|
Wednesday, Feb. 19, 2003 / 7:18 p.m. ~The Forgotten Salad~ I'm obssessing over the leftover salad I left in the fridge at work, and I'm never sure how to spell obssessing, is it four 's's? I remembered the salad as I was eating my steak and corn. And I had a PMS-y craving for more marinated ribeyes so I bought another of the fantastic organic, no hormones, no antibiotics special, no, extra special ribeyes at the Farmer's Market slash Whole Foods Market, and it was a pound, just over, so that's about $12 and some change, but you see I cut it into 3 steaks, so I get 3 normal sized steaks for about $4 each. Point is, good god it was good, but I'm sitting there eating it and I have a real Homer Simpson, "D'OH!" moment, you know? The fucking salad. I almost jumped up, put the plate down, and got in my car to drive back and get it. A fucking salad, the fucking salad. Yes, it was some salad. Sort of like in Charlotte-speak, you know, 'some pig', but some salad. If you miss that reference you never went to elementary school in the USA, did you? Whatever. Let's move past that. The 'new girl', and yes, I'll give her a name, okay, here it is, forever after, and no I will not do a 'cast page', because those are silly, those are for teenagers. But we'll call her Brandy. Okay, "Brandy", 'the new girl', invited me to lunch. Short story, really, but I got a chef salad and it was HUGE, and it was at a sports bar near where we work, and I'd been there before, and that's what I ate last time, and I never forgot it. That's how good it is. It's like a bottomless chef salad. I keep eating it and eating it and eating it and it keeps growing. It's a growing bottomless chef salad. And now it's in the fridge at work. Fuck me. It's a matter of minutes, hours, with leftover salad. Leftover salad is sort of throwaway material. So I'm bummed. I'm obsessing. That time I tried it with three 's's instead of four. "Felicity" is on, the cats are vying for the much coveted lap position, I must get the blanket and cover the sofa so they feel they can both be there together, one on lap, one next to lap, and soon we will watch the finale of "The Bachelorette". I wonder if next week they'll have "The Bachelorette - The Aftermath", like they're going to have "Joe Millionaire - The Aftermath". I think all reality shows should come with an epilogue. I love epilogues. I hate to be left hanging. And I don't mean Epiladys. I heard those things hurt like hell. But then again I don't give much of a fuck about hair removal. I let most of my hair grow. Everywhere. Too much information. Epilogues. Aftermaths. Not afterbirths, but aftermaths. One thing I like about 'the new boy': I can swear around him, and I can make obscene 'jerking off' hand gestures when I'm listening to someone go on and on and on on the phone. Like the spouse of the employee who asked me stupid question after stupid question, until she got mad at me because she's so stupid and she asked what company I work for, and how to spell the name of the company, and told me she's going to file a grievance with THE UNION because I cannot communicate with spouses. It's an EMPLOYEE service center, fucking bitch, my job is not to SERVE SPOUSES. So I told 'the new boy' what a FUCKNG BITCH she was, and how FUCKING PISSED OFF I was, and how it really, really got to me, and we repeated it a few times, both of us. "I'm going to file a grievance with THE UNION about how you communicate with spouses" and other variations of the same sentiment. And he laughed and laughed and laughed when I told him about the guy who called and asked me if it isn't illegal that he didn't get his year end tax reporting statement in the mail yet, and I said of course it's not illegal to send it out to the wrong address because you didn't bother to call and change it, but I wanted to say, "No, but it's illegal to be as stupid as you are!". 'The new boy' (what shall we call him?!) laughed and laughed and turned red he laughed so hard. Our job sucks. It really does. And he knows it, and I know it, and some days it's tolerable, and some days we have fun, and some days we hate the world, and the world of the customer/employee service rep is unique and unusual and unlike that of anyone else. Truly. Steak, corn. The salad leftovers would've been good too. The fucking salad! I meant to write a note, I remembered, I was going to write a note on a purple post-it note, i.e. sticky, "fridge", that was all it was going to say, and I would've known what it meant. Her food, Brandy (formerly known as 'the new girl') left hers too! Her Philly cheese chicken sub, with shrooms. Damn. Fuck. I'm going to file a grievance with THE UNION! It should be illegal to be as stupid as you are. No, it IS illegal to be as stupid as you are. No, see, it's not that funny. Oh, oh, oh, we get calls from people on all kinds of phones, calling from all kinds of locations, doing all kinds of things whilst they're calling, or previously on hold waiting to speak to us. Often, there is water running, or it sounds like callers are under water, or toilets are flushing, or cars are driving by, or people are driving cars and going under bridges and have to pull over, or pass through, or under or by. And often...... people are holding babies when they dial our number. We greet the caller and hear a baby screaming into our ears. Or I do. "...How may I help you?", "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!" Today, this is classic, and maybe no one can really appreciate it, well, maybe a cat lover, but in all my years, I never, no, not once, heard a kitten. This guy is holding a little kitten, and into the phone's mouthpiece she says, "BrrrrrraOW!" And it was SO CUTE! I stopped what I was doing, forgot what I was doing, and said, "You have a kitty!", no, not cat, not kitten, "kitty". And he said, "Yeah, she's right here trying to get at the phone" and I said, "How old is she?" and he said "Four months" and I said, "Aw. You know usually I hear babies, people are holding babies, or I hear screaming kids in the background, but I've never heard a kitty before", and I don't know why I kept saying kitty, but she sounded like a baby, so it seemed right. So, he says, "Yeah, well, she's like a baby to us"....... I told 'the new boy' and he said, "Did you ask him the name of his boyfriend?", as if he must surely be gay. Hmmmmm..... Had to be there, I know, I know. But this was a banner day for me in the realm of customer service. Banner day. And my fucking salad is going to be limp and awful tomorrow. But there's ham, and there's turkey, and there's Swiss cheese, and stuff, in it, so maybe, yeah, maybe it's salvageable. Fuck. Anything else? Oh, the CBS Evening News has Dan Rather, our man in the field, er, in the field, Kuwait, and he's loving it. He gets to wear his 'in the field' garb, you know, and he's interviewing soldiers, and the General his ownself, and it's all war all the time, as if there is no alternative. And I'm still thinking, how in the hell did the planet Earth organize last Saturday's Demonstrations? How did so many people all show up, everywhere, all at once, and march together, how is it possible? How did SO VERY MANY people know it was happening, and know where to go, and make signs, and etc., and etc.??? It's mind boggling. Oh yeah, Gephart is running. Is it Gephardt? Or Gephart? I liked him in '88, during the debates. But I stood behind the guy married to the woman who drank her perfume to get high. Mr Greek Guy, Dukakis. And I worked the Democratic Convention, and I have buttons to prove it. Am I old? I have Ferraro's autograph somewhere, and Jesse's speech. Souvenirs. And Bill and Hillary buttons from a local victory celebration four years later. I'm SO rambling. Sometimes I get started and it's hard to stop. All I wanted to write was that I left my salad at work, and I NEVER put anything in the fridge at work, and I'm pissed that I forgot it. I haven't read any diaries since Sunday. I will, I'll read all the back episodes, er, entries, too, always do. And I'll leave long notes in guestbooks and piss people off. Or I'll leave nice short notes and people will smile upon reading them. This is my plan. My period is about to start. Any day. I'm predicting tomorrow, or Friday, or Saturday or Sunday. I have PMS pimples. 42 in April, and I have pimples. Just so you know. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |