(no subject)
Aug. 11th, 2005 08:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jianantonicMotherfucker this schedule is taking its toll on me. But I get a paycheck tomorrow for 51 hours, and next week my check will be for 60 hours...so that's good. Still, for the time being, I am not well. I'm tired and grouchy and paranoid. I'd have sworn Jer had the day off today, but he's not home...I guess he must be at Ruby Tuesday, but I would have wagered my little toe that he'd be off today. Sigh. I hate, hate, hate not knowing his schedule. I'm just the type to dream up worst-case scenarios and work myself into a frenzy.
I'm thinking seriously of taking off next Friday if I can get it. That way, I can stay in Charlottesville after the Robbie show and work the whole bridge tournament. In the long run, that's the best thing to do moneywise given the price of gas. Speaking of gas, did my tummy hurt this afternoon! We had a wedding shower at work for Zoie, and I was having the worst cramps I've ever had. Seriously. But I was trying to hold it all in because I was at work and all...but finally I couldn't take it anymore and I left early to come lie down. As soon as I got in my car, I relaxed a little bit, farted for about three minutes straight, and have been fine ever since. I love farting. It's like my favorite thing in the world to do, but I have to be careful - it's not everyone else's favorite thing for me to do. The thing is, I've had issues with flatulence for all 22 years of my existence. My family called me "Tooter MacGruder" as a child, and my brothers still call me "Grute" for short. If I was going to be embarassed about farting, I would have to live a life of confinement. So I accept and embrace my gassy nature, and say "fuck femininity." My mother thinks that in addition to flatulence, I was cursed with mild Tourrette's. Hey, there has to be some trade-off for my good looks and intelligence;)
Back to more socially acceptable conversation...
So Zoie, the data-entry clerk in our office, lives in an apartment right next to the admin building. When I say "right next to," I mean, not more than 100 yards from. And she drives to work. She says, "I would walk, but you never know what the weather's going to be like." Umm. Whatever is so bad that it could afflict you horribly in the 30-second walk is not something your car will protect you from. STOP KILLING THE ENVIRONMENT AND MAKING YOURSELF FAT. That is all. I've been meaning to get that out for a while.
And finally, the
Let me preface by saying that half of what makes this so funny is the voice. Imagine a very, very, very, very scratchy, soft but angry voice. Very difficult to understand. Let me also say that if you have the opportunity to talk to me in person soon, DON'T READ THIS. Let me do the voice for you, as it will be much better that way. Just ask me to tell you about my crazy phone call. Don't read this and ruin it, because it's much better told in person. If you want to hear it, call me on my cell. IM me and ask for the number if you don't have it. But for those of you who don't actually talk to me, here's the conversation:
Me: Administration, this is Meg
Guy: (scratchy noises I don't understand)
Me: I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time understanding you.
Guy: zzsfzzfszfzsdfcccfzhzfchchch
Me: I'm sorry, I still didn't get that. Did you call about a maintenance fee?
Guy: zdafawera bill zoxdigfasfz.
Me: You have a bill?
Guy: Yes.
Me: Okay, what's the account number on the bill?
Guy: (I think it took like five tries to get the correct number, but finally he said it enough times that I was able to make out all the parts and put it together)
Me: Michael German?
Guy: Yes.
Me: I show that you have a balance of 237.45.
Guy: (remember, scary, angry, scratchy voice) YOU LIE!
Me: (stifling giggles) No, I'm sorry, sir, that's what I show.
Guy: as;dlkfjzxdfa manager zxclk;fjawopeir
Me: I'm sorry, the manager has gone home for the day. I can transfer you to his voice mail.
Guy: zdxoifa talk zxdlgfaoitr RIGHT NOW!
So I transferred him to Steve's voice mail. Steve is the collections manager. Mr. German's account had been in collections for THREE YEARS, and he'd been making payments MONTHLY for THREE YEARS. Why he was confused all of a sudden was beyond me.
Then he calls back.
Me: Administration, this is Meg
Guy: (remember, very distinctive voice here) Why do I have $200?
Me: Is this Mr. German?
Guy: HOW DID YOU KNOW? (Okay, this is funny for a lot of reasons. First of all, in order for me to understand his first question, he'd have to assume I knew who he was. Second of all, THE VOICE! I've never heard anything like it in my life.)
Me: (amazed that he would even ask) Well, I was just talking to you.
Guy: zxdfaowiert $200.
Me: Your account balance is for past due maintenance fees.
Guy: What is that?
Me: (Checking his account while I explain, I notice he's been an owner since 1998. He never had questions before!) It's the fee you pay annually to cover maintenance and utilities on the unit you own.
Guy: WHY DO I HAVE TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS?!?!?!
