BUT I HAVE NO VOICE!! SO I CAN'T!!! SON-OF-A...!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
THAT WAS REMARKABLY UNSATISFYING!!!!!
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
A chocolate dip donut by any other name would smell like chocolate
So today, after dealing with the Bank, I ripped the head off of an alarmingly incompetent Tim Horton's employee. It seems to me that I encounter many alarmingly incompetent people in my travels. I don't know if I encounter more of them than average, or if I simply lack requisite patience to deal with them. I suspect the latter is true.
The Bank was incompetent. In all honesty, I would have been laughing my head off had this been happening to someone else. But it wasn't. It was happening to me. And the humor of the situation somehow escaped me at the time.
I repeatedly explained to the manager on the other end of the line that my student line is required annually for tuition, was in good standing, and was unilaterally closed. But she couldn't find a record of me anywhere on the system. And to add insult to injury, she didn't even believe that I dealt with that branch. Or even with that bank. She just kept asking me if I was sure that I had the right number. She then asked me to call back on another day with my old account number, at which point I screamed "This is ridiculous!!" and she elected to go into the back to find the hard copy of the file.
She located it, but it didn't help. Our next problem was one of timelines. She simply could not grasp the concept that this is 2006. Nor could she accept the fact that 2005 precedes 2006 by exactly one year. When I told her that I had registered last summer and paid last fall, she accusingly responded that her records show that I last registered in August of 2005 and paid in October of 2005. And I cried out, "That's what I just said!!"
She insisted that the account was dormant for inactivity. And as she insisted that I would now have to reapply and that the whole thing was somehow my fault, I swear that I started to involuntarily twitch. I reamed into her but good and told her I'd be looking for another bank to give my business. And then I said something insulting but well-deserved, and hung up on her.
Right around the time I was hunting around for my bottle of vodka and high-powered sniper rifle, she called back saying that she had found a way to help me. I did what she requested, then tried to calm down and continue to work on my file. But my concentration was lacking, I couldn't stop twitching, and the girls in my area decided that a walk over to Timmy's might be calming. So off we went. A quick walk, a bit of caffeine and sugar, and I should feel better. Right?
Right?
Hello?
And that's when the Tim Horton's employee dared to cross my path. I tried to be polite. Honest, I did. But I know that I came across as impatient and unpleasant. And while I think she deserved some impatience, I was probably a bit more impatient than was required in all circumstances. Really, it was mostly just the day I'd been having. But honestly, what has become of good customer service?
Let's start with this: When someone orders a Coke, and you respond with "Can or Bottle?", it would be good if those options are both products that your location carries. When your customer responds "Bottle", she usually doesn't expect to hear "Oh, we don't carry bottles at this location".
"A can will be fine", I said. "Could I get a straw?"
"They're right there", she replied, gesturing to the counter behind her. Where I am not permitted to go, as I am not an employee.
"Could I please have one?" I asked politely. And she rolled her eyes and got me a straw.
Next?
"We don't have chocolate dip donuts."
"Yes you do. They're right here in the case."
"No. We don't have chocolate dip donuts. Just these chocolate cake ones."
"These ones. Right here. That I'm pointing to. With the chocolate icing"
"Oh. Those are honey dip."
"They have chocolate on them! You know what ... just please give me one. Thanks."
And then? I went to pay. With debit. Other people were paying with debit. It was working just fine for everyone else. My coworkers had no trouble. But this young lady couldn't figure out the machine. And my transaction didn't go through. I was still trying to be patient, as I said "Let's try it again".
"Oh", she responded, "I think it's down. Did you wanna pay with cash?"
"No, I don't want to pay with cash!" I snapped. "Please try it again!"
This time it worked, and I headed back to the office, victoriously carrying my prey: a can of Coke and a chocolate dip donut (or ICBM, or whatever you want to call it).
The good news is that the situation with the Bank is all straightened out. I got my donut and my Coke. And I guess it really doesn't matter to me if you call it a chocolate dipped intercontinental ballistic missile; it's still a donut. It still has chocolate. And it's still delicious.
Really, I have very few problems that can't be solved with chocolate.
The Bank was incompetent. In all honesty, I would have been laughing my head off had this been happening to someone else. But it wasn't. It was happening to me. And the humor of the situation somehow escaped me at the time.
I repeatedly explained to the manager on the other end of the line that my student line is required annually for tuition, was in good standing, and was unilaterally closed. But she couldn't find a record of me anywhere on the system. And to add insult to injury, she didn't even believe that I dealt with that branch. Or even with that bank. She just kept asking me if I was sure that I had the right number. She then asked me to call back on another day with my old account number, at which point I screamed "This is ridiculous!!" and she elected to go into the back to find the hard copy of the file.
She located it, but it didn't help. Our next problem was one of timelines. She simply could not grasp the concept that this is 2006. Nor could she accept the fact that 2005 precedes 2006 by exactly one year. When I told her that I had registered last summer and paid last fall, she accusingly responded that her records show that I last registered in August of 2005 and paid in October of 2005. And I cried out, "That's what I just said!!"
