Before I begin to complain about the things I came here to complain about, I would like to complain about my local paper -- there were three important port-a-potty related incidents in the print version of the Downers Grove Reporter, yet only one appears on the website. What gives, Reporter? The people have a right to know about exploding portable toilets!

But that concern is minor compared to the disgusting woman who sat next to me on the train during this morning's commute. I can forgive her for eating breakfast on the train, even if it was a crumb cake that made a mess while she slurped her chocolate milk (seriously, what is she, five years old?). I can even look past her putting her big ugly yellow purse on the seat next to her in a vain attempt to keep me from sitting there (did you pay for two seats?). But what was inexcusable was her picking at her face and then flinging the particles on the ground or wiping them on her pants.

I didn't want to stare (which in retrospect seems a bit odd; I was worried about appearing rude to someone who smears her secretions around and sets her skin flakes afloat in the enclosed shared atmosphere of a train compartment?), but I couldn't help but notice part of her "grooming" regimen involved her eyebrows. What, praytell, do you dig out and dislodge from your eyebrow and throw on the floor? On second thought, don't tell me.

I have another complaint.

Because life is a series of cruel ironic punishments, I am forced to interact with other humans in the course of my job. Specifically, I answer the phones and forward on calls to the people who actually work here. Inevitably, I get at least a call or two a day that goes something like this:

Caller: "Could I speak to (insert important person) here?"

Me: "I'm sorry; she's (in a meeting, on a call, at lunch). Would you like her voice mail or would you like me to take a message?"

Caller: "That's okay; I'll just send her an email."

What I want to say: "Then why didn't you do that in the FIRST PLACE, instead of fucking calling here and fucking interrupting my very important letter typing or mail opening or Facebook checking or whatever the hell else I SHOULD have been doing while you WASTED my FUCKING TIME with your USELESS FUCKING PHONE CALL you stupid lazy ASSHOLE?"

What I actually say, in my syruppy, chirpy, cheerful business persona: "Okay, then. Have a good day!"

So, in essence, I'm complaining that I'm forced to be nice to other people. It's really rather grating.

Not you guys, though. I LOVE you guys.

Okay, then. Have a good day!