I had a panic attack (not literally) the other day. I have packed everything into storage and I realized that I had no idea where my passport was.
NO FREAKING IDEA!
First I thought: It's with my contract and all the stuff I took down to Houston.
Then I found the contract and the stuff I went to Houston with and it wasn't there.
Then I thought: It's with my shot records.
Then I found my shot records and it wasn't with them.
Then I freaked out considering the possibilities that I packed it into storage, I threw it away, that I'd never find it, that I'd have to face all the consequences of breaking the contract . . .
I fretted about it for about 5 hours when suddenly it came to me in a flash!
It was (of course) in my scanner. I had scanned a copy of the visa to send to India. I had never taken it out!
I'm a freaking genius!
(she said tongue in cheek)
Friday, May 26, 2006
I figured it would take a few weeks to get the cash in my little paws, but the check is waiting for me at my aunt's house right now!
Yeah! I had been concerned about my depleted bank account. I hadn't paid my rent, my last bills, and I still don't know how much I'll have to fork over to get Buzz to India.
I went to my apartment manager to confess my delinquency in the rent (for May) because apparently she hadn't noticed that I never paid. (Kinda flakey) I told her I was moving out and that I hadn't paid the rent, but I would pay it in July when I got my first pay check. She said, "Oh, you're leaving today? Well, I guess I don't have to evict you then."
Living in the ghetto is so quorky.
Later as I was moving out more things she said, "Listen, so you don't get in trouble, and I don't get in trouble, let's just say you moved out on the 1st, and forfited your deposit."
I said, "FINE BY ME!"
I mean, the dog ate the bathroom carpet, I figured the deposit was gone anyway.
Yeah! I had been concerned about my depleted bank account. I hadn't paid my rent, my last bills, and I still don't know how much I'll have to fork over to get Buzz to India.
I went to my apartment manager to confess my delinquency in the rent (for May) because apparently she hadn't noticed that I never paid. (Kinda flakey) I told her I was moving out and that I hadn't paid the rent, but I would pay it in July when I got my first pay check. She said, "Oh, you're leaving today? Well, I guess I don't have to evict you then."
Living in the ghetto is so quorky.
Later as I was moving out more things she said, "Listen, so you don't get in trouble, and I don't get in trouble, let's just say you moved out on the 1st, and forfited your deposit."
I said, "FINE BY ME!"
I mean, the dog ate the bathroom carpet, I figured the deposit was gone anyway.
In other news:
The insurance company called and all is well with the car. They came out and did an inspection of the damage. It was kind of funny. The guy looked at the car with all the dents and dings and missing pieces. It was dirty and packed full of stuff to take to storage, there may have been ketchup on the front left fender . . .
He made notes of everything, I showed him the damage. He said, "Is this part of it?"
I said, "No, that's where I ran into a fence, it starts here and goes to here."
He said, "Oh . . ." and wrote down some more stuff.
I figured he was going to give me some rediculously low estimate because of how bad the car looks in general and because it's old etc. But he came up with a sum greater than that which I paid for the car origionally.
Heck yeah! And that just for minor damage. I mean if I had a new car I would want it fixed, but for a old car that's already banged up in the first place . . . I took the cash!
It worked out well for all concerned. I had already agreed to sell the car to my aunt, so I told her about the damage, dropped the price in half and now we are both happy that I got hit by a granny.
The insurance company called and all is well with the car. They came out and did an inspection of the damage. It was kind of funny. The guy looked at the car with all the dents and dings and missing pieces. It was dirty and packed full of stuff to take to storage, there may have been ketchup on the front left fender . . .
He made notes of everything, I showed him the damage. He said, "Is this part of it?"
I said, "No, that's where I ran into a fence, it starts here and goes to here."
He said, "Oh . . ." and wrote down some more stuff.
I figured he was going to give me some rediculously low estimate because of how bad the car looks in general and because it's old etc. But he came up with a sum greater than that which I paid for the car origionally.
Heck yeah! And that just for minor damage. I mean if I had a new car I would want it fixed, but for a old car that's already banged up in the first place . . . I took the cash!
