Probably one of the worst things that could happen at your new job.

While I've been at my new job for about a month, which has gotten me past the deer-in-headlights, wandering-around-the-office stage, I would still consider myself the newbie because no one is fresher than me in any department. (Though if that were the measure of newness, I would have been "new" at my old job for the first year-and-a-half.)

Anyway, so, you want to pretend like you are cool or at least kind of normal for at least like three months at a new job, you know, so the people like you and don't think WTF were they thinking when they hired her? So, I'm trying to do that.

So, yesterday, I come to work like no other day, except for I've got some mean lady cramps. (Sorry if this is oversharing for you, dudes who read this blog. But guess what? GIRLS WHO AREN'T PREGNANT HAVE PERIODS.)

So, I'm like, "Hey, coworker dude, got any Advil?"
And he's like, "No, but here's some aspirin."

And I accept the aspirin because the only thought on my mind is that I would like to rip my uterus out.

About an hour or so later, I'm not feeling so hot. Normal cramp issues, I have gone to the bathroom like five times, and then I just get hit by this wall of nausea. Of course, I am self-conscious and trying to be cool, so I take the longer way to the bathroom because surely everyone's desk who I have passed the last five times have been counting the number of times I have gone to the bathroom and think I am a freak. The whole extended walk to the bathroom, I'm thinking about how throwing up on the floor of my new job at the largest newspaper in the state is probably the most mortifying thing I could think of.

But I didn't do that. I made it to the bathroom, and I'm just chilling in this stall, waiting to see if I throw up or what. Then, the sweating comes. I think I have maybe sweated this much once or twice during a super-intense-workout in high temperatures. I'm just drenched. There is sweat running down my face, down my chest, and I just look like an all-around hot mess. Two things are certain to me at this point:

1. I am not making it through this workday.
2. There is no way in HELL I am standing outside to wait for a TRAX train to take me to the Frontrunner so I can ride a train for an hour to make it home.

Kelly is going to school, so I call my dear, sweet mother, who agrees to drive the 40 minutes or whatever to come pick up her daughter from her job in stupid Salt Lake City.

So I've got 40 minute to wait until this can occur. I am sitting in that stall still, and I ended up taking off the skirt I was wearing because it was high-waisted and made of the most unbreathable fabric known to man. So, there I am, sweaty and pantsless when they motion sensor lights go out. So I wave my hands in the air. They don't turn on. So I fumble to put my skirt back on in pitch black, to leave the stupid stall, to turn the light back on.

This isn't going to work.

I recalled from my first-day tour of the joint that they have this wellness room on the floor below us where people can go when, well, they don't feel well. I decide to break out of the bathroom, mumble some stuff to my editor about leaving for the day, and book it for the wellness room.

Well, I go to the sixth floor, and can't find the damn room. I do, however, find a little private bathroom with a ton of air conditioning and beautiful, glorious tile. I prop up my backpack (I had school that night too) and lay on the floor, allowing my sticky limbs to be cooled by the tan tiles.

After holing myself in there for about 20 minutes, I begin to think that the woman whose office is in front of this bathroom is probably going to be really pissed that this dumb girl from the 7th floor is all up in her bathroom. So I leave, and ask this woman, "Yo. Where is the wellness room?!"

She points me in the right direction, and for the last 20 minutes or so, I rest in the room and wait for my mom to come. (I should point out, I think any room people call a wellness room should probably have a toilet in it. I would say 80 percent of the symptoms experienced that would require a wellness room would appreciate the availability of a toilet.)

So, that was my pathetic day. I think the aspirin made my stomach angry and attack the rest of my body. I really have no other explanation other than that. My mother picked me up, I never threw up, and I just slept until class that night.