Another weekend out at the folks house, this time my husband in tow. He's trying to enjoy his three day summer. Since he spent the entire summer studying he is officially the whitest man alive. Yesterday he took his shirt off at the pool and we were all blinded by the glare of the sun off his ghost like complexion. It's like a double whammy. Being German, he's already at a disadvantage and being home bound for three months has only intensified the whiteness. He's also lost at least 8-10 lbs (that's just his luck that it would happen without even trying). Next to the flock of Italians in my family and our friends he looks sort of anemic. They try to feed him, I try to slather him in SPF 60.
We arrived at friends of the family to swim and we were greeted with, "Hey, it's the "Fresh Air" kids. Must be nice for you to get away from the gun shots and the concrete". The weather was superb and the water, due to Carl's obsession with the solar cover, was at 86 degrees. Can't ask for anything better than that!
We soon learned that my grandmother had taken a turn for the worse this morning. She awoke and started screaming that she couldn't walk. There was some sort of lump on the back of her knee. She told my mother that she would stay in bed and proceeded to sit up straight as a pin and stare at the wall. I would imagine this was slightly unnerving to watch, so my mother left the room. My father was put on duty to watch her and he proceeded to sit in the downstairs and watch a Charles Bronson movie. When my mother arrived several hours later my father was still watching Charles Bronson and when she went to check on my grandmother she found her in tears. She had to go to the bathroom, couldn't walk, no one was home, etc, etc. High drama ensued to get her to the facilities. Lots of shuffling and moaning.
Now you're thinking, "Oh, you are so mean. She's 87 and I'm sure she has pain and God have mercy on your soul; someday that will be YOU." Normally I would agree with you but the minute she saw my husband she was like a new woman. She immediately put on an outfit, walked down a full flight of steps by herself and began fawning over him. She did not leave his side for the next 8 hours. In fact, I had to explain to her that I was actually married to him and that yes indeed, I was related to her. I can't attribute the 180 entirely to my husband. My father and I had a conversation with her about the fact that she's living in a two story home and if she can't walk then she can't stay. We don't want her to have to go somewhere else so perhaps she should start exercising a bit so she keeps up her strength. I think she may have started to think about the implications of this and decided that perhaps this wasn't such a bad gig.
We weren't taking any chances, this morning we sent my husband to wake her up. She was all smiles and sunshine. She even let him put her eye drops in. I suggested to my parents they might want to find a "friend" to sit with her so they can actually leave the house.....together. I think a young male nurse would work quite well. Plus she needs a new boyfriend, preferably one that's not my husband.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
One Fire, One Flood & a Nice View without Locusts
I'm sitting on my balcony doing a little work and I thought, "wow, I have a great view". In all the years I've lived in the city, I've never had a balcony or a view. I feel compelled to share.
With the exception of West Philly, which we'll leave out of this discussion since it's more or less a wasteland of slumlords and hookers, I've always lived in fairly reasonable apartments. It started up on 19th & Pine when I lived with Kelly. That was a great place, high ceilings, his & her's sinks and a wonderful location. The guy that lived upstairs smoked a lot of dope and professed to be an acupuncturist, but it could be worse. (Of course I can say that because he set fire to the building after we moved out).
My next city apartment was with my husband at 13th and Walnut. We were diagonally across the street from Woody's and so we experienced Techno Night on Wednesdays right from our couch. Our first Memorial Day weekend there we found a squatter in the empty apartment next to ours, called the cops and watched the good 'ole Philadelphia PD bust through the door. This guy must have been about 300lbs of solid muscle. When they finally did lease that place it was to a guy who we swore was running a meth lab. He never hung curtains, just black trash bags in the windows. He was nice enough, but his "friends" were a bit loud at strange hours of the day and night and I think most of them had Tourettes. Post wedding we didn't fit anymore so we decided it was time to start looking. It did have huge beautiful windows that I could stand in but the "one butt" kitchen was significantly lacking for two people who like to cook. Plus, it caught fire.
One night we came back from an evening out to find the lobby gutted. We could see clear through the building wall to the neighbor's toilet. Apparently Philadelphia Management had brought in PECO and some electrician to do some work. The fire started in the basement and came up through our wall. Aside from giant sooty fireman handprints on the wall and the fact that it smelled like 4,000 girl scouts had a campfire in there, our personal items were fine. A good dry cleaners and three days later we were gone.
We moved down the street a few blocks to a first floor apartment on 13th & South. We thought it would be far enough up on South that we wouldn't get the crazy noise on Friday/Saturday night. Instead we got all the people walking to the craziness. They knocked on our windows, rang our doorbell and got into fist fights in front of the house. I've never called the cops so much in my life. It did have two bedrooms but it was like living in a concrete box. Since we couldn't keep our windows open we never had any light. I think I suffered seasonal disorder while living in that place. About 6 months after moving in, my husband was up late one night and heard a funny noise. He had just enough time to unload the bookshelf and move the furniture before the ceiling let loose with about 40+ gallons of rain water from our upstairs neighbors balcony. He was nice enough to not wake me up through this fiasco so I discovered our trashcan in the living room collecting water the next morning.
It was at this point that I started making biblical references about waiting for the locusts to get us next.
As previously mentioned my landlord decided to sell that place and that is how we ended up here. For those of you who aren't jumping in your cars/onto planes/throwing on your running shoes to come visit, I thought I would entice you with our new view of the city. We haven't seen any locusts but there are a lot of crickets here....
With the exception of West Philly, which we'll leave out of this discussion since it's more or less a wasteland of slumlords and hookers, I've always lived in fairly reasonable apartments. It started up on 19th & Pine when I lived with Kelly. That was a great place, high ceilings, his & her's sinks and a wonderful location. The guy that lived upstairs smoked a lot of dope and professed to be an acupuncturist, but it could be worse. (Of course I can say that because he set fire to the building after we moved out).
My next city apartment was with my husband at 13th and Walnut. We were diagonally across the street from Woody's and so we experienced Techno Night on Wednesdays right from our couch. Our first Memorial Day weekend there we found a squatter in the empty apartment next to ours, called the cops and watched the good 'ole Philadelphia PD bust through the door. This guy must have been about 300lbs of solid muscle. When they finally did lease that place it was to a guy who we swore was running a meth lab. He never hung curtains, just black trash bags in the windows. He was nice enough, but his "friends" were a bit loud at strange hours of the day and night and I think most of them had Tourettes. Post wedding we didn't fit anymore so we decided it was time to start looking. It did have huge beautiful windows that I could stand in but the "one butt" kitchen was significantly lacking for two people who like to cook. Plus, it caught fire.
One night we came back from an evening out to find the lobby gutted. We could see clear through the building wall to the neighbor's toilet. Apparently Philadelphia Management had brought in PECO and some electrician to do some work. The fire started in the basement and came up through our wall. Aside from giant sooty fireman handprints on the wall and the fact that it smelled like 4,000 girl scouts had a campfire in there, our personal items were fine. A good dry cleaners and three days later we were gone.