It worked out well for all concerned. I had already agreed to sell the car to my aunt, so I told her about the damage, dropped the price in half and now we are both happy that I got hit by a granny.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
I got about 50 miles from Houston when some 74 year old granny decided to run me off the road with her newer and better Buick.
She wanted to be exactly where I was. She bumped me off into the median. I was having flashes of my last accident, going through the median, going into oncoming traffic . . . then I saw the retaining wall and I thought, “Great, now I’m going to run into that wall and smash my car into tiny bits.”
It’s amazing how many thoughts you can have in just a few seconds.
I (praise God) was able to stop before I smashed my car into the retaining wall and/or tiny bits.
The offending Buick kept going!
I had enough presence of mind to write down the license plate number.
Then she stopped on the other side of the road.
I sat there and recuperated for a minute. No airbag had come out, I looked at the car, just a cracked fender, dented door and messed up paint.
I got back on the road and drove over to where the other Buick had stopped.
I wondered as I got out of the car why the other driver wasn’t getting out the car.
Then I saw a handicap tag hanging on the mirror.
As I got closer I saw that it was an old lady with peachy-white hair.
She was very upset.
She kept apologizing and crying and I almost said, “Its okay.” Then I thought, ‘It’s not okay! She just ran me off the road!’ So I said, “Well, it was an accident.”
Almost immediately there was a police officer there.
Just behind her was a tow truck.
The officer took our information while the tow truck driver looked at our cars.
The officer gave the old woman a ticket, the tow truck driver said our cars were both okay to drive.
That whole incidet just added to my bad day.
I got back in the car, and started driving.
After that I saw a police car at least once every mile for the next 20 miles. I was definitely going the speed limit by that time, so I was again shocked when the officer turned his lights on and came after me.
He was a cute little guy, and he said, “I pulled you over because you are not displaying a front license plate.”
My day was getting badder and badder.
I’ve been driving that car for four years; I’ve never had a front license plate.
As a matter of fact I had been misinformed about this law. I had been told it had been changed. But it hasn’t changed; the bill didn’t go through . . . I got a warning. I told him I didn’t have a drill to put it on (True) that the bracket I bought didn’t fit the exiting holes (True) and that the plate was in my trunk. (Nearly true) I think the plate it actually between the trunk and the back seat.
What I wanted to say was, “I don’t care! I’m selling the car and leaving the country in a matter of weeks!”
I said, “Yes, thank you officer, I’ll remember to put it on.”
Amazingly enough I made it home with out being yelled at, run off the road or stopped by the police again.
She wanted to be exactly where I was. She bumped me off into the median. I was having flashes of my last accident, going through the median, going into oncoming traffic . . . then I saw the retaining wall and I thought, “Great, now I’m going to run into that wall and smash my car into tiny bits.”
It’s amazing how many thoughts you can have in just a few seconds.
I (praise God) was able to stop before I smashed my car into the retaining wall and/or tiny bits.
The offending Buick kept going!
I had enough presence of mind to write down the license plate number.
Then she stopped on the other side of the road.
I sat there and recuperated for a minute. No airbag had come out, I looked at the car, just a cracked fender, dented door and messed up paint.
I got back on the road and drove over to where the other Buick had stopped.
I wondered as I got out of the car why the other driver wasn’t getting out the car.
Then I saw a handicap tag hanging on the mirror.
As I got closer I saw that it was an old lady with peachy-white hair.
She was very upset.
She kept apologizing and crying and I almost said, “Its okay.” Then I thought, ‘It’s not okay! She just ran me off the road!’ So I said, “Well, it was an accident.”
Almost immediately there was a police officer there.
Just behind her was a tow truck.
The officer took our information while the tow truck driver looked at our cars.
The officer gave the old woman a ticket, the tow truck driver said our cars were both okay to drive.
That whole incidet just added to my bad day.
I got back in the car, and started driving.
After that I saw a police car at least once every mile for the next 20 miles. I was definitely going the speed limit by that time, so I was again shocked when the officer turned his lights on and came after me.
He was a cute little guy, and he said, “I pulled you over because you are not displaying a front license plate.”
My day was getting badder and badder.
