One hot summer day, we (mostly me, not so much on my husband.) decided that we needed to clear out the garage. Like everyone else in our generation, we've begun to accumulate more than our share of "stuff". As we weeded through our piles, it was obvious that we had to get rid of some stuff.
One particular item was my husband's old surfboards. He's up to four boards now, which of course, I think is three too many. We compromise, and he gives up the two oldest ones.
I place an ad on Craigs List. (We were hoping to get at least $75 bucks for each board.) A concise precise ad listing all the specs and info on each board.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I put a few more ads in different local surfing newsletters.
Not one inquiry. After a few weeks, I delete all the ads.
Just as Mr. hummingbird actually starts to believe that he will be keeping his surfboards after all, I hit upon an idea.
Divorce Sale- Must sell two used surfboards. Tired of seeing them in my garage and ex husband will not pick them up. Make me an offer.
Signed,
One Angry Wife.
I had 6 emails waiting for me that evening. One guy even wrote, "You know what would make him really really mad? If you gave them away instead of selling them." He made me laugh. (I'm also filing away that suggestion for the future.) I make arrangements to meet a guy at the local grocery store parking lot. I invite a (male) friend with me. (who, also had a board he wanted to sell.) The sale went pretty quick, since each time the buyer would ask me a question, I just answered with "I have no idea" adding a shrug and making my eyes look as big and innocent as possible. The buyer would just shake his head, muttering "women...."
I got $225 for both boards.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
#386 Corporate Step Ladder
In my early 20's, I decided to "take a break" from college. (besides being on academic probation, you know?) I took a full time job in an office. This was my first introduction to life in a cubicle.
It was a small company, so everyone worked handling the phone calls, but also had other assigned tasks. As everything else in life, the newbies gets the shaft. (Thank you sir, may I have another??)
One of my first assignments, dealt with shipping and receiving. Since this company sold "stuff", we also shipped and received this "stuff". (<---BTW, this is not code for drugs.) Every shipper had a different way of handling the paperwork. Every shipper had a different set of acronyms and forms numbers. When stuff came in, the warehouse guys would just rip some paperwork off the cartons, crumple it up, sweat on it, maybe drop it on the floor in the men's room and then hand it to me. It was a bloody nightmare. I would sit there for hours trying to figure out what each mysterious piece of paper represented. (Hours!) What made the job harder, was this was all basically learn as you go. The previous person(jackass) who had this job left no instructions. (as did the person before that, and before that, and so on, and so on. Just like that shampoo commercial.) So, it was me making the same mistakes they made, while trying to correct the mistakes that they left for me. Well, as you can imagine, it was hard work, but I managed to get it under control. AND because I'm smarter-than-the-average-bear, I started keeping a log of what I did, when I did it, and why. My log eventually grew into brief explanations of acronyms, shipping terms, contact names, and everything else. Pretty soon, I had an SOP book (standard operating procedure) on my hands. I carefully labeled everything, and put it in a nice (sensible) three ring binder. It became my bible. Pretty soon, this part of the job became a breeze.
Months later, this little worker bee starts to move up the corporate ladder. I get a (small) promotion and (really really small) raise. As part of this, I also get assigned new and exciting assignments. (yay!) I hand off my piles of papers to the next newbie in line. And since I no longer needed it, I gave her my binder. I will soon learn a very important lesson.
What should have been an easy job for her, (since I had everything already written down) turned out to be a lot of work for me. I guess that she found it easier to just ask me all her questions. All day long.
Over and over again.
I had my own work to do.
So my "promotion" was just me doing two jobs instead of one.
Nice.
Something interesting started to happen. Newbie suddenly had all this free time on her hands. She spent most of it, hanging around the office, flirting with everyone she could. Newbie also went around bragging about how "easy" her new duties were. Best of all, during her review, Newbie asked for a raise because she had "re-organized everything to a more streamlined system."
Uh, huh.
The last straw came when Newbie started to bad mouth my work. What started off as "oh, look at what I great job I'm doing," soon became, "Oh, I hope I can find a way to fix everyone else's incompetent mistakes and still do a bang up job." It got old quick.