We moved down the street a few blocks to a first floor apartment on 13th & South. We thought it would be far enough up on South that we wouldn't get the crazy noise on Friday/Saturday night. Instead we got all the people walking to the craziness. They knocked on our windows, rang our doorbell and got into fist fights in front of the house. I've never called the cops so much in my life. It did have two bedrooms but it was like living in a concrete box. Since we couldn't keep our windows open we never had any light. I think I suffered seasonal disorder while living in that place. About 6 months after moving in, my husband was up late one night and heard a funny noise. He had just enough time to unload the bookshelf and move the furniture before the ceiling let loose with about 40+ gallons of rain water from our upstairs neighbors balcony. He was nice enough to not wake me up through this fiasco so I discovered our trashcan in the living room collecting water the next morning.
It was at this point that I started making biblical references about waiting for the locusts to get us next.
As previously mentioned my landlord decided to sell that place and that is how we ended up here. For those of you who aren't jumping in your cars/onto planes/throwing on your running shoes to come visit, I thought I would entice you with our new view of the city. We haven't seen any locusts but there are a lot of crickets here....
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Ocean Handle! What's an Ocean Handle?
I spent the weekend at my parent's house while my husband studied diligently for his board exams. This particular weekend was my grandmother's 87th birthday which she started off by falling down and whacking her head on the corner of a dresser. This was then followed by a visit to the hospital and 48 hours of declarations of new ailments and wild meanderings.
"My ears, I can't hear but if I stick my fingers in my ears I hear better."
"My back, it hurts."
"Did you know I fell down the steps?" (Ummm, no. That was last year, you actually fell in your bedroom. "Oh, yeah. I fell in the bedroom.").
"I have a hole in my head."
"I don't want to stay here anymore, I hate you people. I'm going to ask Mother if I can stay with someone else." (Huh? )
"That hairdresser cut my hair like a boy." (Considering I cut her hair the last time, this was a vast improvement)
My grandmother had been living with my aunt and uncle for almost 17 years prior to her moving in with my folks. She was entirely lucid until about 2 years ago (note: the use of lucid since she's always been crazy) when she started forgetting people. She pretty much gave up remembering her great grandchildren's names. They now have nicknames, known only to her. "You know, the one that screams" or "that one with all the hair". The other day she said to my mother (about me), "I don't remember her, is she married?". My mother replied, "Yes, you know her husband" and my mother demonstrated my husband's strange face rubbing tic that he does when he finds something funny. Immediately my grandmother replied, "OH, I know him, I loooove him." WTF she remembers my husband but not the grandchild she's known her entire life?
So needless to say we end up having very odd conversations with her on a regular basis. And by regular, I mean very regular. It usually goes something like this:
Mommom: Hi ya, what's new?
Me: We're moving.
Mommom: Oh yea, is it nice?
I explain our new place in great detail
Mommom: Oh that's great. Good luck with that.
Silence for about 1 minute
Mommom: Hi ya, what's new?
and repeat
I visit occasionally so I have these conversations with a great deal of amusement, my mother on the other hand is subjected to this on a daily basis. I think she's dealt reasonably well. She herself is slightly deaf and I think this helps.
We've repeatedly told her that she needs a hearing aid. Evidence provided below.
My sister talking to my mother...
Sister: You know mom, they have these services that come to your house and fit you for a hearing aid, you don't even have to leave the house. I saw it on TV.
Mom: Who's coming to my house? What are they doing with my TV?
The family driving in the car...
Sister to my father: If you're going to do anything crazy, let me know so I can grab the Oh-Shit Handle.
Mom: An Ocean Handle! What's an Ocean Handle?
My mother and I talking yesterday...
Me: That guy said he hasn't been back to Austria since he was 10.
Mom: How old is he?
Me: He's probably fifty or sixty.
Mom: Oh that's only 6 years.
Me: Hey, good math mom. How do you figure?
Mom: You said he's only 15 or 16.
You can see how this might be slightly irritating. Last year at Christmas time was the final straw. After enduring days of "What?", "WHAT?", "What did you say?" we finally said ENOUGH. We told her that she would not receive a single gift for any holiday going forward as we were escrowing gift money toward the purchase of a hearing aid. By this point you're picturing my parents as poor retired folk that are watching their pennies - why else wouldn't the poor woman get herself a hearing aid, right? Wrong. They're quite fine and the only reason she doesn't have one is because it is a "significant purchase" and my father told her that "he'll let her know when she needs a hearing aid".
This logic is baffling. Do you know the other day my mother ended up with the wrong salad at lunch because she couldn't hear the waitress. What's next? My money is on her accidentally selling herself into white slavery.
I have to get going. I have several repetitive conversations to have at very high volume. Enjoy your Labor Day!
"My ears, I can't hear but if I stick my fingers in my ears I hear better."
"My back, it hurts."
"Did you know I fell down the steps?" (Ummm, no. That was last year, you actually fell in your bedroom. "Oh, yeah. I fell in the bedroom.").
"I have a hole in my head."
"I don't want to stay here anymore, I hate you people. I'm going to ask Mother if I can stay with someone else." (Huh? )
"That hairdresser cut my hair like a boy." (Considering I cut her hair the last time, this was a vast improvement)
My grandmother had been living with my aunt and uncle for almost 17 years prior to her moving in with my folks. She was entirely lucid until about 2 years ago (note: the use of lucid since she's always been crazy) when she started forgetting people. She pretty much gave up remembering her great grandchildren's names. They now have nicknames, known only to her. "You know, the one that screams" or "that one with all the hair". The other day she said to my mother (about me), "I don't remember her, is she married?". My mother replied, "Yes, you know her husband" and my mother demonstrated my husband's strange face rubbing tic that he does when he finds something funny. Immediately my grandmother replied, "OH, I know him, I loooove him." WTF she remembers my husband but not the grandchild she's known her entire life?
So needless to say we end up having very odd conversations with her on a regular basis. And by regular, I mean very regular. It usually goes something like this:
Mommom: Hi ya, what's new?
Me: We're moving.
Mommom: Oh yea, is it nice?
I explain our new place in great detail
Mommom: Oh that's great. Good luck with that.
Silence for about 1 minute
Mommom: Hi ya, what's new?
and repeat
I visit occasionally so I have these conversations with a great deal of amusement, my mother on the other hand is subjected to this on a daily basis. I think she's dealt reasonably well. She herself is slightly deaf and I think this helps.
We've repeatedly told her that she needs a hearing aid. Evidence provided below.
My sister talking to my mother...
Sister: You know mom, they have these services that come to your house and fit you for a hearing aid, you don't even have to leave the house. I saw it on TV.
Mom: Who's coming to my house? What are they doing with my TV?
The family driving in the car...
Sister to my father: If you're going to do anything crazy, let me know so I can grab the Oh-Shit Handle.
