The Dirt Field

When I came into work today, I found that the light bulb in my desk lamp had burnt out. I unscrewed the bulb, walked out to the office assistant’s desk (remember New Girl?), and asked her if she knew where we kept the replacement bulbs. As she is still fairly new, she was unsure and said that she’d call our company president on her cell phone to find out.

A few minutes later, New Girl came into my office, dead bulb in hand, and explained, “She said we keep them at the store.” We both chuckled appropriately, and she promised to go out and get a bulb for me later in the day.

She stopped by my doorway several hours later to announce that she was going to get my bulb now. I asked if she wanted me to write down the kind of bulb to buy, but she said she remembered that it was a 75 watt light bulb. I looked down at the dead bulb in my hand, noticed that it said “Natural Light” and jokingly called after her in my snootiest voice, “Um, it’s a 75 watt Natural Light. Do not forget natural light; I simply cannot tolerate artificial light.”

Ten minutes later, the office phone rang, and my coworker came into my office a moment later. “New Girl is on the phone, and she says she can’t find any natural light bulbs. She wants to know what she should do.”

And I wonder why people mistakenly assume that I am an enormous bitch.