
Reaching my fingers into the machine (without unplugging it first cuz I like to live on the wild-side) and prying out, piece by stupid piece, all the little zig-zag strips of paper that keep clogging the dang thing - not my favorite job. Especially when I’m stooped over at an awkward angle, my not so insubstantial butt in the air, trying to suppress a stream of expletives when a man comes up behind me who has to clear his throat to get my attention (after standing there for who knows how long!) and I have to pull myself together and act like I’m not embarrassed so I can say, “Oh. Hello. How can I help you?” It’s moments like this when I think, “Huh, I have not come quite as far as I thought I would at age 25. I was so certain I would have an army of minions to do these menial tasks for me by now.” Turns out I am a minion. I don’t even know what that means.
Google Dictionary definition of a minion:
min•ion (mĭn'yən)
n.
1. An obsequious follower or dependent; a sycophant.
Ahem. I’m not proud of this next part but it was necessary as my vocabulary isn’t what it never was.
obsequious [uh b-see-kwee-uh s]
–adjective
1. characterized by or showing servile complaisance or deference.
sycophant [sik-uh-fuh nt, -fant, sahy-kuh-]
–noun
1. a self-seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite.
A fawning parasite? That can’t be right.
No, no. I simply have yet to reach my full potential. I blame the shredder.
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