Mom: An Ocean Handle! What's an Ocean Handle?
My mother and I talking yesterday...
Me: That guy said he hasn't been back to Austria since he was 10.
Mom: How old is he?
Me: He's probably fifty or sixty.
Mom: Oh that's only 6 years.
Me: Hey, good math mom. How do you figure?
Mom: You said he's only 15 or 16.
You can see how this might be slightly irritating. Last year at Christmas time was the final straw. After enduring days of "What?", "WHAT?", "What did you say?" we finally said ENOUGH. We told her that she would not receive a single gift for any holiday going forward as we were escrowing gift money toward the purchase of a hearing aid. By this point you're picturing my parents as poor retired folk that are watching their pennies - why else wouldn't the poor woman get herself a hearing aid, right? Wrong. They're quite fine and the only reason she doesn't have one is because it is a "significant purchase" and my father told her that "he'll let her know when she needs a hearing aid".
This logic is baffling. Do you know the other day my mother ended up with the wrong salad at lunch because she couldn't hear the waitress. What's next? My money is on her accidentally selling herself into white slavery.
I have to get going. I have several repetitive conversations to have at very high volume. Enjoy your Labor Day!
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Hat Hunting
I think that I am now permanently crippled. Partly from my not at all sensible shoes and partly from the six hour witch hunt I was just on to find a hat. I'm sure most of you have heard me talk about the fact that my brother-in-law's wedding is coming up. Weddings there are much different than weddings here. I needed a hat. As best as I can figure, hat wearing went out of mainstream fashion in the US some time in the 60's. Clearly our friends over there haven't gotten the memo.
So I needed some serious shopping for this trip. Could I have recycled from my current wardrobe, sure but where's the fun in that? Plus, I needed a hat. I needed a dress for the hat (note: the fact that I bought the dress before the hat is irrelevant, so shush). I typically have two colors in my wardrobe, black and black. Black is not ok for church. Looking out at a sea of wedding goers over there is like looking at a giant Easter egg. If I look back at pictures of my wedding you can spot the Americans at 500 yards - a sea of black. Don't get me wrong, everyone looked absolutely chic and lovely, but our style is certainly not garden party, unless of course one is having a funeral in the garden in which case that would work out quite well. So I forced myself to look at the dresses that I would normally speed right past. I saw this dress as a happy compromise, it's secretly a black dress that's not black.
I find the cultural differences quite interesting. For instance, my in-laws find it amusing that my husband calls my parent's Mom & Dad. "Oh, that's so old fashioned" they say. However they're the ones getting dressed just to go outside to get the mail. Generally speaking it seems that this lack of formality has extended to all activity in US. Every day in the summer we roll out the door in shorts and t-shirts while the only place this "ensem" is acceptable over the pond is when one is going to the gym. I have to remind myself when visiting that it is decidedly not ok to show up at the breakfast table in my PJ pants and a tank top.
So I needed some serious shopping for this trip. Could I have recycled from my current wardrobe, sure but where's the fun in that? Plus, I needed a hat. I needed a dress for the hat (note: the fact that I bought the dress before the hat is irrelevant, so shush). I typically have two colors in my wardrobe, black and black. Black is not ok for church. Looking out at a sea of wedding goers over there is like looking at a giant Easter egg. If I look back at pictures of my wedding you can spot the Americans at 500 yards - a sea of black. Don't get me wrong, everyone looked absolutely chic and lovely, but our style is certainly not garden party, unless of course one is having a funeral in the garden in which case that would work out quite well. So I forced myself to look at the dresses that I would normally speed right past. I saw this dress as a happy compromise, it's secretly a black dress that's not black.One June Cleaver, garden party looking dress purchased...check!
I spent one evening surfing the Internet looking for hats. Who knew that these things were special order? So now I'm screwed. I have to find a hat off the rack. They might as well have told me I need a burka because they're probably about as common as hats in this country. I nearly killed myself walking around Philly looking. I even went into Sophie Curson which is old biddie heaven. I didn't find a hat, but I did end up in Leehee Fai and found an awesome dress for the evening. I'm in love with this dress. It's sort of like wearing a cross between your PJs and a giant parachute. I did cave and buy it in black, but seriously we can't be colorful all the time. My husband says that a tuxedo is black intentionally so that the woman is the focus of attention. I say black is minimizing, who wants to look back and see pictures of ones self looking like a giant grape or some sort of big white sausage?
One fabulously comfortable evening gown purchased.....check!
This morning my mother and I got up bright and early to go shopping. We mapped out all of the possible locations that might be hiding church hats. The adventure began at 10AM. We drove out the main line and hit every ladies boutique between Wayne and Bala Cynwyd. Nada. Finally hit Saks around 1PM. Nuttin. Lord and Taylor, used their ladies room but that's about it. (btw, the L&T out on City Line smells like an armpit, don't go there) Drove to King of Prussia, did the department store thing. Finally, I put all good sense aside and went into Needless Mark-up. There, in all it's glory, was an honest to God hat department. I can only theorize that hats are like engagement rings. There must be a rule somewhere that a hat should be one month of your salary. That's the only POSSIBLE reason that something so small and useless could cost as much as it did. The only somewhat redeeming part was that the stupid thing was made in the good old USA. At least I'm not supporting 3rd world child labor. The funniest line from the whole Nieman's experience....the saleswoman says to me "..and it comes in one of our beautiful hat boxes." Seriously, you can't make this stuff up, those words came out of her mouth.
So here it is. My lovely hat. Of course, I got it in black.....check!
Picture credits: www.bananarepublic.com, www.pollisays.com, www.ericjavits.com
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Good Karma/Bad Karma & Is there such a thing as ePhermones?
Good Karma/Bad Karma
The other day I rented a Philly Car Share minivan (please refrain from Soccer Mom jokes, it was the only thing available) and I found a digital camera in the console. So after I checked it out and snooped the pictures I called Philly Care Share and told them I found it. They asked me if I wanted to bring it by the office. Mama didn’t raise no fool, I said “why don’t you take my mobile number and have them call me”. I knew exactly what would happen if I gave that to the office - it would disappear into the pocket of some non-profit flunky. And so I waited. My husband on the other hand looked up it’s retail value and started making plans for his new digital camera. Two weeks go by, no call. He’s talking about ordering chargers, cables and downloading software. I keep waiting…"no honey, it's not your camera. Please don’t delete their pictures”…
Last night I took a cab, paid the driver and went home to do what I do best – nothing. I hear my blackberry buzzing away in the corner, I ignore it. Buzz, buzz, buzz…. What on earth is going on over there? Missed call number three. Check the voicemail. “Hi this is Citibank, we have a report that your wallet was found and we’re cancelling your cards, blah, blah, blah”. What? I just paid the cab driver. Call waiting starts beeping. My hand is groping in the blackhole that is my purse. Hmmm, no wallet. Answer the call waiting,
Guy: “Hi this is Bill, missing something?”
