Back in 20-aught-3, I was working on Titanic*.
For some reason, which I to this day do not understand, I was The Corporate Trainer. This job sounds much more luxurious then it was.
Anyway, in the early fall, Titanic needed me for two weeks to train a group of nutria in the fine art of customer service. I refused.
1) I knew by my training, I’d be eliminating 15-20 jobs locally**
2) Steve had just purchased the house. We were closing the day before they wanted me to come down.
3) I’d miss Steve’s birthday.
4) I was not fond of New Orleans
5) My ex-boyfriend worked for said company.
They dangled a carrot in front of me (we’ll fly him down your last weekend and treat you to a night on the town***) and I accepted.
The other times I had traveled, they put me up in a nice place. This time, it was a dump and I had to bring my towels to the front desk if I wanted new ones. Yes. I’m serious. And it was right next to I-10. and a drive-through-alcohol-slushy-place.
The last weekend came along, as did Steve.
He got in way past bedtime on Thursday and I had to work Friday.
For dinner, we went to Fox and Hound, mainly because they had Abita AndyGator, an 11% on-tap brew.
While we’re sitting at the bar, we strike up a conversation with the two gentlemen next to us.
Ends up, they worked for Pepsi.
“Hey, Barkeep, whatever these two are drinkin’ for the next hour is on us!”, says Suit. Steve switches to Guinness.
An hour passes.
“Barkeep! These two are drinkin’ is on us!”, says Suit.
Another hour passes. The Suits get Steve to try a couple fingers of Markers Mark. By now, we decided we need food. The Suits decided they need tail.
“Barrrrrrkkeeeep! Wazzever deess twoses wants zz on us!”
And so on.
Saturday morning found us in rough shape.
I still have the Pepsi guy’s business card in my wallet; memoir of a lucky time.
* A company which started out cool, but then got purchased by, and I’m not making this up, some 20-somethings who made a fortune selling TRADING CARDS and subsequently wanted to close the local operation down. After putting the local operation out of business (about 50 jobs over the course of the take over) the company got flooded in 2004. Karma Bitches.
** And I was right. “Fire all those people in Buffalo!”, was the battle cry from the VP after training was complete.
*** which roughly translated into, “We’re not showing you anything. Submit your receipts.”
(inspired by “please don’t eat with your mouth open“)
Comments : 5 Comments »
Categories : note to self, work life
Last week we attended a party at Steve’s Uncle’s house.
The following day, said uncle calls my MIL and asks her if I’m pregnant… because I wasn’t drinking.
1) Can a girl not drink at family events?
2) Am I known as that much of a drunk?
3) What if we just found out? Don’t most people wait to tell people until after they’re certain things are “stuck”? What if we were pregnant and didn’t tell anyone yet because it was too early?
4) What if I just had a loss?
5) Perhaps I was hungover
Lots of women weren’t drinking at the party.
Why do I get singled out?
Enna had the same problem recently.
I’d like to publicly mention that it is none of anyone’s damn business if someone is pregnant or not; until they tell you otherwise.
Comments : 12 Comments »
Categories : complaint department
Saturday we were at the mall (blech) getting birthday presents for his grandma.
Lunchtime found us in the Food Court. yippee. Fried food and sandwiches.
Steve went to order food and my eyeballs were floating, so I detoured to the restroom.
As I was trying to leave, there was a mother having an argument with her 6/7 year-old-boy. Once again, remember I am torrible at determining children’s ages, however, this kid looked too old to be with Momma Bear in the ladies room. ANYWAY, so the mom’s all, “There’s too many people* for you to be in here alone.” and the kids hanging on the door handle, begging to use the family restroom. Meanwhile, I am standing in the little alcove/entrance/exit way, [what I thought should be] clearly in view of at least the mom.
Finally, I walk as close to the door/wailing child as I can and loudly proclaim, “EXCUSE ME.” to which the mother is gives me the Can’t-You-See-I’m-Trying-To-Reason-With-My-Kid-Glance and reluctantly pulls him off the handle. “Sorry.”, she spats.
“Thank you.”, I reply, to which I get the Screw-You-Lady-I-Didn’t-Have-To-Move-My-Kid-Look. Regular readers know that I have a personal vendetta against saying, “That’s okay!” when it’s not okay**.
Back out on the floor, I spot Steve waiting for his food.
We discuss how I’m not hungry for anything here, (him) but I should eat, (me) I am not in the mood for anything fried/mystery/full of carbs, (him) I can have some of his hot dog, (me) No thank you…
I find a place that has veggie burgers. After my order is passed to me, I turn to head towards the table and there’s a lady standing thisclose behind me.
You know, in case someone took her sub.
“Oh, gee!”, She says, clearly not realizing I can feel her breathing on me, “I’m sorry!”
I say nothing and walk away.
At the table, “Everyday is an exercise in not killing people.”, I say to Steve.
“You have to stop taking things so personally!”
“I’m not trying to be the Manner Police, I’m just saying you [the general population, not Steve… most of the time] don’t need to be such dicks about things. However, I say something to someone who is in the wrong, and I’m the horrible one? What the hell?”
At my wits end of a day of insurmountable inconsideration, we’re “watching” a slideshow of old photos*** for Grandma’s birthday, the cousin who put together the slideshow wedges in and stands directly in front of me. I start a conversation with one of the cousins I enjoy; can’t see anyway, nor can she. Wedging Cousin turns around and asks if I can see.
“Your acknowledging standing in front of me makes you invisible.”
Sheepishly, she moves, only to be replaced by some weird aunt who stands WAY TOO CLOSE to me and just came in from smoking.
Reader(s), what’s your stance on correcting public/unnecessary rudeness?
* Three ladies at the sinks/dryers, some stalls occupied and me
** See also: getting hit in the ankle with shopping carts
*** Every other comment was “Who’s THHHHAAATT?”
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Categories : treatment
Vivid dreams have never bothered me… I’ve always had them, so unless they’re something incredibly-vividly-vivid or something that could happen, they don’t freak me out.
Last night’s dream found me awake in a panting, sweaty mess; freaked out.
When it came time to roll back over, I was still scared. But then I thought about it.
Okay Stephanie…. let’s think about this. Could you actually be a side-kick to a Jason Statham and/or Arnold Schwartanegger?
Also, would anyone in their right mind hire you as a bodyguard?
And when’s the last time you were able to carry two 6-8 year olds, one under each arm, AND run up an elegant marble staircase? Without tripping…
So, remind me, what are you afraid of?
And Just Like That, I was back soundly asleep.
Well, after giving up the fight of DogAndManAndBlanket vs. Stephanie, I grabbed my emergency* comforter and was back to dreaming of high-speed trains and countrysides.
* Requested Christmas Present. Steve and Bailey often take up 97% of the bed and 99% of the comforter. So I asked for a quality comforter I could keep on my side of the bed for such occasions.
Now playing: Technotronic – Pump Up The Jam
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Categories : dreams