Wednesday is supposed to be my favorite day of the working week. This is when my favorite coworker and I are the only ones in the office. The quiet allows us to get loads of work done, take appropriate breaks where we can giggle without disturbing others, and occasionally break dresscode with an oh-so-naughty-[gasp] pair of sandals.

I arrived to work ten minutes late (typical protocol for my relaxing and wonder Wednesday), only to see one of my least favorite coworkers in his spot. This is supposed to be a good day for me, and he just HAD to show up. He just HAD to take a conference call on speakerphone with another coworker. He just HAD to look at me all confused as to why I was giving him the eye of death and pointing to one of the two empty conference rooms right beside us.

Hmph. He just HAD to tick me off.

After being here for a few minutes, I realized that I was indeed talking with a bit of a stuffy head. And why might I possibly have this stuffy head? Perhaps it has something to do with my other least-favorite coworker coming into work while sick? The coworker with things like flex time, paid sick time, and clearance to work from home -- All things that I don�t have.

So instead of staying home, pretending to work, coughing on her cat, and wearing pajamas, she came into the office, hacking and sputtering her germs all over.

Bitch.

Seeing that I am a little cloudy and need to not be sick this weekend (which I�m using to visit someone who�s already immune-challenged), I decided to drop my Jamba Juice grudge for one friggin� day and get me some nutrition in liquid-y format.

I held off until after 1:30, long after those who stop there for a �light lunch� of a 700-calorie fruit and ice mixture are back in the office, and entered their bright storefront.

I wasn�t greeted as they usually do, which I found fine since they usually yell in unison and scare the bejesus outta me. However, not being greeted by the three employees wasn�t just them being a little slackity with company policy, it was either laziness or them out-right ignoring me.

Several moments later someone came to the front to take my order. No issues there.

Then she went off to talk with one of the other employees while the third one made my drink. After putting the container into the mixer, she resumed washing dishes while the other two continued to yak. The mixer starting making a crazy noise and shaking, apparently very angry about being left unsupervised.

Whizzing and whirling galore with no Jamba attendant noticing!

Eventually one of the talkers noticed that my drink was going all Linda Blair on them, and she fixed it.

Perhaps it was my impatience kicking in, but my fortified frozen juice mix just wasn�t as good as I remembered.

So long Jamba Juice on State Street and Randolph Street in downtown Chicago. I seriously doubt that we�ll meet again.