Me: “Why yes, apparently I am. Do you have it?”
Guy: “No, but you apparently had my business card so they called me to find you. We must have met and I gave you my business card. I have the lady’s number who has your wallet.”
Boy am I glad I met that guy at happy hour.
So I call the nice lady who offers to drive my wallet over to me. I insist on not putting her out, she insists since she's driving around. She’s nice but like I said, Mama didn’t raise no dummy. I immediately go online and transfer all my cash to the account that is not accessible by ATM or check card. I check my credit cards, no weird charges for stereo equipment or sneakers at the Footlocker. I’m feeling good.
We meet, I immediately pull out the cash and hand it to her. I think it was about $50. She and her friend looked at each other - you know they were taking bets on whether or not I was going to give it to her. She does the half hearted, “oh you don’t have to do that”. I insist, she is visibly pleased. I ask for her address to send her a thank you, she says I’ve given her more than enough already. Who am I to argue.
This morning my phone rings.
Camera Lady: “Hi, I understand you found my digital camera”
Me: “Why yes I did”
Camera Lady: “Thanks so much for hanging onto it, I doubt I would have gotten it back otherwise”
Me: “Yep, that’s why I held onto it”
Camera Lady: “Thank you so much, there are really important pictures on there”
(Huh? It’s a bunch of people in human gyroscopes - note to self: weirdo)
I don’t expect anything for my trouble since few people have manners these days. I will consider the good karma bestowed upon me repayment enough. I got my wallet back, I don’t have to go the DMV, all is right in the world.
Is there such a thing as ePheromones?
pher·o·mone (fěr'ə-mōn') n. A chemical secreted by an animal, especially an insect, that influences the behavior or development of others of the same species, often functioning as an attractant of the opposite sex.
We have eMail, eStores, eDiets, eFiling but is there such a thing as ePheromones? Is it possible to send off electronic vibes that say “Hey, I’m feeling frisky today”? Perhaps it’s the full moon. (yes, I checked 95% full) Either way there was something up today.
I’ve always had this uncanny ability to say things that make total sense at the time but as soon as it's out of my mouth I realize that it was totally a double entendre.
10:02 AM: I was late for a three person conference call; stuck on the phone with a talker. So I sent a courtesy email:
To: Coworker #1
From: Me
Subject: I’m coming
Stuck on phone, start without me.
I arrive a few moments later. I start giving an update about some project nonsense. Microsoft’s handy little email preview pops up in the lower right hand corner of the screen.
To: Me
From Coworker #1
Subject: Re: I’m coming
Please don’t hold up our calls for personal gratification in the future
I laugh, out loud. I can’t help it. Realizing that the other person on the call has no idea why I’m laughing in the middle of my update I try to explain.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good about being quiet” ewwww, I just did it again. I am totally digging my own hole. “I just got a funny email”. OMG Help…I sound like a total idiot.
To: Coworker #1
From: Me
Subject: re: I’m coming
And what I meant by "I'm not good at being quiet" was that I have a habit of laughing out loud on calls when people send me funny emails. NOT what you were likely thinking. Cut it out.
Immediately….
To: Me
From: Coworker #1
Subject: Re: I’m coming
Definitely thinking, not just likely . . .
Single incident right? Wrong. Fast forward three hours. I join a call.
“Hi, this is Me. Blah, blah, blah”. Put the phone on mute for what will surely be another hour of painful discussion. I see my office IM blinking. New guy from IT.
New Guy: I’m on the call, so is so-and-so, but I like you best, you sound Sultry.
Me: Seriously can’t help it. First job out of college I set up my voicemail and a few days later got a message from my admin that I might want to change my voicemail to sound less like a 900 number.
New Guy: I was thinking about asking you to leave me a voicemail so I could save it for a rainy day. I like to go by Big Boy.
For those of you who have never met my father, he retired more than 5 years ago. I think it was partially because he could and partially because they instituted hostile work environment policies. Growing up with him was much like living the what-not-to-say-at-work educational videos .
Dad: "Hey is that a camel hair sweater you have on?"
Me: "No Dad, it's cashmere"
Dad: "Oh, then what are those two humps? HA HA HA!"
Suffice to say a fairly high tolerance for pain was necessary. Given my years of breeding I have impeccable taste for toilet humor. As a result my non-work brain says "These guys crack me up!". My work brain however says "Good God, not over email. Didn't you read our technology policy!" (please reference earlier post about enjoying being gainfully employed)
So, to all you frisky, moon howling men out there, no matter what kind of ePheromones you're picking up, save it for Happy Hour.
The other day I rented a Philly Car Share minivan (please refrain from Soccer Mom jokes, it was the only thing available) and I found a digital camera in the console. So after I checked it out and snooped the pictures I called Philly Care Share and told them I found it. They asked me if I wanted to bring it by the office. Mama didn’t raise no fool, I said “why don’t you take my mobile number and have them call me”. I knew exactly what would happen if I gave that to the office - it would disappear into the pocket of some non-profit flunky. And so I waited. My husband on the other hand looked up it’s retail value and started making plans for his new digital camera. Two weeks go by, no call. He’s talking about ordering chargers, cables and downloading software. I keep waiting…"no honey, it's not your camera. Please don’t delete their pictures”…
Last night I took a cab, paid the driver and went home to do what I do best – nothing. I hear my blackberry buzzing away in the corner, I ignore it. Buzz, buzz, buzz…. What on earth is going on over there? Missed call number three. Check the voicemail. “Hi this is Citibank, we have a report that your wallet was found and we’re cancelling your cards, blah, blah, blah”. What? I just paid the cab driver. Call waiting starts beeping. My hand is groping in the blackhole that is my purse. Hmmm, no wallet. Answer the call waiting,
Guy: “Hi this is Bill, missing something?”
Me: “Why yes, apparently I am. Do you have it?”
Guy: “No, but you apparently had my business card so they called me to find you. We must have met and I gave you my business card. I have the lady’s number who has your wallet.”
Boy am I glad I met that guy at happy hour.
So I call the nice lady who offers to drive my wallet over to me. I insist on not putting her out, she insists since she's driving around. She’s nice but like I said, Mama didn’t raise no dummy. I immediately go online and transfer all my cash to the account that is not accessible by ATM or check card. I check my credit cards, no weird charges for stereo equipment or sneakers at the Footlocker. I’m feeling good.
We meet, I immediately pull out the cash and hand it to her. I think it was about $50. She and her friend looked at each other - you know they were taking bets on whether or not I was going to give it to her. She does the half hearted, “oh you don’t have to do that”. I insist, she is visibly pleased. I ask for her address to send her a thank you, she says I’ve given her more than enough already. Who am I to argue.
This morning my phone rings.
