So…I just licked spit off a tootsie roll pop. No…it’s okay…it was mine.
I’m not sure what happened to Monday…this week it just came and went. This weekend was cool though. I hung out with my friend, Michael in Springs. Saturday night we went to a sushi bar. For the most part, it was cool. Michael made several good sushi selections from the menu…I think it was me who wanted to try the sea urchin…or uni, I think it’s called. No…I definitely,KNOW...it’s called uni. That three letter word is imbedded in my memory for all time. Especially, if I’m ever with someone having sushi and I want to gross them out…I’ll be like, “Have you tried uni? It’s like an orgasm in your mouth.” Then I can tell them,”So…you spit?" or "Oh, you swallow?"
I have never really felt like vomiting at the dinner table…and then feeling like I already did and it was in my mouth. I vow never again to eat something that I don’t have the foggiest idea what it looks, smells or tastes like without having a container or paper napkin to spit in.
In trying to describe what uni tastes like and feels like in your mouth, only a few things come to mind…sampling baby poop; eating the contents of an old pus-filled pimple on a biker’s back…or like when you’re really sick with a bronchial or sinus infection, and hawking up a chunk of mucus and then saying, ”Oh, that looks good…maybe I’ll eat that.”
Even more disgusting is that I consumed it. I swear…I looked for a place to spit it. Michael offered me a cloth napkin. I just couldn’t bring myself to move the uni from the back part of my tongue to the front without having to taste it again. I felt like I couldn’t go forward, yet couldn’t go back. It was fucking traumatizing.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
Office Etiquette
Okay, I haven’t written a blog in some time. My life has been busy…although not interesting enough to me to write about. That doesn’t stop other people, so…
A couple days ago, I got really pissed at work. I don’t usually get that pissed at work. I usually let minor irritations roll off me and don’t get my feathers ruffled. When I’m at home, that’s another story…there, I’m frequently pissed and it’s usually due to the drama I have to endure with my sassy 15 year old daughter.
Anyway…I work at an employment office. Myself, and the four other people that do what I do, all assist walk-in customers looking for jobs. It’s usual day-to-day stuff.
We also have to enter job openings as they come in. Job Orders, as they’re called, are to me, like lottery tickets…except--ones that require that you DO something. It’s like you answer the phone, “Workforce Center, how may I help you?” and then (to myself) “Crap!!! It’s a job order.” Job orders aren’t all that bad, but sometimes you get them when you really don’t have time to enter them…when you’re in the middle of something or have so many other things to do…or when you already have a customer at your desk. That doesn’t matter. They are a priority and have to be entered as soon as possible. So you have to enter all the requirements, duties, and all the details about the job…basically you’re entering a complete job description. Job orders also become “yours” and have several other follow-up responsibilities that come with taking one. Sometimes, you stroll into the copy room to send a fax or make a copy…and a fax is coming in. You unknowingly pick it up off the fax machine and, “Damn…it’s a job order!” It doesn’t matter, they belong to you and that’s just how it goes.
So…for the last two days, RJ, a guy in my office who has the responsibility of working out in the community, but, still has office responsibilities, has won the ‘Job Order Lottery’. But he does the HAND OFF. “Hey, I hafta get outta here, can you enter this?” The first one I entered, no problem. But the next day, it’s the same thing. This guy must hate job orders more than I do. He’s not the best typist, and depends heavily on spell check--so it takes him even longer. So! That doesn’t make it my job order. Asshole. It was the same line too…”Hey I hafta get outta here, will you enter this for me?” I take it, and it was a fucking long one. A ton of requirements and a shitload of duties to enter, plus all the other stuff. And then, he doesn’t even fucking leave the office and at least get out of my sight. He goes back to his desk and stays there all afternoon. Then he’s asking me questions about stuff, as I’m typing away. I have other shit I need to be doing too. The lady before him always did all her job orders AND her out-of-the-office duties too. Yeah, she was fucking stressed out…we all are. And SHE never did the HAND OFF.
So, later that evening, as I’m taking my 15 year old driving, who recently got her driver’s permit. I’m telling her how RJ pissed me off by handing off his work to me. And I’m preparing as to how I’m going to handle it the next time he tries the hand off. I tell my daughter, “Next time he asks me to enter one of his job orders, I’m gonna look him straight in the eye and tell him…(firmly)"I’m sorry…I have all these other things I’m working on and I don’t have time to enter your job order.” My daughter laughs and mockingly says, “I’m gonna look him straight in the eye…and be polite.”
A couple days ago, I got really pissed at work. I don’t usually get that pissed at work. I usually let minor irritations roll off me and don’t get my feathers ruffled. When I’m at home, that’s another story…there, I’m frequently pissed and it’s usually due to the drama I have to endure with my sassy 15 year old daughter.
Anyway…I work at an employment office. Myself, and the four other people that do what I do, all assist walk-in customers looking for jobs. It’s usual day-to-day stuff.
We also have to enter job openings as they come in. Job Orders, as they’re called, are to me, like lottery tickets…except--ones that require that you DO something. It’s like you answer the phone, “Workforce Center, how may I help you?” and then (to myself) “Crap!!! It’s a job order.” Job orders aren’t all that bad, but sometimes you get them when you really don’t have time to enter them…when you’re in the middle of something or have so many other things to do…or when you already have a customer at your desk. That doesn’t matter. They are a priority and have to be entered as soon as possible. So you have to enter all the requirements, duties, and all the details about the job…basically you’re entering a complete job description. Job orders also become “yours” and have several other follow-up responsibilities that come with taking one. Sometimes, you stroll into the copy room to send a fax or make a copy…and a fax is coming in. You unknowingly pick it up off the fax machine and, “Damn…it’s a job order!” It doesn’t matter, they belong to you and that’s just how it goes.
So…for the last two days, RJ, a guy in my office who has the responsibility of working out in the community, but, still has office responsibilities, has won the ‘Job Order Lottery’. But he does the HAND OFF. “Hey, I hafta get outta here, can you enter this?” The first one I entered, no problem. But the next day, it’s the same thing. This guy must hate job orders more than I do. He’s not the best typist, and depends heavily on spell check--so it takes him even longer. So! That doesn’t make it my job order. Asshole. It was the same line too…”Hey I hafta get outta here, will you enter this for me?” I take it, and it was a fucking long one. A ton of requirements and a shitload of duties to enter, plus all the other stuff. And then, he doesn’t even fucking leave the office and at least get out of my sight. He goes back to his desk and stays there all afternoon. Then he’s asking me questions about stuff, as I’m typing away. I have other shit I need to be doing too. The lady before him always did all her job orders AND her out-of-the-office duties too. Yeah, she was fucking stressed out…we all are. And SHE never did the HAND OFF.
So, later that evening, as I’m taking my 15 year old driving, who recently got her driver’s permit. I’m telling her how RJ pissed me off by handing off his work to me. And I’m preparing as to how I’m going to handle it the next time he tries the hand off. I tell my daughter, “Next time he asks me to enter one of his job orders, I’m gonna look him straight in the eye and tell him…(firmly)"I’m sorry…I have all these other things I’m working on and I don’t have time to enter your job order.” My daughter laughs and mockingly says, “I’m gonna look him straight in the eye…and be polite.”
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