now then,
yes: there's drama.
but no: i did not start it. i did not egg it on. i did not particularly care for my workday to end with it. most importantly, i won't fuckin' stand for it!

dear newer-but-not-newest dishwasher,

we all get that you're bi-polar. we all get that you have bad days. hell, we mostly tiptoe around your crybaby-arse all the live-long day. we're also well aware that you like to be left alone. i cannot speak for everyone, but i make every attempt to do as much. in fact, i'm the paragon of leaving-you-the-fuck-alone.
yet, i seem to be the cause of your bad moods. you have to leave the kitchen. i have to do your job so that i can finish my job so that i can be forced to leave early, all cos you're a big ol' baby! now then, the latest episode is quite perplexing to me cos it is said that i pissed you off and that you couldn't return to working until i went home. how odd. how EXTRAORDINARILY odd, indeed. cos i have the cookiebitch as my witness to me not doing/saying a thing to you [i was in full-on get-these-cupcakes-decorated mode]. any dish i brought over to the sink, i put on that magickal spot of which you're so fond ADAMENT. so then, what the fuck?! why the temper-tantrum!?
word to the wise, cupcake: if you must have a scapegoat to explain your not-wanting-to-wash-dishes, you best make damn certain that it's not the vindictive prick-of-a gay baker who can do your bloody job faster, more tidily, more quietly, and without that goddamn attitude.
seriously, i gave up patsy-ing when i was 13. and by all means... PLEASE pull the race-card; cos my homo-card hasn't left my wallet in ages and it could really use the fresh air.