Camera Lady: “Hi, I understand you found my digital camera”
Me: “Why yes I did”
Camera Lady: “Thanks so much for hanging onto it, I doubt I would have gotten it back otherwise”
Me: “Yep, that’s why I held onto it”
Camera Lady: “Thank you so much, there are really important pictures on there”
(Huh? It’s a bunch of people in human gyroscopes - note to self: weirdo)
I don’t expect anything for my trouble since few people have manners these days. I will consider the good karma bestowed upon me repayment enough. I got my wallet back, I don’t have to go the DMV, all is right in the world.
Is there such a thing as ePheromones?
pher·o·mone (fěr'ə-mōn') n. A chemical secreted by an animal, especially an insect, that influences the behavior or development of others of the same species, often functioning as an attractant of the opposite sex.
We have eMail, eStores, eDiets, eFiling but is there such a thing as ePheromones? Is it possible to send off electronic vibes that say “Hey, I’m feeling frisky today”? Perhaps it’s the full moon. (yes, I checked 95% full) Either way there was something up today.
I’ve always had this uncanny ability to say things that make total sense at the time but as soon as it's out of my mouth I realize that it was totally a double entendre.
10:02 AM: I was late for a three person conference call; stuck on the phone with a talker. So I sent a courtesy email:
To: Coworker #1
From: Me
Subject: I’m coming
Stuck on phone, start without me.
I arrive a few moments later. I start giving an update about some project nonsense. Microsoft’s handy little email preview pops up in the lower right hand corner of the screen.
To: Me
From Coworker #1
Subject: Re: I’m coming
Please don’t hold up our calls for personal gratification in the future
I laugh, out loud. I can’t help it. Realizing that the other person on the call has no idea why I’m laughing in the middle of my update I try to explain.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good about being quiet” ewwww, I just did it again. I am totally digging my own hole. “I just got a funny email”. OMG Help…I sound like a total idiot.
To: Coworker #1
From: Me
Subject: re: I’m coming
And what I meant by "I'm not good at being quiet" was that I have a habit of laughing out loud on calls when people send me funny emails. NOT what you were likely thinking. Cut it out.
Immediately….
To: Me
From: Coworker #1
Subject: Re: I’m coming
Definitely thinking, not just likely . . .
Single incident right? Wrong. Fast forward three hours. I join a call.
“Hi, this is Me. Blah, blah, blah”. Put the phone on mute for what will surely be another hour of painful discussion. I see my office IM blinking. New guy from IT.
New Guy: I’m on the call, so is so-and-so, but I like you best, you sound Sultry.
Me: Seriously can’t help it. First job out of college I set up my voicemail and a few days later got a message from my admin that I might want to change my voicemail to sound less like a 900 number.
New Guy: I was thinking about asking you to leave me a voicemail so I could save it for a rainy day. I like to go by Big Boy.
For those of you who have never met my father, he retired more than 5 years ago. I think it was partially because he could and partially because they instituted hostile work environment policies. Growing up with him was much like living the what-not-to-say-at-work educational videos .
Dad: "Hey is that a camel hair sweater you have on?"
Me: "No Dad, it's cashmere"
Dad: "Oh, then what are those two humps? HA HA HA!"
Suffice to say a fairly high tolerance for pain was necessary. Given my years of breeding I have impeccable taste for toilet humor. As a result my non-work brain says "These guys crack me up!". My work brain however says "Good God, not over email. Didn't you read our technology policy!" (please reference earlier post about enjoying being gainfully employed)
So, to all you frisky, moon howling men out there, no matter what kind of ePheromones you're picking up, save it for Happy Hour.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Snot & the Quest for a Cure
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of visiting my fabulous office space, I have to say it's pretty swanky. When I moved there in mid 2005 they told me it was temporary. "Don't worry about the lack of space, privacy, walls...it's TEMPORARY". Not wanting to be the nay-sayer I said "oh sure, no problem".
Here we are, two years later and I'm still sharing a large cube. Thankfully we like each other a lot so it's like having a partner in crime, at least until we're both yelling over each other on different conference calls because we can't hear. We've affectionately named our area "the double wide". I've also added a yoga ball that I occasionally sit on. It's popular with our guests since no one else has a yoga ball/guest chair.
I would ask for an upgrade but there's several problems with that.
1. I would lose my cool cubemate and frankly that's the most entertaining part of my day.
2. An upgrade is more like a cube on steroids. A desk surrounded by partial walls and a shower door. It's more like the illusion of privacy because it's really not sound proof in the least.
You might be saying, "Oh, it can't be that bad, you're just a complainer". Case in point: someone strolled by the other day and asked me where the guy in the shower stall across from me was. I said, "Gee, not really sure" and she asked, "Do you support him?". Like a dope I responded "Support him in what?". I need a new space.
Anyway, the point of this story is that I can hear everything and all day yesterday all I heard was coughing, nose blowing and snot sucking. Seeing as I'm going on vacation soon this is totally expected. I get sick every time I go on vacation. So when the runny nose started I didn't think anything of it. Then my left rear molar started to hurt AND my eye was sort of infected. Now I'm forced to wear glasses and I have obscene quantities of dry skin around my nose. I fancy myself a Quasimodo of sorts.
Knowing that I need to get well before I leave, I start by calling the dentist. I show up there bright and early this morning and after tapping and poking he declares my teeth fine. "You have a sinus problem, you should take some drugs and call me next week if it doesn't get better and we'll send you to a root canal specialist". WTF...my sinuses. These guys are hacks.
So I leave and I figure I have time to kill before I go back to the office. Why not swing by my Ophthalmologist and have him look at the goopy eye. He pokes and prods (he actually knocked on my face) and he says, "Your eye is fine, but you have a sinus problem." WTF....how does a sinus problem make your eye feel like there's a giant piece of sand in it??
So I call my husband, "oh yea, sorry I didn't catch that. That's pretty textbook. You know your sinuses run right along your upper molars and near your eyes". WTF....betrayed by the husband.
So I run across town to doctor number 3. He says "what are your symptoms?". I say, "One Dentist, one Ophthalmologist and my husband". He said, "Yea, you have a sinus infection, we all have the same textbooks, here's a script."
Here we are, two years later and I'm still sharing a large cube. Thankfully we like each other a lot so it's like having a partner in crime, at least until we're both yelling over each other on different conference calls because we can't hear. We've affectionately named our area "the double wide". I've also added a yoga ball that I occasionally sit on. It's popular with our guests since no one else has a yoga ball/guest chair.
I would ask for an upgrade but there's several problems with that.
1. I would lose my cool cubemate and frankly that's the most entertaining part of my day.
2. An upgrade is more like a cube on steroids. A desk surrounded by partial walls and a shower door. It's more like the illusion of privacy because it's really not sound proof in the least.
You might be saying, "Oh, it can't be that bad, you're just a complainer". Case in point: someone strolled by the other day and asked me where the guy in the shower stall across from me was. I said, "Gee, not really sure" and she asked, "Do you support him?". Like a dope I responded "Support him in what?". I need a new space.