Finally, I found a quick and quiet solution. One day, I found myself alone with my old friend, the binder. I knew that I couldn't walk out with it, let alone let it be seen in my hands. I quietly found a padded envelope, stuck the binder inside, and labeled the outside. Added stamps, and waved goodbye.
The binder found it's way to some random address.
In Egypt.
Newbie did have the gall to ask me if I knew where "her" binder was. I smiled, and said, "what binder?"
It was a small company, so everyone worked handling the phone calls, but also had other assigned tasks. As everything else in life, the newbies gets the shaft. (Thank you sir, may I have another??)
One of my first assignments, dealt with shipping and receiving. Since this company sold "stuff", we also shipped and received this "stuff". (<---BTW, this is not code for drugs.) Every shipper had a different way of handling the paperwork. Every shipper had a different set of acronyms and forms numbers. When stuff came in, the warehouse guys would just rip some paperwork off the cartons, crumple it up, sweat on it, maybe drop it on the floor in the men's room and then hand it to me. It was a bloody nightmare. I would sit there for hours trying to figure out what each mysterious piece of paper represented. (Hours!) What made the job harder, was this was all basically learn as you go. The previous person(jackass) who had this job left no instructions. (as did the person before that, and before that, and so on, and so on. Just like that shampoo commercial.) So, it was me making the same mistakes they made, while trying to correct the mistakes that they left for me. Well, as you can imagine, it was hard work, but I managed to get it under control. AND because I'm smarter-than-the-average-bear, I started keeping a log of what I did, when I did it, and why. My log eventually grew into brief explanations of acronyms, shipping terms, contact names, and everything else. Pretty soon, I had an SOP book (standard operating procedure) on my hands. I carefully labeled everything, and put it in a nice (sensible) three ring binder. It became my bible. Pretty soon, this part of the job became a breeze.
Months later, this little worker bee starts to move up the corporate ladder. I get a (small) promotion and (really really small) raise. As part of this, I also get assigned new and exciting assignments. (yay!) I hand off my piles of papers to the next newbie in line. And since I no longer needed it, I gave her my binder. I will soon learn a very important lesson.
What should have been an easy job for her, (since I had everything already written down) turned out to be a lot of work for me. I guess that she found it easier to just ask me all her questions. All day long.
Over and over again.
I had my own work to do.
So my "promotion" was just me doing two jobs instead of one.
Nice.
Something interesting started to happen. Newbie suddenly had all this free time on her hands. She spent most of it, hanging around the office, flirting with everyone she could. Newbie also went around bragging about how "easy" her new duties were. Best of all, during her review, Newbie asked for a raise because she had "re-organized everything to a more streamlined system."
Uh, huh.
The last straw came when Newbie started to bad mouth my work. What started off as "oh, look at what I great job I'm doing," soon became, "Oh, I hope I can find a way to fix everyone else's incompetent mistakes and still do a bang up job." It got old quick.
Finally, I found a quick and quiet solution. One day, I found myself alone with my old friend, the binder. I knew that I couldn't walk out with it, let alone let it be seen in my hands. I quietly found a padded envelope, stuck the binder inside, and labeled the outside. Added stamps, and waved goodbye.
The binder found it's way to some random address.
In Egypt.
Newbie did have the gall to ask me if I knew where "her" binder was. I smiled, and said, "what binder?"
Friday, January 8, 2010
Let Them Eat Cake #759
Years ago, I used to work in a bank. It was so long ago, that it was before the Internet. So, your two banking choices were to either go into a bank for your transactions or call your bank. I worked in a call center. (Before they all moved overseas.) As I've mentioned several times before, I am a bitch in real life. (I'm okay with that. :) ) So, working in the call center was utter hell for someone like me.
From 8 am to 5 pm, I was stuck in my little cubicle answering phone calls. As you can imagine, I probably needed to work on my "people skills". There were 14 women, and one lone man stuff into a too small room with a overbearing manager. You can just see the drama in this situation. (actually, this is really were I honed my skills. I guess I should probably send them a thank-you card.) It lead to many, many interesting situations, that I'm sure that I will share later.
After two years of suffering, I accidentally fell into another job.
