show this to the police when you don't hear from me

okay, first let me say, working in the dungeon (a satellite office i have to go to at the end of my shift -- in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. believe me, the mundane details are just that.) SUCKS.

and today on the way into the labryinth to my tiny office, i saw this window washing guy. he was all the way at the end of the hall, but even the back of his head looked creepy. like he was just *pretending* to be a thorough employee but was really stalking his prey. i was like 'please don't turn around, please don't turn around' until i got to the corner. but of course, what did he do? turned around. and STARED. like a really creepy, i'm-going-to-wait-for-you here and drag you into the closet where i keep my highly noxious-fumed cleaning products. okay, you think i'm being paranoid? he was leaning over behind one of the glass cases, with just his eye sticking out to watch me walk toward him. ugh! i'm getting all tingly (in the bad horror movie sense) just thinking about it. that stupid jerk thought i couldn't see his psychotic blue eye peeking out from the edge of the case, watching and watching. but i DID. i wear glasses, you see. the better to see you with, my dear. i watch law and order. i know it's the ones with the neatly pressed pants and the tucked in shirts that i need to watch out for.

so he saw how i got to this tiny little office. he probably knows that no one would hear me scream over the machines. oh God. i'm counting the seconds that i have to be in this place. but then, i'll have to walk out the same way! and there are at least 15 different little alcoves where someone can be stashed after they've been stabbed. and no one would even know.

so i'm putting this out to you; out to the world. so that if i somehow end up missing or decapitated, you'll know that a medium build caucasian man with close-cropped hair and a psycho blue or grey left eye put the fear of God into me in my last hours. that should hold up in court, right? be sure to call sam waterson to defend my honor.

i've locked the door and have pepper spray in hand (which is making this tricky to type). i'm proceeding to look up all those e-mails people have sent over the years about defending yourself against attackers. go for the eyes. the groin. the kneecaps. got it.

have i mentioned that this was not part of the job description?