I’ve been driving that car for four years; I’ve never had a front license plate.
As a matter of fact I had been misinformed about this law. I had been told it had been changed. But it hasn’t changed; the bill didn’t go through . . . I got a warning. I told him I didn’t have a drill to put it on (True) that the bracket I bought didn’t fit the exiting holes (True) and that the plate was in my trunk. (Nearly true) I think the plate it actually between the trunk and the back seat.
What I wanted to say was, “I don’t care! I’m selling the car and leaving the country in a matter of weeks!”
I said, “Yes, thank you officer, I’ll remember to put it on.”
Amazingly enough I made it home with out being yelled at, run off the road or stopped by the police again.
In other news:
I was driving through Boyd, TX (population 1,281) a few days ago and I got pulled over for going 57 in a 45 zone. I was literally 100 feet from the 60mph sign when the officer put his lights on. I was already past the sign by the time he pulled me over. He gave me a warning.
So, with that warning in mind I drove to Houston the next day to get my visa from the Indian Consulate. I set my cruise control and kept to the speed limit all the way there. I only nearly ran into a semi once on account of playing with the radio.
I got to the consulate without any major issues. (Except that they had changed the name of the road the Consulate was on, but I figured that out.) I got there, took some time to find the right building, the right floor, the right suite. I found the door and I read a sign that said, “Hours: 9:00 am to 12:30pm and 4:00 pm to 5:00 pm.” The time according to Mickey was approximately 2:15pm.
I walked around a little more and found the receptionist, who informed me that they only take visa applications in the morning. It’s a long drive to Houston, and I wanted my trip to have a purpose so I made my case known. She said if I was willing to pay an additional fee of $35 I could get it that day.
Fine, I was willing. So I waited until 4:00 when the office was supposed to open again.
I was still waiting, along with about 100 Indians at 4:40. Finally the window opened and it got to my turn, they told me to sit down and wait until everyone else had gone through.
(Houston traffic is a known horror this was my thought at rush hour.)
Finally, my turn again. I gave the woman my passport, my contract, my application. She said, “You must pay an extra $35 for this.”
I said, “OK”
She said, “You can only have a one year visa.”
I said, “I only want a one year visa.”
She said, “This contract only says one year.”
I said, “Okay.”
She said, “You marked five years on your application.”
I said, “No, I didn’t”
She looked at it again and said, “Oh.”
She said, “You want a business visa.”
I said, “Employment.”
She said, “You marked business.”
I said, “I wrote ‘employment’ in the blank.”
She said, “You marked business.”
I said, “I want employment, I didn’t know there was a difference and there’s not a place to mark ‘Employment’.”
She left. 10 minutes later she came back and gave me my visa. It said, “B” as in “Business.” I took it back and said, “I wanted “E.”
She said, “I asked you and asked you! You said Business!”
Someone came up behind her and asked her what was wrong (Since she was yelling at me.)
She said, “I asked her and asked her! She said Business, now she wants Employment!”
I was shocked!
Honestly I know I may have marked business, but I also wrote employment, I said, employment, the contract said employment. And maybe I’ve lived a very sheltered life, but I have never come across an Indian national as rude as this woman! (Maybe she was American who knows?)
So she took the visa back and 10 minutes later she handed me another one.
I looked at it and said, “You have the wrong dates on here.”
She said, “No, we don’t.”
I said, but the contract starts June 1. This is dated for tomorrow.
She said, “WE decided the dates.”
Then she left.
She was unhappy, I was unhappy. Good job mean Indian woman!
I was driving through Boyd, TX (population 1,281) a few days ago and I got pulled over for going 57 in a 45 zone. I was literally 100 feet from the 60mph sign when the officer put his lights on. I was already past the sign by the time he pulled me over. He gave me a warning.
So, with that warning in mind I drove to Houston the next day to get my visa from the Indian Consulate. I set my cruise control and kept to the speed limit all the way there. I only nearly ran into a semi once on account of playing with the radio.