Anyway, the point of this story is that I can hear everything and all day yesterday all I heard was coughing, nose blowing and snot sucking. Seeing as I'm going on vacation soon this is totally expected. I get sick every time I go on vacation. So when the runny nose started I didn't think anything of it. Then my left rear molar started to hurt AND my eye was sort of infected. Now I'm forced to wear glasses and I have obscene quantities of dry skin around my nose. I fancy myself a Quasimodo of sorts.
Knowing that I need to get well before I leave, I start by calling the dentist. I show up there bright and early this morning and after tapping and poking he declares my teeth fine. "You have a sinus problem, you should take some drugs and call me next week if it doesn't get better and we'll send you to a root canal specialist". WTF...my sinuses. These guys are hacks.
So I leave and I figure I have time to kill before I go back to the office. Why not swing by my Ophthalmologist and have him look at the goopy eye. He pokes and prods (he actually knocked on my face) and he says, "Your eye is fine, but you have a sinus problem." WTF....how does a sinus problem make your eye feel like there's a giant piece of sand in it??
So I call my husband, "oh yea, sorry I didn't catch that. That's pretty textbook. You know your sinuses run right along your upper molars and near your eyes". WTF....betrayed by the husband.
So I run across town to doctor number 3. He says "what are your symptoms?". I say, "One Dentist, one Ophthalmologist and my husband". He said, "Yea, you have a sinus infection, we all have the same textbooks, here's a script."
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My New Virtual Home
For my one reader, thank you Joe, I've moved to a new location. I wasn't so tired of all the porn spam on Myspace as I was my mother complaining that she had to sign up for Myspace to read my blog. Then I started thinking about my mother, the church lady, and the porn spam and the long suppressed Catholic guilt kicked in....
Ok, so technically I have one reader and one would be reader. So I guess this makes my official count two. Yes, I realize that I can hardly call my 10 entry mess a blog but everyone has to start somewhere.
I got an email the other day from my friend Trish and she has officially boycotted all social networking sites. I applaud her effort since I practically went blind for the first week I was on Myspace with all the snooping I did. Her email got me thinking because she made the very astute observation that the tides were turning towards Facebook. First it was Friendster, then Myspace, now Facebook and let us not forget the uber snobby asmallworld.net. Then there's the work related sites like LinkedIn and Plaxo. It's enough to make a person nutty. Since I dislike Facebook more than I hate Myspace I decided it was time to move to neutral territory. I had been sneaking peeks occasionally at my friend Kajal's blog (http://www.shamuthegoldfish.blogspot.com/ which is hysterically funny btw) when I decided that blogspot seemed like as good a place as any. Plus I'm a big fan of Google taking over the world so I look at this as me doing my part to support the machine. So here we are.
I sincerely hope for the sake of my two readers that I don't disappoint. We're leaving for two destination weddings over the next few months, which of course includes vacationing with my disorganized husband and visiting my in-laws, so I would put money on at least a few humorous stories there.
Ok, so technically I have one reader and one would be reader. So I guess this makes my official count two. Yes, I realize that I can hardly call my 10 entry mess a blog but everyone has to start somewhere.
I got an email the other day from my friend Trish and she has officially boycotted all social networking sites. I applaud her effort since I practically went blind for the first week I was on Myspace with all the snooping I did. Her email got me thinking because she made the very astute observation that the tides were turning towards Facebook. First it was Friendster, then Myspace, now Facebook and let us not forget the uber snobby asmallworld.net. Then there's the work related sites like LinkedIn and Plaxo. It's enough to make a person nutty. Since I dislike Facebook more than I hate Myspace I decided it was time to move to neutral territory. I had been sneaking peeks occasionally at my friend Kajal's blog (http://www.shamuthegoldfish.blogspot.com/ which is hysterically funny btw) when I decided that blogspot seemed like as good a place as any. Plus I'm a big fan of Google taking over the world so I look at this as me doing my part to support the machine. So here we are.
I sincerely hope for the sake of my two readers that I don't disappoint. We're leaving for two destination weddings over the next few months, which of course includes vacationing with my disorganized husband and visiting my in-laws, so I would put money on at least a few humorous stories there.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I think I’m getting old.....
So we've moved and unpacked (mostly). The thing about unpacking is that you get to review your entire life in a few days. I just opened up a box of crap that I haven't touched in probably four years. The stuff inside perhaps more. It somehow managed to move with me all this time and I never saw a need to do anything with it. As it turned out it was a bunch of pictures, cards and things from college and high school.
It's amazing when you think about it. Although I graduated almost ten years ago from college, it seems like yesterday. Perhaps it seems that way because I've kept in touch with so many of my close friends from those years.
My father once told me that the friends I had in high school won't be my friends once I'm an adult so I shouldn't make such a big deal out of all of the drama. Perhaps it was his way of telling me to look at the big picture. In some respects what he said is true, but I still have a handful of girlfriends from grade school and high school that I see more than I see most other people. They're visiting for brunch tomorrow, two of them with their children. I can't imagine my life without them. We are, of course, very different people who lead very different lives now but something about the time we spent growing up together keeps us together. The boyfriends we've lived through, the stupid things we've done and somehow managed to come out alive or at least without any permanent damage and the raging wars we've had between the four of us. The letters we mailed each other while we were in college (yes, letters….email didn't really exist until later in our college careers) were quite humorous.
It's also impressive the amount of crap I've kept. I know what I was thinking when I kept it. I wanted to remember small pieces of the life I led, how I felt at that exact moment in time. Sometimes the reality is shameful, sometimes happy, sometimes a bit bewildering. I don't think I would want to go back but it's nice to remember because it helps me understand how I ended up where I am today.
I am notorious for not remembering anything. My friends like to tell stories about things I did, I rarely remember them – maybe I was drunk, maybe I just have a bad memory (I would like to think it's the former). Perhaps that's why I save things; the moment I look at a picture or read a letter it all comes flooding back. I went through a picture drawer and started sorting. I can't believe that in the four years I spent in college I only took less than eight to ten rolls of film. I can only guess it's because film and developing was expensive (yes, film and developing….digital cameras came after college). I wish I had more, then again, maybe I don't. Perhaps the memory in some cases is far more glamorous than the reality forever recorded in a picture. My one college girlfriend recently said to me, "I remember we looked good in college but when I go back and look at pictures I think we look kind of beat-up.". I would guess it's all relative. Of course we look much better now, that's what having a job and money will get you – regular hair cuts and color, massages, pedicures, facials, real make-up, better clothes, etc. I think we looked pretty good for people who drank heavily four to five days a week, didn't sleep and ate like shit.
