NOTES: Okay, I'm bored so I'm just writing at this point. Writing anything. I just write and click send? Would that be okay anyone?
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, but Toby's welcome to visit any time he wants. ::hums innocently:: West Wing not mine, blah blah. Hail Aaron Sorkin and if he reads this, I NEED A JOB AND I'M REALLY GOOD!!!!!! :) The joys of being a young adult.
SUMMARY: A "normal" day at the West Wing through the points of view of the staff we all know and love. (Note: You get to guess which one as we go)

It was a normal day, right? I'm so damn tired of normal days around here. There's always too much to do and life seems to get so repetitive. I have to wake up, get dressed, come to work, and then do everything I'm supposed to do including meet with people I really don't like, work with people I pretend not to like, listen to Sam whine about something different each day, and God knows what else... Then I get to go home and start again. I really hate this.

But I love it too. It's hard to deal with the conflict. I love knowing I can make the slightest bit of difference. I love writing these damn things. I like watching Sam run around the White House like a little boy, what with his incredulous simplicity. I love watching Josh complaining about the latest senator fight or leaning against my doorframe watching Donna disappear down the hallway and be completely clueless to the fact that he's in love with her.

Bonnie and Ginger walking in and out of my office as if I'm going to bite their heads off, then they scamper away to Margaret's office and get in as much gossip as they can with Carol and Donna before someone comes in and breaks up their group. Leo grumbles in his office and then does something so tremendous that everyone respects him a little bit more and he yells at us to go back to work. And the President .. . Well, he's the President. Not much I can say about him except that I really wish he would stop with the damn polishing. He's a good man, but he's going to give me an aneurysm soon enough.

Hi. Hi. Hi. Yeah, hi. Whatever. Would they stop saying hi? I'm here. It's seven thirty in the morning and I'm walking through the damn hallways. You don't have to say hi to me ten million times. Hopefully I can just make it to my office. Oh, no. Sam, go away. Yes, I said go away. How about if I smash your innocent little head into the ground... No, can't say that. Good, he's going away. I know I have that damn baseball bat somewhere just in case. Okay. First twenty minutes of the day is over. Now what? nine more hours of this. Probably ten. I'm in hell. Okay, now wait. I already decided that I don't hate this. I don't hate this. I don't hate this. Okay, who put Cox on my schedule? GINGER!!!!!! %#$&*%&#$*&#!@@*@**!! Okay. Okay. I can breathe. I have a staff meeting at ten. I wonder if I can make it until then. Oh, look. CJ is coming. Guess that answers that. Great big NO!

Does she really have to walk like that? I swear, every single male intern and house worker that is behind us is staring at her with their tongues hanging out. I'll bet the cleaning service has a bone to pick with her for all the drool marks wherever she goes. Hmm. I can't blame the boys. She does have something of an alluring swagger. Never mind that. What the hell was I about to do? I don't even know. Uh, my office... baseball bat, that's right.

Cox is such an idiot. How can he possible think he can convince me that the White House needs to look into proving Santa Claus doesn't exist? Where does this guy get his jobs? He's always representing the strangest groups. Last year it was "Political Correctness for Extra Terristrials"; in January it was "Eliminate the Spotted Owls Society"; last month he bugged Sam about making 'duck and cover' a part of the school curriculum again and now he's trying to convince a Jewish speech writer to help him prove Santa doesn't exist? I swear he's gonna get himself kicked in the head one of these days. I should have brought the damn bat. Whacked some sense into him.

Thank God. Lunchtime. The one hour I'm allowed to escape from this little festering pit of spotted owls and lovelorn coworkers to flee to some really bad restaurant where I'm going to get charged 20% too much for food that is a week old. I'm rolling in rapture. I guess I'll walk today. The Georgetown isn't that bad, and I need some fresh air. Oh, yes. They believe all they want. I'll be "Mr. Wildlife", Mr. "I don't like Outdoors", "Mr. Pain in the Ass" but in the meantime, I'm walking away from 1600 Pennsylvania and the damn West Wing.

What the hell is that sound? Oh, shit. *car*... .Okay, this really hurts. I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm sorry mom. I should have listened. *always look both ways*. I can't feel my legs. The fact that it's going dark does not comfort me. Damn. Sam can't handle the Forbes speech without.....

 

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