A GREAT job.
A secure job.
Quite possibly a dream job.
And best of all, it paid at least double of what I was currently making at the time. I quickly cemented myself into my new job, and soon after gave notice at the call center. As the custom, I worked for two more weeks before I started my new job. Since I was fairly young and dumb, I probably shared my good news just a little bit too much. I answered every one's questions. I invited people to come visit me in my new office. I even told some people, that once I got settled, I would try to get them a similar job at the new place. I shared, shared, and shared.
My last day at the bank, I was practically walking on air. I don't think that I completed one task, all day long. (my last day. Why should I?) After lunch, I was told that I needed to go to the employee's lunch room, to "fill out some paperwork." (<----Does anyone actually fall for that??) So, I arrive in the room, and most of the office is there. (probably not to see me off, but more than likely for the cake.) I say goodbye to most of them, and promise to come back and tell everyone every single detail of my new, fabulous, and well paying job. Pretty soon, it's cake time. I head over for a piece. I glance at the white cake, and read the frosting:
So long.....Bitch.
REALLY!
Now, I know what you're thinking.
I should have been mad.
I should have been hurt.
I should have been embarrassed.
I was none of those.
I reached over, cut out the word "Bitch" and proceeded to stuff my face with it.
It was delicious.
I really, really wish I had a picture of it, but it was way before camera phones.
But I will settle for a fond memory instead.
From 8 am to 5 pm, I was stuck in my little cubicle answering phone calls. As you can imagine, I probably needed to work on my "people skills". There were 14 women, and one lone man stuff into a too small room with a overbearing manager. You can just see the drama in this situation. (actually, this is really were I honed my skills. I guess I should probably send them a thank-you card.) It lead to many, many interesting situations, that I'm sure that I will share later.
After two years of suffering, I accidentally fell into another job.
A GREAT job.
A secure job.
Quite possibly a dream job.
And best of all, it paid at least double of what I was currently making at the time. I quickly cemented myself into my new job, and soon after gave notice at the call center. As the custom, I worked for two more weeks before I started my new job. Since I was fairly young and dumb, I probably shared my good news just a little bit too much. I answered every one's questions. I invited people to come visit me in my new office. I even told some people, that once I got settled, I would try to get them a similar job at the new place. I shared, shared, and shared.
My last day at the bank, I was practically walking on air. I don't think that I completed one task, all day long. (my last day. Why should I?) After lunch, I was told that I needed to go to the employee's lunch room, to "fill out some paperwork." (<----Does anyone actually fall for that??) So, I arrive in the room, and most of the office is there. (probably not to see me off, but more than likely for the cake.) I say goodbye to most of them, and promise to come back and tell everyone every single detail of my new, fabulous, and well paying job. Pretty soon, it's cake time. I head over for a piece. I glance at the white cake, and read the frosting:
So long.....Bitch.
REALLY!
Now, I know what you're thinking.
I should have been mad.
I should have been hurt.
I should have been embarrassed.
I was none of those.
I reached over, cut out the word "Bitch" and proceeded to stuff my face with it.
It was delicious.
I really, really wish I had a picture of it, but it was way before camera phones.
But I will settle for a fond memory instead.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
#347 Disorderly Conduct
Remember Y2K? Remember how planes were supposed to fall out of the sky?
ATMs were going to vomit money? Credit cards were suppose to cancel and clear all debt? Well, my friends and I figured that we would go out in style.
Vegas Style.
The plan was successful, that is, until I landed myself in the Clark County jail.
I was busted for crossing some barricades. (Phony thrumped up charges, if you ask me.) We were on the famous strip. The street had been closed down, to handle the plethora of drunk people. My friends were on one side of the street, and I was on the other. The PoPo had just closed down the street, and were herding people back into the hotels. I figured that with my cat-like-reflexes, I could climb the barricades, cross the street, and join my friends before any of the PoPo would see me.
Genius, pure genius.
Did I mention that I was drunker than drunk?
Did I mention that I was wearing a blue wig??