One of my closest friends just moved to London with her husband and I'm quite sad. I know I'll get to see her more than some other folks she left behind, but as she put it, "it's not the same as just stopping by for a drink.". It's hard when people move away but the beauty of this electronic age is that you can keep up to date with people very easily. Email, webcams, digital pictures, etc. But is it the same? I know basically what's going on with my friends but we're not necessarily making memories together. We're not creating the stories that we'll tell in ten years or at least not with the frequency we once did. Are we just maintaining the status quo? Maybe this is what the next phase of our lives is about. We get married, we have families, we start to create our memories together as a family and we let outsiders in every once in awhile.
I recently read the cover story of Philadelphia Magazine about over-parenting. While I doubt I will ever have the money (or the bad sense) to over parent as it's described there, the basic idea still applies. People are making their children their world and losing their own lives. Perhaps our parents didn't have time to cart us around to fifty thousand activities because they were busy having cocktails with the neighbors. They were still making their own memories. I recall being dropped off at stuff a lot. I remember running wild around the neighborhood with all the other neighborhood kids. My parents hardly ever came to my high school sporting events. Guess what, I'm not emotionally damaged and I probably have a better relationship with my parents than most people. We actually like spending time together. I think I am the person I am because my parents gave me enough rope with which to hang myself. I was allowed to screw up my grades, my college applications, my health, my relationships…geez, perhaps I am somehow damaged? But through all of this they continued to drill into my head the things they thought were important. Be someone that keeps their word, honesty is important, work hard and respect yourself, respect your elders, be thankful for what you have because other people don't have the luxury of the things you take for granted, don't spend money you don't have, life is not a destination; enjoy the journey, get an education so some man doesn't leave you with four children working as a secretary on welfare some day…I think I just channeled my mother for a moment there….
Here's my point, and this is best said through cliché, I think they were trying to teach me to fish. Not that I don't still screw up on a daily basis, but I like to think that they gave me a good foundation based on their own success and screw-ups. I only wonder if I'll someday be able to attempt to parent the way they did. Growing up I always knew that if I screwed up I would be grounded or cracked with the back of a hand. That'll put you in kiddie court these days. Then again, like everything else, I'll have to figure it out when the time comes.
It's amazing when you think about it. Although I graduated almost ten years ago from college, it seems like yesterday. Perhaps it seems that way because I've kept in touch with so many of my close friends from those years.
My father once told me that the friends I had in high school won't be my friends once I'm an adult so I shouldn't make such a big deal out of all of the drama. Perhaps it was his way of telling me to look at the big picture. In some respects what he said is true, but I still have a handful of girlfriends from grade school and high school that I see more than I see most other people. They're visiting for brunch tomorrow, two of them with their children. I can't imagine my life without them. We are, of course, very different people who lead very different lives now but something about the time we spent growing up together keeps us together. The boyfriends we've lived through, the stupid things we've done and somehow managed to come out alive or at least without any permanent damage and the raging wars we've had between the four of us. The letters we mailed each other while we were in college (yes, letters….email didn't really exist until later in our college careers) were quite humorous.
It's also impressive the amount of crap I've kept. I know what I was thinking when I kept it. I wanted to remember small pieces of the life I led, how I felt at that exact moment in time. Sometimes the reality is shameful, sometimes happy, sometimes a bit bewildering. I don't think I would want to go back but it's nice to remember because it helps me understand how I ended up where I am today.
I am notorious for not remembering anything. My friends like to tell stories about things I did, I rarely remember them – maybe I was drunk, maybe I just have a bad memory (I would like to think it's the former). Perhaps that's why I save things; the moment I look at a picture or read a letter it all comes flooding back. I went through a picture drawer and started sorting. I can't believe that in the four years I spent in college I only took less than eight to ten rolls of film. I can only guess it's because film and developing was expensive (yes, film and developing….digital cameras came after college). I wish I had more, then again, maybe I don't. Perhaps the memory in some cases is far more glamorous than the reality forever recorded in a picture. My one college girlfriend recently said to me, "I remember we looked good in college but when I go back and look at pictures I think we look kind of beat-up.". I would guess it's all relative. Of course we look much better now, that's what having a job and money will get you – regular hair cuts and color, massages, pedicures, facials, real make-up, better clothes, etc. I think we looked pretty good for people who drank heavily four to five days a week, didn't sleep and ate like shit.
One of my closest friends just moved to London with her husband and I'm quite sad. I know I'll get to see her more than some other folks she left behind, but as she put it, "it's not the same as just stopping by for a drink.". It's hard when people move away but the beauty of this electronic age is that you can keep up to date with people very easily. Email, webcams, digital pictures, etc. But is it the same? I know basically what's going on with my friends but we're not necessarily making memories together. We're not creating the stories that we'll tell in ten years or at least not with the frequency we once did. Are we just maintaining the status quo? Maybe this is what the next phase of our lives is about. We get married, we have families, we start to create our memories together as a family and we let outsiders in every once in awhile.
I recently read the cover story of Philadelphia Magazine about over-parenting. While I doubt I will ever have the money (or the bad sense) to over parent as it's described there, the basic idea still applies. People are making their children their world and losing their own lives. Perhaps our parents didn't have time to cart us around to fifty thousand activities because they were busy having cocktails with the neighbors. They were still making their own memories. I recall being dropped off at stuff a lot. I remember running wild around the neighborhood with all the other neighborhood kids. My parents hardly ever came to my high school sporting events. Guess what, I'm not emotionally damaged and I probably have a better relationship with my parents than most people. We actually like spending time together. I think I am the person I am because my parents gave me enough rope with which to hang myself. I was allowed to screw up my grades, my college applications, my health, my relationships…geez, perhaps I am somehow damaged? But through all of this they continued to drill into my head the things they thought were important. Be someone that keeps their word, honesty is important, work hard and respect yourself, respect your elders, be thankful for what you have because other people don't have the luxury of the things you take for granted, don't spend money you don't have, life is not a destination; enjoy the journey, get an education so some man doesn't leave you with four children working as a secretary on welfare some day…I think I just channeled my mother for a moment there….
Here's my point, and this is best said through cliché, I think they were trying to teach me to fish. Not that I don't still screw up on a daily basis, but I like to think that they gave me a good foundation based on their own success and screw-ups. I only wonder if I'll someday be able to attempt to parent the way they did. Growing up I always knew that if I screwed up I would be grounded or cracked with the back of a hand. That'll put you in kiddie court these days. Then again, like everything else, I'll have to figure it out when the time comes.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Michael Vick, what a dope
So most of you know I'm not jumping at the chance to be a dog owner, but that certainly doesn't mean I want to see them mauled and dead. Plus this guy should have left well enough alone. Couldn't he find something better to do with his millions that running a dog fighting ring on his property? Anyway, here's a chance to teach him some respect for life. Hurt him in the pocket.
So between saving whales and streaking naked for a cause (kidding of course...), the humane society has set up a nifty little feature on their website where you can put in minimal information and send an email to both Nike's CEO and the NFL to give this guy a much needed smack in the head.
http://www.hsus.org/
Maybe next time he'll be a little more responsible with his money & property.