She insisted that the account was dormant for inactivity. And as she insisted that I would now have to reapply and that the whole thing was somehow my fault, I swear that I started to involuntarily twitch. I reamed into her but good and told her I'd be looking for another bank to give my business. And then I said something insulting but well-deserved, and hung up on her.
Right around the time I was hunting around for my bottle of vodka and high-powered sniper rifle, she called back saying that she had found a way to help me. I did what she requested, then tried to calm down and continue to work on my file. But my concentration was lacking, I couldn't stop twitching, and the girls in my area decided that a walk over to Timmy's might be calming. So off we went. A quick walk, a bit of caffeine and sugar, and I should feel better. Right?
Right?
Hello?
And that's when the Tim Horton's employee dared to cross my path. I tried to be polite. Honest, I did. But I know that I came across as impatient and unpleasant. And while I think she deserved some impatience, I was probably a bit more impatient than was required in all circumstances. Really, it was mostly just the day I'd been having. But honestly, what has become of good customer service?
Let's start with this: When someone orders a Coke, and you respond with "Can or Bottle?", it would be good if those options are both products that your location carries. When your customer responds "Bottle", she usually doesn't expect to hear "Oh, we don't carry bottles at this location".
"A can will be fine", I said. "Could I get a straw?"
"They're right there", she replied, gesturing to the counter behind her. Where I am not permitted to go, as I am not an employee.
"Could I please have one?" I asked politely. And she rolled her eyes and got me a straw.
Next?
"We don't have chocolate dip donuts."
"Yes you do. They're right here in the case."
"No. We don't have chocolate dip donuts. Just these chocolate cake ones."
"These ones. Right here. That I'm pointing to. With the chocolate icing"
"Oh. Those are honey dip."
"They have chocolate on them! You know what ... just please give me one. Thanks."
And then? I went to pay. With debit. Other people were paying with debit. It was working just fine for everyone else. My coworkers had no trouble. But this young lady couldn't figure out the machine. And my transaction didn't go through. I was still trying to be patient, as I said "Let's try it again".
"Oh", she responded, "I think it's down. Did you wanna pay with cash?"
"No, I don't want to pay with cash!" I snapped. "Please try it again!"
This time it worked, and I headed back to the office, victoriously carrying my prey: a can of Coke and a chocolate dip donut (or ICBM, or whatever you want to call it).
The good news is that the situation with the Bank is all straightened out. I got my donut and my Coke. And I guess it really doesn't matter to me if you call it a chocolate dipped intercontinental ballistic missile; it's still a donut. It still has chocolate. And it's still delicious.
Really, I have very few problems that can't be solved with chocolate.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
But not in my province
I am frustrated. I only need one course to complete my Level 1. It only gets offered once a year. No foundation level courses are ever run in summer, except for Communications, which I have already taken. You need many foundation courses as prerequisites to the advanced courses. If I want to take my one remaining Level 1 course in summer, I have to split it into two courses in concurrent studies and pay extra money for that privilege.
Today, I received a ray of hope. It seems that all of the foundation level courses are being run through the summer months as condensed courses. Each will take one month to complete, and a Saturday exam will follow. A pretty intense study routine would be required, but I think I could do it. If I took Economics as a condensed course offering, I'd get done sooner and I wouldn't have to pay the extra fees. Problem solved, right?
Wrong. The condensed course offerings are available to students in BC, but not here in our province. And I am getting a little bit jaded with my provincial association. As I go through my program of study, it becomes increasingly apparent that we are penalized here in a number of ways.
In other provinces, students are permitted to enroll in more than one course per term. They are permitted to enroll in a course with a prerequisite before obtaining confirmation of a passing grade in the prerequisite course; it is assumed that they will pass the course if they qualify to write the exam. Other provinces have in-class lectures. And they seem to receive extensions on assignments and quizzes with considerable ease. Now I find that they have a better course timetable too.
But here I am, paying the same amount for fewer resources. There is no consistency among the provinces. And I feel rather gypped and unfairly penalized.
Why am I being penalized for living in this province??
Today, I received a ray of hope. It seems that all of the foundation level courses are being run through the summer months as condensed courses. Each will take one month to complete, and a Saturday exam will follow. A pretty intense study routine would be required, but I think I could do it. If I took Economics as a condensed course offering, I'd get done sooner and I wouldn't have to pay the extra fees. Problem solved, right?
Wrong. The condensed course offerings are available to students in BC, but not here in our province. And I am getting a little bit jaded with my provincial association. As I go through my program of study, it becomes increasingly apparent that we are penalized here in a number of ways.
In other provinces, students are permitted to enroll in more than one course per term. They are permitted to enroll in a course with a prerequisite before obtaining confirmation of a passing grade in the prerequisite course; it is assumed that they will pass the course if they qualify to write the exam. Other provinces have in-class lectures. And they seem to receive extensions on assignments and quizzes with considerable ease. Now I find that they have a better course timetable too.
But here I am, paying the same amount for fewer resources. There is no consistency among the provinces. And I feel rather gypped and unfairly penalized.
