morning that I would hit snooze when my alarm clock went off. It can’t be any easier – those crazy inventors made the button humongous. Just hit it, roll over (or not, why bother moving) and go back to sleep for another glorious nine minutes. Repeat until you fear losing your job, or you have to pee so bad you decide to get out of bed anyway.
So, what did all that snoozing do for me? Well, I can assure you it was not useful! Just prolonged getting out of bed and gave me a few more (interrupted) minutes of sleep that I am sure did not make me more rested.
Can’t wait to sleep in tomorrow! Oh, never mind… we are off to make use of the mounds of snow from the recent big storm. Support the local ski resort economy... woo-hoo! I’ll bet I don’t use the snooze button tomorrow. We will battle again on Monday.
It is Scout's first brand new car! He is super excited, and stayed up late playing with all the controls (and I am sure he read the entire manual) last night - I went to bed. What? It was late, and I had just signed my life away... again. But we are saving the world!
I overheard a coworker say that she is going to bring her lunch tomorrow in case we lose power at work (seriously, I couldn't make this up). Um, if we lose power, wouldn't you just go home?
Big storm... batten the hatches... run for cover!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now, I am not a germophobe (but I might be turning into one as we speak), but it is just GROSS. What is wrong with people? Do these people think they are so important that they HAVE to come to work? We aren't busy. In fact, most of the chairs are empty, with people extending their holiday break. Stay home with your germy self. If there ever is a pandemic outbreak, these people will be the ones to spread it!