I got to the consulate without any major issues. (Except that they had changed the name of the road the Consulate was on, but I figured that out.) I got there, took some time to find the right building, the right floor, the right suite. I found the door and I read a sign that said, “Hours: 9:00 am to 12:30pm and 4:00 pm to 5:00 pm.” The time according to Mickey was approximately 2:15pm.
I walked around a little more and found the receptionist, who informed me that they only take visa applications in the morning. It’s a long drive to Houston, and I wanted my trip to have a purpose so I made my case known. She said if I was willing to pay an additional fee of $35 I could get it that day.
Fine, I was willing. So I waited until 4:00 when the office was supposed to open again.
I was still waiting, along with about 100 Indians at 4:40. Finally the window opened and it got to my turn, they told me to sit down and wait until everyone else had gone through.
(Houston traffic is a known horror this was my thought at rush hour.)
Finally, my turn again. I gave the woman my passport, my contract, my application. She said, “You must pay an extra $35 for this.”
I said, “OK”
She said, “You can only have a one year visa.”
I said, “I only want a one year visa.”
She said, “This contract only says one year.”
I said, “Okay.”
She said, “You marked five years on your application.”
I said, “No, I didn’t”
She looked at it again and said, “Oh.”
She said, “You want a business visa.”
I said, “Employment.”
She said, “You marked business.”
I said, “I wrote ‘employment’ in the blank.”
She said, “You marked business.”
I said, “I want employment, I didn’t know there was a difference and there’s not a place to mark ‘Employment’.”
She left. 10 minutes later she came back and gave me my visa. It said, “B” as in “Business.” I took it back and said, “I wanted “E.”
She said, “I asked you and asked you! You said Business!”
Someone came up behind her and asked her what was wrong (Since she was yelling at me.)
She said, “I asked her and asked her! She said Business, now she wants Employment!”
I was shocked!
Honestly I know I may have marked business, but I also wrote employment, I said, employment, the contract said employment. And maybe I’ve lived a very sheltered life, but I have never come across an Indian national as rude as this woman! (Maybe she was American who knows?)
So she took the visa back and 10 minutes later she handed me another one.
I looked at it and said, “You have the wrong dates on here.”
She said, “No, we don’t.”
I said, but the contract starts June 1. This is dated for tomorrow.
She said, “WE decided the dates.”
Then she left.
She was unhappy, I was unhappy. Good job mean Indian woman!
Official announcement:
I’ve taken a job in Bangalore, India. I will be leaving at the end of May. I have a one year contract. I will be working for a placement company which will place me at Microsoft as a Language/Culture Trainer. I will work with Indian Microsoft Software Engineers to help them better relate to American customers.
I chose this job over an offer from Korea because I figured that although I will make less money than I would have in Korea, this was a good opportunity to live and work in India, to work in the business sector of the ESL profession, and I like the food and the millions of sparkly, shinny things that I know I can find in India.
I’ve taken a job in Bangalore, India. I will be leaving at the end of May. I have a one year contract. I will be working for a placement company which will place me at Microsoft as a Language/Culture Trainer. I will work with Indian Microsoft Software Engineers to help them better relate to American customers.
I chose this job over an offer from Korea because I figured that although I will make less money than I would have in Korea, this was a good opportunity to live and work in India, to work in the business sector of the ESL profession, and I like the food and the millions of sparkly, shinny things that I know I can find in India.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
I went to the auto show with DEB.
It seems that Honda is coming out with a new hatchback called a “Fit” in 2007.
Even stranger than me going to an auto show, or a car being named “Fit” is the fact that as part of the promotional literature for the Fit, Honda produced a small flip book. If you flip the pages one way you see the outside of the Fit, and a llama. If you flip it the other way you see the inside of the fit, sans llama.
So, I was flipping through the book, and at first glance the llama looked like a large (very large) dog with its head hanging out the back window (like they do.) But suddenly I realized it was not a dog and I said, “Hey, that’s a llama!”
The guy at the counter said, “Sure, you win a prize if you can tell me why the llama is in the Fit.”
I said, “Oh, well,” (in a matter of fact kind of tone) “I know.”
He said, “You do?” (I’m thinking he didn’t actually know himself.)
I said, “Sure, They are taking him to get sacrificed.”
(The guy looked mortified.)