So, I scramble up the barricade, wearing a mini skirt, fall over the other side in a heap of blue wig. I get to my feet, and swagger across the street. I'm almost there, and my friends start to hoot and holla', calling attention to my lawbreakin'. I'm almost there, when I get clotheslined by a female cop. I'm thinking that I can still get away, (natch) so I start to wrestle her to the ground. (Not a good idea, BTW) We roll around a bit, then some more officers head over to help. I lost count after four of Nevada's finest joined us.
I get arrested for public intoxication, resisting arrest, and destroying public property. (all the charges except the public intoxication get dropped) They should have added public indecency because by this time my skirt was around my neck. I paid a fine about $200 and that's about it. But, yeah, I would pay anything to see that mugshot. I'm guessing it looks something like this:
Just smear the lipstick, make the mascara run, and askew the wig some. Maybe add some dried snot on my face.
Happy New Years!
ATMs were going to vomit money? Credit cards were suppose to cancel and clear all debt? Well, my friends and I figured that we would go out in style.
Vegas Style.
The plan was successful, that is, until I landed myself in the Clark County jail.
I was busted for crossing some barricades. (Phony thrumped up charges, if you ask me.) We were on the famous strip. The street had been closed down, to handle the plethora of drunk people. My friends were on one side of the street, and I was on the other. The PoPo had just closed down the street, and were herding people back into the hotels. I figured that with my cat-like-reflexes, I could climb the barricades, cross the street, and join my friends before any of the PoPo would see me.
Genius, pure genius.
Did I mention that I was drunker than drunk?
Did I mention that I was wearing a blue wig??
So, I scramble up the barricade, wearing a mini skirt, fall over the other side in a heap of blue wig. I get to my feet, and swagger across the street. I'm almost there, and my friends start to hoot and holla', calling attention to my lawbreakin'. I'm almost there, when I get clotheslined by a female cop. I'm thinking that I can still get away, (natch) so I start to wrestle her to the ground. (Not a good idea, BTW) We roll around a bit, then some more officers head over to help. I lost count after four of Nevada's finest joined us.
I get arrested for public intoxication, resisting arrest, and destroying public property. (all the charges except the public intoxication get dropped) They should have added public indecency because by this time my skirt was around my neck. I paid a fine about $200 and that's about it. But, yeah, I would pay anything to see that mugshot. I'm guessing it looks something like this:
Just smear the lipstick, make the mascara run, and askew the wig some. Maybe add some dried snot on my face.
Happy New Years!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Ninja Shoes (#421)
I went an a all girls weekend to San Fransisco with my two crazy sisters. We drove up from Southern California (for 10 hours, in the worlds smallest car.) for three days of freedom. We were headed up mostly to attend a book signing for one of our favorite authors. (Jen Lancaster, natch) The weekend was full of fun and laughs. (I'll have to share more stories about it, I promise)
While shopping in China Town, I bought my girls some beautiful embroidered slippers, some plastic numchucks (because, really, what child does not want an ancient implement of death??) and those little hand drums windmills (like in the Karate Kid2). For my husband, I bought him some black slippers because he already has everything.
When I got home, I gave the girls their gifts. They were so excited that they ran around the house chasing each other with their weapons. (I should have taken a pic for the annual xmas card.) When it was my husband turn to open his gift, I could tell he was disappointed. Who knew that he would be my biggest child of all?
I think fast.
"Oh, you don't like the authentic ancient ninja shoes??"
Suddenly, he loves them. He wears them every chance he gets. I watch him as he checks himself out in the mirror, while wearing them, practicing with the plastic numchucks.
I guess it's just comes down to how you explain things, right?
While shopping in China Town, I bought my girls some beautiful embroidered slippers, some plastic numchucks (because, really, what child does not want an ancient implement of death??) and those little hand drums windmills (like in the Karate Kid2). For my husband, I bought him some black slippers because he already has everything.
When I got home, I gave the girls their gifts. They were so excited that they ran around the house chasing each other with their weapons. (I should have taken a pic for the annual xmas card.) When it was my husband turn to open his gift, I could tell he was disappointed. Who knew that he would be my biggest child of all?
I think fast.
"Oh, you don't like the authentic ancient ninja shoes??"
