So why do I have a package of ultra-thick toilet paper on my desk at work? Why do my co-workers feel they can gift me toilet paper at a department luncheon and make reference to my outhouse in Missouri while adding a crude comment about corncobs?
Why did my former manager think it appropriate to include my calculator in a big, green jello mold and leave it sitting where my keyboard had been? And upon discovery, why did my innocent coworkers swear they had no knowledge of the incident all the while doubled over laughing?
Why did I return from lunch one time only to have each move I made sound loudly as if gas had escaped my body? Why did everyone gather around me, pretending not to laugh each time I moved my chair or turned my head or asked someone to pull my finger? Why was I the target of a fart machine placed perfectly behind my monitor?
Why was my cubicle decorated with photo shopped pictures of Michael Jackson riding a tricycle, or posing like a Greek god in a toga holding a plate of grapes, or worst in a jester costume? Or blown up rubber gloves painted silver and glittered taped like balloons everywhere? On my birthday of all days!
Why do these things keep happening to me when...
I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO ANYONE.