He said, “Oh!” and “well!” and “Oh! I didn’t expect that.”
Heck, I don’t expect half the things that come out of my mouth. But to be honest I didn’t even say it for the (high) shock value that it generated. I’m sure this Fit guy and I were on two totally different wave lengths.
I was thinking the only time I’ve ever seen livestock in the back of a hatchback (what the . . .) was in Pakistan when the people were buying goats and sheep to fatten up before they sacrificed them in memory of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son.
It took me a moment to figure out why he was so appalled by what I said.
Sacrifice.
It’s kind of a dirty word in these parts.
We don’t sacrifice. We don’t really know sacrifice. We know animal rights, but not spilt blood, sticky fur – warm freshly butchered flesh to offer in atonement or remembrance.
The word “sacrifice” for Christian America does not conjure up images of the very core of our religion, but instead dirty defiled imagery of satanic rites done in secret and in darkness.
It’s unfortunate, unfortunate that we are too lackadaisical a people to keep our sacred ideas and words out of the dark.
I got a Honda bracelet as my prize. Both bracelet and llama book will arrive in Japan in approximately 6-8 weeks. To PK with love.
It seems that Honda is coming out with a new hatchback called a “Fit” in 2007.
Even stranger than me going to an auto show, or a car being named “Fit” is the fact that as part of the promotional literature for the Fit, Honda produced a small flip book. If you flip the pages one way you see the outside of the Fit, and a llama. If you flip it the other way you see the inside of the fit, sans llama.
So, I was flipping through the book, and at first glance the llama looked like a large (very large) dog with its head hanging out the back window (like they do.) But suddenly I realized it was not a dog and I said, “Hey, that’s a llama!”
The guy at the counter said, “Sure, you win a prize if you can tell me why the llama is in the Fit.”
I said, “Oh, well,” (in a matter of fact kind of tone) “I know.”
He said, “You do?” (I’m thinking he didn’t actually know himself.)
I said, “Sure, They are taking him to get sacrificed.”
(The guy looked mortified.)
He said, “Oh!” and “well!” and “Oh! I didn’t expect that.”
Heck, I don’t expect half the things that come out of my mouth. But to be honest I didn’t even say it for the (high) shock value that it generated. I’m sure this Fit guy and I were on two totally different wave lengths.
I was thinking the only time I’ve ever seen livestock in the back of a hatchback (what the . . .) was in Pakistan when the people were buying goats and sheep to fatten up before they sacrificed them in memory of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son.
It took me a moment to figure out why he was so appalled by what I said.
Sacrifice.
It’s kind of a dirty word in these parts.
We don’t sacrifice. We don’t really know sacrifice. We know animal rights, but not spilt blood, sticky fur – warm freshly butchered flesh to offer in atonement or remembrance.
The word “sacrifice” for Christian America does not conjure up images of the very core of our religion, but instead dirty defiled imagery of satanic rites done in secret and in darkness.
It’s unfortunate, unfortunate that we are too lackadaisical a people to keep our sacred ideas and words out of the dark.
I got a Honda bracelet as my prize. Both bracelet and llama book will arrive in Japan in approximately 6-8 weeks. To PK with love.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Miniature Pinscher,Dachshund Mix
Size: SmallAge: AdultSex: MaleID: SSMPR #000025
Notes: Look at that face! Doesn't it just speak to you? Tag is one of the sweetest fosters we've had the pleasure of caring for. He's truly a lovebug, always happy, enjoys his favorites like sleeping under the covers, naps, or lying in someone's lap. His tail never stops wagging. Also, he acts like a puppy even though he's an adult. No one knows what caused his teeth to be larger than average or a bit of an under bite, but it causes no problems for him. All his vaccinations are current and he is neutered. Tag is HW positive and must complete his treatment before going to his forever home. Please consider this little one. He's only about 9 lbs and very short at about 8 inches.
http://search.petfinder.com/petnote/displaypet.cgi?petid=5569060
I would name him "Count" and he would be Buzz's
bestest friend . . .
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Speaking of nervous subconsciously, I had a dream a while back that I'm thinking was a anxiety dream.
