Part 27 (1/2)
”It can wait.” I go back outside and hear voices coming from the deck below. I squint through the slats and spy the hippies downstairs having a barbecue. On their grill, I see corn, zucchini, eggplant, and what appears to be tofu. I'm completely flummoxed as I thought that all the pot they smoke would be giving them the kind of munchies only animal fat could satiate.182 A few minutes later, Fletch joins me. ”What's up?”
”I just saw the new people next door. The guy is approximately fourteen years old and looks just like Opie Taylor from Mayberry. I wonder if he's Ron Howard's kid? Anyway, at first I thought he was there to cut the lawn until I saw him yelling at the contractor.”
”They've got to be behind schedule. I've only seen one guy working on the place for the past few weeks.”
”His wife was with him, too. She appears to be a twelve-year-old Chinese gymnast.”
”They look young.... This is breaking news how, exactly?”
”Because I can legitimately hate them now!”
”Why is that?”
”Even though they have their own two-car garage and driveway, they parked their Land Rover in OUR parking spot!”
”What's the big deal? We have no car-it's not like we need to use it right now.”
”I don't care. It's the principle of the thing! They have a million-dollar home and a garage, yet they had to hog up our s.p.a.ce. It's not right! What are we going to do about it?”
Fletch considers this heinous wrong. He looks from the new house to our parking s.p.a.ce. I just know he's crafting the perfect plan to punish the neighbors for their avarice. What is he thinking? Lining the s.p.a.ce with giant nails? Or broken gla.s.s? Surrounding their vehicle with breadcrumbs to encourage the cannibal birds to gather and, thus, pepper their s.h.i.+ny SUV with bird bombs?
”Perhaps we could use some of those leftover two-by-fours over there...” He points to the ever-growing pile of debris. See? I know we're totally on the same page about this. ”...and erect you the cross you so richly deserve.”
To: [email protected] From: An Aussie Fan Date: July 15, 2003 Subject: Can you help?
Dear Jen, I work in a site office which is an obviously male dominated workplace. I'm a 20 year old blonde girl surrounded by mostly over 35 labourers, operators, and middle management who seem to think they're funny. I'm subjected daily to bad jokes about boring subjects that have been recycled so much I can tell what they're going to say before they say it. I will often get the same ”witty” comment from the same person day in day out.
What do you think is the best course of action? I usually smile politely and move the subject along hoping the employee will get the point but I'm obviously being too subtle for these brutes. Any advice?
Asking in Australia
To: An Aussie Fan From: [email protected] Date: July 22, 2003 Subject: RE: Can you help?
Dear Asking Aussie, I'm sorry it's taken a while to get back to you on your question but I had to consult an expert first. Sadly, although I think I am d.a.m.n cute (as does my mother) I've never been the kind of looker to attract unwanted attention. To solve this dilemma, I had to query my pal, The Lovely Melissa.
Of course, I'm friends with Melissa because she's as mean as I am. She had me over for drinks this weekend, and after we discussed which ex-coworkers we'd like to hit with a sock full of quarters, I asked about your issue. Her advice was simple. You must insult them when they begin to annoy you. But the key here is that it must be a subtle insult, as it can't sting until they walk away from your desk, lest you get into an ugly confrontation. Your insult must be delivered with a big smile, so they are never quiiiiiite sure whether or not you're serious. For example, for the guy that thinks he's witty-let's call him Steve, for the sake of simplicity-you could say, ”Gosh Steve, do you know any funny jokes? Or is this the best you can do?” Insert grin here, and you're off.
Although I encourage you to be pleasant at the initial h.e.l.lo (no one wants to be known as the office b.i.t.c.h), you should begin to deliver the in sults the second you'd like the fellas to move along. Zing them often enough, and you'll be greeted, but then left the f.u.c.k alone so that you can work in peace.
And that's all you really want, right?
Best, Jen
Woo-hoo, I got another temp job! It's only a short-term a.s.signment, but I'll earn enough for a whole week of groceries. I'll be spending the next three days working as a receptionist. Everyone in the company will be gone on some corporate retreat, so I'm picturing myself running through the deserted halls in my jammies, la Macaulay Culkin.
They told me to expect to be bored and to make sure I had something to occupy my time. They suggested I bring a book and said it was fine to use the Internet, although they did request I refrain from surfing p.o.r.n sites.
I'm not sure if it was the twinset or loafers that led them to believe they needed to add that caveat.
Weblog Entry 7/22/03 HOME ALONE.
I'm here at my temp job literally watching paint dry. A workman from the building came by earlier and said he was here to re-do the ceiling. In my most professional voice I said, ”Um, OK?” at which point he hauled in all these brushes and buckets and ladders.
Wonder if I was allowed to authorize a paint crew?
As far as temp a.s.signments go, this is kind of a dream. The phone barely rings enough for me to screw it up, although I've managed. I had to come in for training yesterday since I'd never used their phone system before. Out of the ten calls I answered, I messed up all but one, leading me to believe it's a good thing I didn't get the receptionist job at the architecture firm. Frankly, it's not quite as easy as I antic.i.p.ated. Don't know why I thought it would come so naturally-back in the day, my sorority had to take me off of phone duty because I kept hanging up on everyone's boyfriend.
It's fun to tool around the web on the job.183 However, I'm having trouble dealing with this freedom. I feel like a naughty child each time I get ”caught” playing JT's Blocks when the delivery guys pa.s.s my desk. My first impulse is to hide my game, but again, I'm ALLOWED to do this, so I'm just being ridiculous.
Half the calls I've gotten today have been wrong numbers and my patience with them is running thin. They keep trying to dial a company a digit off from this one. I guess it's not as bad as when my brother's phone number was one away from the local Domino's. He finally had to change his number in order to get some sleep.
Actually, I pity anyone who gets Todd on the phone. This man considers unwanted phone calls a full-contact sport. When he moved to his new house he got a telephone number that hadn't been out of service long enough. Calls came in constantly from creditors, as the person with the number before had been a deadbeat. He got tired of trying to convince hara.s.sing callers that he wasn't ”covering for” Donna Miller.
One day he received a call from her university's alumni a.s.sociation for the purpose of updating their yearly newsletter. My brother said he was Donna's husband and would be GLAD to provide answers. Among other outrageous fabrications, my brother told them that after Donna served a term in prison, she wrote the bestseller Fear and Loathing in Lesbian Loveland.
As the caller was a $5/hour phone-monkey, he had no clue that Todd was bulls.h.i.+tting him and he updated the directory accordingly.
You see, a $10/hour phone-monkey like me would have known better.
”How was your day?” Fletch and the dogs are stationed on our deck, basking in the late-afternoon sun.
”Eh, it was all right,” I reply.184 ”What happened?”