Suddenly, he loves them. He wears them every chance he gets. I watch him as he checks himself out in the mirror, while wearing them, practicing with the plastic numchucks.
I guess it's just comes down to how you explain things, right?
Monday, December 7, 2009
#525 Fun with Texting
A few days ago, I started getting these phone calls late at night. Since I normally put my phone on silence while it's charging, I don't really care about the calls. Until I start getting some total ghetto texts all day, and night. Obviously, they were not trying to send them to me. I figure that some teenager or drunk (or drunk teenager) was sending them to me. I ignored it for a few days, but it didn't stop. By the way, did I mention that this was my work phone? I continue to ignore, and yet I still get the calls and the texts. I even go as far as answering one text with a "Hey! you're texting a middle aged housewife. Please stop." This does nothing to cease the calls and texts. Anyways, somewhere in the late night hours I decide to stop the texts after I got one asking me if I "had dreams about his big dick."
This. Must. Stop.
These are the exact text. I'm not changing them or correcting them.
Him: Must be Extra X-tre-me-ly busy. Call me when you ive yourslef a break...from yourself!! That is...And dont go getting yourself flattered...We booth know, who know, who! better*
Me: (ignoring him)
Him: Where are you at ? Cross streets let me know before i change my mind you got 60 second...
Me: (still ignoring him)
Him: I'll b.s wit you beofre i go do what i told u i had 2 do?
Me: (ignoring)
Him: You dreaming about my big dick?
Me: (ignoring)
Him: I'm at your back door.
Me: (still ignoring, but now getting irritated.)
Him: Where did you go?
Me: i'm with your brother. Deal wit it.
Him: Fuck you then!
Me: U smell like piss n ass
Him: What the fucc u tali'in bout
Him: You foot know my brother
Him: Your a bitch! Lose my # your trippin
Me: Ur dicks 2 small anyways.
Him: Bye
Me: Stop crying like a bitch
Funny.....I haven't heard back from him since. (yeah, I did block that number from calling my cell phone. AND I changed my voicemail to the generic one, just in case. Plus, on his number, I added "Do not answer" as his name. )
This incident is going to earn me an "E ticket" straight to hell, huh?
This. Must. Stop.
These are the exact text. I'm not changing them or correcting them.
Him: Must be Extra X-tre-me-ly busy. Call me when you ive yourslef a break...from yourself!! That is...And dont go getting yourself flattered...We booth know, who know, who! better*
Me: (ignoring him)
Him: Where are you at ? Cross streets let me know before i change my mind you got 60 second...
Me: (still ignoring him)
Him: I'll b.s wit you beofre i go do what i told u i had 2 do?
Me: (ignoring)
Him: You dreaming about my big dick?
Me: (ignoring)
Him: I'm at your back door.
Me: (still ignoring, but now getting irritated.)
Him: Where did you go?
Me: i'm with your brother. Deal wit it.
Him: Fuck you then!
Me: U smell like piss n ass
Him: What the fucc u tali'in bout
Him: You foot know my brother
Him: Your a bitch! Lose my # your trippin
Me: Ur dicks 2 small anyways.
Him: Bye
Me: Stop crying like a bitch
Funny.....I haven't heard back from him since. (yeah, I did block that number from calling my cell phone. AND I changed my voicemail to the generic one, just in case. Plus, on his number, I added "Do not answer" as his name. )
This incident is going to earn me an "E ticket" straight to hell, huh?
Monday, October 12, 2009
A Freebie for You
Everytime someone asks you if you plan on dressing up for Halloween, answer them:
"Yes, I'm dressing up as a witch. Can I borrow something from your closet?"
*wiping tears from my eyes*
Yeah, that never gets old. I must have said this at least 14 times this week alone. As a matter of fact, when I said this to my mom yesterday, she threw an apple at my head.
It's a good thing that she throws like a girl.
"Yes, I'm dressing up as a witch. Can I borrow something from your closet?"
*wiping tears from my eyes*
Yeah, that never gets old. I must have said this at least 14 times this week alone. As a matter of fact, when I said this to my mom yesterday, she threw an apple at my head.
It's a good thing that she throws like a girl.
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