Me: (dumbfounded, as he's been making payments against this balance for THREE YEARS now, I paused to come up with an answer...but he didn't let me)
Guy: You know what you can do?
Me: What's that?
Guy: zdfklajeir two hundred dollars aso;cviz up your butt! (disconnect)
It's such a better story if you can hear me tell it, though.
Peace.
I'm thinking seriously of taking off next Friday if I can get it. That way, I can stay in Charlottesville after the Robbie show and work the whole bridge tournament. In the long run, that's the best thing to do moneywise given the price of gas. Speaking of gas, did my tummy hurt this afternoon! We had a wedding shower at work for Zoie, and I was having the worst cramps I've ever had. Seriously. But I was trying to hold it all in because I was at work and all...but finally I couldn't take it anymore and I left early to come lie down. As soon as I got in my car, I relaxed a little bit, farted for about three minutes straight, and have been fine ever since. I love farting. It's like my favorite thing in the world to do, but I have to be careful - it's not everyone else's favorite thing for me to do. The thing is, I've had issues with flatulence for all 22 years of my existence. My family called me "Tooter MacGruder" as a child, and my brothers still call me "Grute" for short. If I was going to be embarassed about farting, I would have to live a life of confinement. So I accept and embrace my gassy nature, and say "fuck femininity." My mother thinks that in addition to flatulence, I was cursed with mild Tourrette's. Hey, there has to be some trade-off for my good looks and intelligence;)
Back to more socially acceptable conversation...
So Zoie, the data-entry clerk in our office, lives in an apartment right next to the admin building. When I say "right next to," I mean, not more than 100 yards from. And she drives to work. She says, "I would walk, but you never know what the weather's going to be like." Umm. Whatever is so bad that it could afflict you horribly in the 30-second walk is not something your car will protect you from. STOP KILLING THE ENVIRONMENT AND MAKING YOURSELF FAT. That is all. I've been meaning to get that out for a while.
And finally, the
Let me preface by saying that half of what makes this so funny is the voice. Imagine a very, very, very, very scratchy, soft but angry voice. Very difficult to understand. Let me also say that if you have the opportunity to talk to me in person soon, DON'T READ THIS. Let me do the voice for you, as it will be much better that way. Just ask me to tell you about my crazy phone call. Don't read this and ruin it, because it's much better told in person. If you want to hear it, call me on my cell. IM me and ask for the number if you don't have it. But for those of you who don't actually talk to me, here's the conversation:
Me: Administration, this is Meg
Guy: (scratchy noises I don't understand)
Me: I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time understanding you.
Guy: zzsfzzfszfzsdfcccfzhzfchchch
Me: I'm sorry, I still didn't get that. Did you call about a maintenance fee?
Guy: zdafawera bill zoxdigfasfz.
Me: You have a bill?
Guy: Yes.
Me: Okay, what's the account number on the bill?
Guy: (I think it took like five tries to get the correct number, but finally he said it enough times that I was able to make out all the parts and put it together)
Me: Michael German?
Guy: Yes.
Me: I show that you have a balance of 237.45.
Guy: (remember, scary, angry, scratchy voice) YOU LIE!
Me: (stifling giggles) No, I'm sorry, sir, that's what I show.
Guy: as;dlkfjzxdfa manager zxclk;fjawopeir
Me: I'm sorry, the manager has gone home for the day. I can transfer you to his voice mail.
Guy: zdxoifa talk zxdlgfaoitr RIGHT NOW!
So I transferred him to Steve's voice mail. Steve is the collections manager. Mr. German's account had been in collections for THREE YEARS, and he'd been making payments MONTHLY for THREE YEARS. Why he was confused all of a sudden was beyond me.
Then he calls back.
Me: Administration, this is Meg
Guy: (remember, very distinctive voice here) Why do I have $200?
Me: Is this Mr. German?
Guy: HOW DID YOU KNOW? (Okay, this is funny for a lot of reasons. First of all, in order for me to understand his first question, he'd have to assume I knew who he was. Second of all, THE VOICE! I've never heard anything like it in my life.)
Me: (amazed that he would even ask) Well, I was just talking to you.
Guy: zxdfaowiert $200.
Me: Your account balance is for past due maintenance fees.
Guy: What is that?
Me: (Checking his account while I explain, I notice he's been an owner since 1998. He never had questions before!) It's the fee you pay annually to cover maintenance and utilities on the unit you own.
Guy: WHY DO I HAVE TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS?!?!?!
Me: (dumbfounded, as he's been making payments against this balance for THREE YEARS now, I paused to come up with an answer...but he didn't let me)
Guy: You know what you can do?
Me: What's that?
Guy: zdfklajeir two hundred dollars aso;cviz up your butt! (disconnect)
It's such a better story if you can hear me tell it, though.
Peace.