I never get the normal anxiety dreams, teeth falling out, or showing up to school or work naked . . . No I get this business:
I was riding my motorcycle down I-30 (In northern Pakistan of course) when I noticed that the road was getting worse and worse. There was some sort of construction happening. Suddenly the road ended in a corn field. There were construction workers around so I asked one of them:
"How can I get to the other side of the road?"
He said, "You can go through the field." (Duh!) "or you can go around through the village."
I decided to go through the village. Once I got to the village I realized that it was getting dark, so I decided to stop for the night. I got a hotel room (with the help of the same guy who helped me at the end of the road.). I went to my room and looked in the mirror.
I saw that my gums were swollen, very swollen. It looked like I had a golf ball or something in my mouth!
I went back down to the lobby and told (the same) guy that I needed to see a pharmacist!
He said, "Spit that thing out!"
I said, "I can't! It's my gums!"
But then I gagged because the swollen part was so big.
I turned my head and spit out a huge hunk of my swollen gums.
It was gross! But I spit two more times emitting liquid pink gums.
I was freaked out and I thought I had lost all my teeth, but when I felt for them, they were (strangely) still there.
What does it mean?
I'm a freak, that's what.
I never get the normal anxiety dreams, teeth falling out, or showing up to school or work naked . . . No I get this business:
I was riding my motorcycle down I-30 (In northern Pakistan of course) when I noticed that the road was getting worse and worse. There was some sort of construction happening. Suddenly the road ended in a corn field. There were construction workers around so I asked one of them:
"How can I get to the other side of the road?"
He said, "You can go through the field." (Duh!) "or you can go around through the village."
I decided to go through the village. Once I got to the village I realized that it was getting dark, so I decided to stop for the night. I got a hotel room (with the help of the same guy who helped me at the end of the road.). I went to my room and looked in the mirror.
I saw that my gums were swollen, very swollen. It looked like I had a golf ball or something in my mouth!
I went back down to the lobby and told (the same) guy that I needed to see a pharmacist!
He said, "Spit that thing out!"
I said, "I can't! It's my gums!"
But then I gagged because the swollen part was so big.
I turned my head and spit out a huge hunk of my swollen gums.
It was gross! But I spit two more times emitting liquid pink gums.
I was freaked out and I thought I had lost all my teeth, but when I felt for them, they were (strangely) still there.
What does it mean?
I'm a freak, that's what.
To dream that you are gagging, denotes that you are not able to express yourself in how you really feel about a situation. Alternatively, this dream may forewarn that you need to keep quiet before you put your foot in your mouth.
can't find gumms.
I was itchy last week. I just woke up on Sunday morning and everything from my lips to my toes was itchy. The more it itched, the worse it got. First I was just itchy. Then I was itchy with red bumps, then I was itchy with red bumps and scratches all over myself.
I went to the drug store and talked to the pharmacist. She told me I was having an allergic reaction. "What did you eat?" "Did you change your laundry detergent?" "Did you go outside?"
I ate asparagus and used pink shower soap.
I would have gladly blamed it all on the soap, but I didn't use it again and I was still itchy 6 days later.
Damn.
My coworker suggested I have a nervous subconscious.
Quite possible.
I went to the drug store and talked to the pharmacist. She told me I was having an allergic reaction. "What did you eat?" "Did you change your laundry detergent?" "Did you go outside?"
I ate asparagus and used pink shower soap.
I would have gladly blamed it all on the soap, but I didn't use it again and I was still itchy 6 days later.
Damn.
My coworker suggested I have a nervous subconscious.
Quite possible.
A humorous aphorism attributed to E.B. White summarizes these distinctions:
To foreigners, a Yankee is an American.
To Americans, a Yankee is a Northerner.
To Easterners, a Yankee is a New Englander.
To New Englanders, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
And in Vermont, a Yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.
In Japan the term yank? is used to refer to a youth subculture of bleached blondes who are generally regarded as delinquents by older generations; general slang for American is amek?.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankee
To foreigners, a Yankee is an American.
To Americans, a Yankee is a Northerner.
To Easterners, a Yankee is a New Englander.
