It's a dog-eat-dog office and I'm wearing Milk Bone underwear.

OK, it’s like, here’s the situation.

My work life consists of a room where it all happens. Office work, shipping, receiving, phones, etc. All within this space that is about the size of the living room at my house.

Three of us share this space. The boss, the co-worker, and myself. Our desks are laid out in such a way that they basically form a triangle, with about six feet between each of us. I call it the Bermuda Office Triangle of Death.

Isn’t it nice to love your job? I wouldn’t know.

So, as if that isn’t enough, la famiglia is added to the mix like little sprinkles on top. (Sorry, I’m feeling a little Italiano right now for some strange reason.)

The boss’ wife is a stay at home mom. She calls our office like 10 to 20 times a day.  Apparently her life consists of buying consumer goods on the internet (they get shipped to the office), dealing with their four kids who still live at home, working on her blog, and being helpless.

For example, if her cat needs to go to the vet, she can’t (or won’t) handle it. The boss has to leave the office during the work day to take care of it himself. If there is a household emergency of some sort, like a leaky container in the cupboard, he has to run home to take care of it.

Meanwhile, three of their four children come directly to the office right after school. This is their hangout until it’s time for dinner. Their first order of business is always consuming food. They must get starved at school! After that, they fight, play with the omnipresent dog (yes, the co-worker brings her dog to work every day – six weeks and counting), make phone calls, receive phone calls, yap, and generally cause a ruckus. They even spilled juice on one of the computer monitors the other day. (Naturally, they didn’t clean it up.) They leave behind food on the floor, dishes on the table and in the bathroom sink, and other sorts of mayhem.

As you can imagine it’s a wonderful work environment.

No, it’s not enough to have your boss be like fingernails on a blackboard, hate the physical environment, the lack of privacy, and the actual job duties. Oh no. The whole damn family has to land on your work existence like Normandy Beach.

That’s it. No conclusion to this post. Just venting. I hereby officially wish to predict how I will die. I will be found dead with my head on my desk from embolism. On the plus side, thanks to the tightly knit Bermuda Office Triangle of Death, it will most likely get noticed right away, probably by one of the kids. Or maybe the dog.

Ruff!