So between saving whales and streaking naked for a cause (kidding of course...), the humane society has set up a nifty little feature on their website where you can put in minimal information and send an email to both Nike's CEO and the NFL to give this guy a much needed smack in the head.
http://www.hsus.org/
Maybe next time he'll be a little more responsible with his money & property.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Sex, STDs & Misuse of Office Resources
I usually refrain from doing this during the workday because I like being employed and I would really like to retain said employment. I will make an exception today because several strange things have happened that led me to believe people have lost their frickin' minds.
Strange Incident 1 aka the Handicapped Bathroom.
There are handicapped bathrooms on each floor of our office building. There are also larger multi stall bathrooms as well. Most of us opt to use the handicapped bathrooms because they don't remind us of bathrooms from our youth – ie. high school. Seriously, they smell the same way my high school bathroom did. I don't know if it's cleanser, the old nasty floor or what, but it's like a flashback to good 'ole PAHS (with the possible exception that I'm not hiding in the stall smoking during English class). In any event, these handicapper bathrooms see a lot of action on a daily basis. (Read: lots of people use them, they're not super secret hiding places) Given this fact it seems like an odd choice for a little "afternoon delight". That is in fact exactly what some chippie and her boss decided to use it for. Not once, not twice but three times. (And those are just the times they GOT CAUGHT). There they are having a good time and some poor person comes over to pee. They try the door, it's locked and there are some distinct noises coming from behind the door. Being the no-fun-nelly they are, they call security. Security comes up with a key and viola!
This is shocking and strange on many levels – first, since when is it ever ok to shag your brains out in the handicapper bathroom in the middle of the day with your boss? Next, isn't getting your swerve on during work hours considered a fireable offense – seriously, how is this benefiting the shareholders? Third, if you gotta do it, can't you keep it quiet so people just think you're in there for a long time because you have a stomach flu? And lastly, how does that old saying go – first time, shame on you; second time, shame on me – who on earth is taking the shame for the third time? (My money is on HR)
The lesson learned here. Work is for work and after work is for your tawdry affairs with co-workers. Combining the two will eventually lead to loss of work and likely loss of your affair (after all, who wants to have an affair with someone unemployed…seriously.)
Strange Incident 2 aka the Printer in the Hallway.
Like many offices we have network printers. That means they're networked. For those of us non-technical folks that means that everyone has access to them, including, but not limited to the IT guys who have logs of the documents you print (hence earlier stated paranoia about big brother). This of course doesn't stop people from printing their personal crap on the printer anyway. Pictures of your kids, directions to your friend's house, articles about entertainment, homes for sale…you get the picture.
You can imagine my surprise when I walked up to the printer and found a print out, right next to my meeting deck, on Human papillomavirusus (HPV). Now many of you might be thinking, "what's the big deal, I see those commercials on TV all the time – it's the virus that causes cancer!" I love TV, catchy advertising, wheee – you are so right, it does! What they fail to mention in those happy little commercials is that HPV is really just the medical term for that snazzy little sexually transmitted disease called warts. (Are we starting to see why printing this particular stuff out at work might not be a good idea?) So now I'm standing at the printer having a dilemma – do I wait to see who comes to retrieve it?
Then I thought about it.…. What if they're unstable? They see me here, they know I saw it, they assume I'm now running around wildly telling everyone and in their distress over the idea that everyone in the office now thinks they're a dirty swamp of STDs they come after me and kill me in a blind rage. It's ok though because ultimately they plead temporary insanity and I'm sure HR supports them because those HR people are sharp! I end up just another statistic on deranged office murder. Do you think I would get my own special on Court TV? Anyway, I left.
The lesson learned here. You really don't want to know who printed that because it could kill you and they probably use the handicapper bathroom too…..
Strange Incident 1 aka the Handicapped Bathroom.
There are handicapped bathrooms on each floor of our office building. There are also larger multi stall bathrooms as well. Most of us opt to use the handicapped bathrooms because they don't remind us of bathrooms from our youth – ie. high school. Seriously, they smell the same way my high school bathroom did. I don't know if it's cleanser, the old nasty floor or what, but it's like a flashback to good 'ole PAHS (with the possible exception that I'm not hiding in the stall smoking during English class). In any event, these handicapper bathrooms see a lot of action on a daily basis. (Read: lots of people use them, they're not super secret hiding places) Given this fact it seems like an odd choice for a little "afternoon delight". That is in fact exactly what some chippie and her boss decided to use it for. Not once, not twice but three times. (And those are just the times they GOT CAUGHT). There they are having a good time and some poor person comes over to pee. They try the door, it's locked and there are some distinct noises coming from behind the door. Being the no-fun-nelly they are, they call security. Security comes up with a key and viola!
This is shocking and strange on many levels – first, since when is it ever ok to shag your brains out in the handicapper bathroom in the middle of the day with your boss? Next, isn't getting your swerve on during work hours considered a fireable offense – seriously, how is this benefiting the shareholders? Third, if you gotta do it, can't you keep it quiet so people just think you're in there for a long time because you have a stomach flu? And lastly, how does that old saying go – first time, shame on you; second time, shame on me – who on earth is taking the shame for the third time? (My money is on HR)
The lesson learned here. Work is for work and after work is for your tawdry affairs with co-workers. Combining the two will eventually lead to loss of work and likely loss of your affair (after all, who wants to have an affair with someone unemployed…seriously.)
Strange Incident 2 aka the Printer in the Hallway.
Like many offices we have network printers. That means they're networked. For those of us non-technical folks that means that everyone has access to them, including, but not limited to the IT guys who have logs of the documents you print (hence earlier stated paranoia about big brother). This of course doesn't stop people from printing their personal crap on the printer anyway. Pictures of your kids, directions to your friend's house, articles about entertainment, homes for sale…you get the picture.
You can imagine my surprise when I walked up to the printer and found a print out, right next to my meeting deck, on Human papillomavirusus (HPV). Now many of you might be thinking, "what's the big deal, I see those commercials on TV all the time – it's the virus that causes cancer!" I love TV, catchy advertising, wheee – you are so right, it does! What they fail to mention in those happy little commercials is that HPV is really just the medical term for that snazzy little sexually transmitted disease called warts. (Are we starting to see why printing this particular stuff out at work might not be a good idea?) So now I'm standing at the printer having a dilemma – do I wait to see who comes to retrieve it?
Then I thought about it.…. What if they're unstable? They see me here, they know I saw it, they assume I'm now running around wildly telling everyone and in their distress over the idea that everyone in the office now thinks they're a dirty swamp of STDs they come after me and kill me in a blind rage. It's ok though because ultimately they plead temporary insanity and I'm sure HR supports them because those HR people are sharp! I end up just another statistic on deranged office murder. Do you think I would get my own special on Court TV? Anyway, I left.
The lesson learned here. You really don't want to know who printed that because it could kill you and they probably use the handicapper bathroom too…..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