To New Englanders, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
And in Vermont, a Yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.
In Japan the term yank? is used to refer to a youth subculture of bleached blondes who are generally regarded as delinquents by older generations; general slang for American is amek?.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankee
Friday, March 17, 2006
You're a Wavy BBQ Potato Chip
Which Potato Chip Are You?
Brought to you by Tickle
I thought I'd be more of a sour cream and onion kind of gal.
My coworker is Boisterous (let’s say) and high tempered (let’s say.) Some unknown (to me) incident was being discussed when I came in this morning. Apparently some faux pas was made by McDonald’s. (I’m sure she’ll never go back until tomorrow.)
Co-worker B was making suggestions about what McD’s could have done to ameliorate the situation.
Co-worker A was fuming and refusing any consolation on the matter.
CWA turned to me and said, “She had some problems with McDonald’s this morning …”
CWB turned into an angry harpy and said, “Don’t talk about me! Don’t talk about me behind my back! I hate it when people talk about me behind my back when I can hear them.”
(Okay, so in a literal sense we were talking behind her back, but in a broader sense of the phrase, can you really talk about someone “behind their back” when they can hear you?)
CWA: “Don’t be angry! I’m just saying what happened!”
CWB: “I’ll be angry if I want to be!”
CWA: “You don’t have to be so loud and angry, this is an office, and everyone can hear you.”
CWB: “I’ll be angry! I’ll be angry in this little space right here! I’ll be angry if I want to!”
This was the scene that greets me after a long and (I suspect unsuccessful) interview last night, after a disagreement with my KF, knowing that today I am the one who has to deal with all the angry customers calling to demand to know why we at this analytical lab are not in charge of the US postal service. Not to mention all the mistakes in the world that actually have anything to at all to do with us.
I couldn’t take it any more.
So I said, “OKAY!!, Nobody else wants you to be angry in this little space so stop it!”
CWB: “I am angry.”
Me: “Fine! Be angry quietly!”
CWB: “I Will!”
Me: “Good!”
So I’ve been sitting here doing lots of nothing ever since.
CWB been looking for other people to answer her questions, but I’m the only one who knows the answers, so after a few hours she gave in and asked me something.
I’m over it. She’s not.
Co-worker B was making suggestions about what McD’s could have done to ameliorate the situation.
Co-worker A was fuming and refusing any consolation on the matter.
CWA turned to me and said, “She had some problems with McDonald’s this morning …”
CWB turned into an angry harpy and said, “Don’t talk about me! Don’t talk about me behind my back! I hate it when people talk about me behind my back when I can hear them.”
(Okay, so in a literal sense we were talking behind her back, but in a broader sense of the phrase, can you really talk about someone “behind their back” when they can hear you?)
CWA: “Don’t be angry! I’m just saying what happened!”
CWB: “I’ll be angry if I want to be!”
CWA: “You don’t have to be so loud and angry, this is an office, and everyone can hear you.”
CWB: “I’ll be angry! I’ll be angry in this little space right here! I’ll be angry if I want to!”
This was the scene that greets me after a long and (I suspect unsuccessful) interview last night, after a disagreement with my KF, knowing that today I am the one who has to deal with all the angry customers calling to demand to know why we at this analytical lab are not in charge of the US postal service. Not to mention all the mistakes in the world that actually have anything to at all to do with us.
I couldn’t take it any more.
So I said, “OKAY!!, Nobody else wants you to be angry in this little space so stop it!”
CWB: “I am angry.”
Me: “Fine! Be angry quietly!”
CWB: “I Will!”
Me: “Good!”
So I’ve been sitting here doing lots of nothing ever since.
CWB been looking for other people to answer her questions, but I’m the only one who knows the answers, so after a few hours she gave in and asked me something.
I’m over it. She’s not.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
I found out (suddenly) last week that I am a GREAT aunt. Not just aunt, but GREAT. I would like to remind World Wide Web users that it is unseemly to poke fun at old people such as GREAT aunts, especially concerning their ages. With that in mind, I respectfully submit a photo of my GREAT nephew.
okay maybe later, I can't get it to down load
okay maybe later, I can't get it to down load
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