I just spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes arguing with assorted co-workers over what day it was. I could have sworn it was Wednesday. I was mistaken.
I am so ready for Memorial Day weekend. My brain? She eez fried... like a red hen's egg on an Arizona sidewalk on an August afternoon.
The doctors visit went.. well.. I got through it. I dunno but.. isn't it sorta a bad sign when the doc joins in on the tear-fest? I came out of there with a list of noggin specialists to call and a big brown paper bag full of enough "anti-batshit crazy" pills to last me two months and a prescription for more "just in case you lose your shit in the middle of the night and think you're going to die for no apparent reason" pills.
Around Town...
Lulu has waged war upon her neighbors.. who happen to be her brother and sister-in-law. They have a big German Shepherd and no fence. German Shepherds make large poos and generally prefer to make said poos in yards other than their own, if given the opportunity.
You can see where this is going.
Lulu, who isn't fond of dogs.. or any type of pets at all.. watches angrily from her kitchen window as her brother's dog squats on the edge of her flower bed, leaving goodies for her to pick up. Angered to the point of near blindness, Lulu has begun waiting until the cover of darkness, sneaking out in to her yard with a shovel and flashlight, to quietly move all poo, the deposit of which she has mentally mapped, to her brother's yard. This stealthy redepositing of all the dog's poopie turds to Lulu's brother's yard usually takes place on Friday night, carefully planned to coincide with her sister-in-law's regularly scheduled Saturday morning mowing.
Now, on Saturday mornings, Lulu and her Bubbahubby sit out in the yard, enjoying the fresh mountain air, the sound of the riding mower over on the next lot and a smile forming on their lips as the occasional aroma of freshly chopped poopie turds wafts over on to their property.
"OOOO! There went another one!" Lulu can be heard saying.
Her Bubbahubby replies.. chuckling, "Yup. If we can smell it over here.. I'll bet her nose hars are a' curling up over there."
At the Asylum...
It's been peaceful but busy this week with Bossman gone. I've got a few pretty big quotes to do this morning.. always a good thing. It's also been a weird week for phone calls. For instance.. let's say.. for the sake of discussion.. that here at the Asylum we manufacture and sell robot monkeys.
We don't, okay? But just bear with me.
Let's say our monkeys come in any size or color you want, some fetch the paper, some answer the phone and the really expensive ones keep you company on those long, lonely nights. Keeping that in mind, here's an example of the typical customer call I've gotten this week:
"Hi, this is Mahala.."
"Uh hi.. yeah.. I have a question about my monkey.. are you the person I need to talk to?"
"This is customer service. What sort of question to you have?"
"It's about my monkey."
"Um.. well okay.. do you have the model number for your monkey?"
"Uh.. no.. it's really old."
"Well.. what's your question?"
"My monkey's left arm fell off. Would it be cheaper to replace the arm or should I just get a new monkey?"
"I can give you a price for a new arm, but I can't guarantee it will fit your old monkey without a model number or part number.. OR SOMETHING.. to tell me which monkey you have."
"Well.. lemme ask you this.. how come my neighbor's monkey will run in circles and sing the Czechoslovakian national anthem but mine only whistles Dixie if I kick it in the head?"
"Sir, the Czechoslovakian national anthem option has only been offered for the last 5 years or so. If your monkey is very old, it was probably built before Czechoslovakia even HAD a national anthem. Also? It's probably not a good idea to kick your monkey in the head. I'm pretty sure it nullifies the warranty."
"So you're saying you don't know if you can get me a new arm to fit my monkey without a part number? Can I describe it to you? How about I send you a picture of my monkey?"
By now.. I'm [this close] to banging my head in to the desk.
"Sure.. by all means.. email me pictures of your monkey. While you're at it, there should be a label on it's left ass cheek with the model number, part number, motor specs, etc. Be sure and get a REAL GOOD picture of that as well and I'll see what I can do."
"Yeah okay. Thanks. Anyone ever tell you you got one of them 1-900 sex line voices? I bet yur real purdy."
No lie. All week. It's like.. there's a full moon, the stars are in some once every 800 year alignment and I'm giving off a crazy bait scent.
Anywyo.. I've got quotes to do and monkeys to sell. Ya'll have a good Thursday. We'll talk again soon!
Later Taters!
7 comments:
You must have a great voice if you even get hit on over the phone! :-)
Ohhhh I really don't. I probably do lay the fake sales voice on a little thick when taking calls, but normally? I sound sorta like a cross between Rosanne Barr and Ellie Mae Clampett. Unless I get all riled up, then you have to mix in a little Whoopie Goldberg.
It ain't purdy.
The monkey portion of your day is pretty funny, but I'm really cracking up over Lulu's revenge. *g*
hey lady!
'list of noggin specialists' killed me
Y'know I have to admit I just might do something like Lulu is doing. Although I don't think I'd sniff the air while she was mowing!
And - I think I'd really like a robot monkey.
When they ask why the monkey is changing colors, it's because they've used inappropriate cleaners. Sadly, that voids the warranty.
Best of luck with the monkey sales, Mahala. Have a wonderful holiday weekend!
Well if you ever get fired from this job, I bet you could make a really good living with a 1-900 number. I mean I'm not saying...I'm just saying if your voice is that great, there might be an alternative career. It's only dirty if you like it. I hear. I wouldn't know. Ok never mind. Back to lurk mode because I suck.
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