Why am I being penalized for living in this province??
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
"G" is for "Gutless"
I am about to rant. Chances are exceedingly good that this is not addressed to you. You should not be offended. Nor should you be worried. I am in fine spirits. I feel quite happy. I just require a good rant tonight.
Here goes.
Here's a thought. When asked point blank what is going on, perhaps you might be truthful in your response. Have the courage of your convictions and admit your actions and rationale, however nonsensical they may be. "I am having a tantrum right now", you could say. Or perhaps "I have PMS", or maybe just "I need space" would work. Or even something completely deranged, like "You think Gatorade is yummy, and I don't, so I don't want to see you ever again, you big Gatorade-lovin' freak". I don't care that it's ridiculous; at least it's honest. So just say it. You know. Go with whatever your (mind-numbingly stupid) thought process might be, and come clean. Why you feel that there is a need to lie about it is beyond my comprehension.
You did it. You meant to. You had a reason. You lied about it. I am not a stupid person. I am aware of your deception. Own your actions.
No class of person annoys or disgusts me more than the gutless.
End rant.
Here goes.
Here's a thought. When asked point blank what is going on, perhaps you might be truthful in your response. Have the courage of your convictions and admit your actions and rationale, however nonsensical they may be. "I am having a tantrum right now", you could say. Or perhaps "I have PMS", or maybe just "I need space" would work. Or even something completely deranged, like "You think Gatorade is yummy, and I don't, so I don't want to see you ever again, you big Gatorade-lovin' freak". I don't care that it's ridiculous; at least it's honest. So just say it. You know. Go with whatever your (mind-numbingly stupid) thought process might be, and come clean. Why you feel that there is a need to lie about it is beyond my comprehension.
You did it. You meant to. You had a reason. You lied about it. I am not a stupid person. I am aware of your deception. Own your actions.
No class of person annoys or disgusts me more than the gutless.
End rant.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Algebra is annoying
I see a big problem with the following algebraic formula (from my lesson notes):
V+z=bx+bT-bx=bT
Seriously. Why not just say: V+z=bT? Doesn't bx seem rather irrelevant to this equation?
Whatever.
V+z=bx+bT-bx=bT
Seriously. Why not just say: V+z=bT? Doesn't bx seem rather irrelevant to this equation?
Whatever.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Evening thoughts
Guilt by association sucks. Especially when no one is guilty of anything in any event.
Many people are stupid. I hate stupidity.
I also hate waiters who accidentally drop raspberry sauce on the seat of my chair while I am in the bathroom changing Mr. Poopy-pants.
On that subject, I hate bathrooms that are not equipped with change stations.
Raspberry sauce on the butt of a brand-new pair of tan corduroy pants is an ugly shade of purple.
When a raspberry sauce stain on the butt of a brand-new pair of tan corduroy pants is rubbed with a bar of Zest soap, the stain remains entrenched in the pants, but it turns a very ugly shade of deep green (almost teal, but uglier), even after it has been rinsed.
My baby is sweet, even when he screams.
Even the most tired baby will not sleep when his diaper is poopy.
Weddings make even the smartest and most logical person nutty.
Crepes are yummy.
J is not a big fan of corn.
In his little black, red and white tuxedo, with two small bits of shredded turkey hanging out of his mouth, J looks like a vampire. It makes me laugh!
Pepsi is not an adequate substitute for Coke.
It is bedtime.
Many people are stupid. I hate stupidity.
I also hate waiters who accidentally drop raspberry sauce on the seat of my chair while I am in the bathroom changing Mr. Poopy-pants.
On that subject, I hate bathrooms that are not equipped with change stations.
Raspberry sauce on the butt of a brand-new pair of tan corduroy pants is an ugly shade of purple.
When a raspberry sauce stain on the butt of a brand-new pair of tan corduroy pants is rubbed with a bar of Zest soap, the stain remains entrenched in the pants, but it turns a very ugly shade of deep green (almost teal, but uglier), even after it has been rinsed.
My baby is sweet, even when he screams.
Even the most tired baby will not sleep when his diaper is poopy.
Weddings make even the smartest and most logical person nutty.
Crepes are yummy.
J is not a big fan of corn.
In his little black, red and white tuxedo, with two small bits of shredded turkey hanging out of his mouth, J looks like a vampire. It makes me laugh!
Pepsi is not an adequate substitute for Coke.
It is bedtime.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Dear Sirs
Dear J:
I love you, and I understand that you are sick. I am sorry about that. However, I must protest your latest antics.
Warning: May be TMI for some.
I am sorry that you have diarrhea. I wish you did not. But when you have pooped and overflowed your diaper, would you please not try to put your feet in it? And also, while Mommy is trying to change you and keep your feet poop-free, perhaps you could refrain from reaching down and sticking your hand in it. And then grabbing my arm, thereby getting poop on my shirt. And then trying to stick your poop-laden hand in your mouth, forcing Mommy to let go of your feet to save you from ingesting it. And then kicking your feet frantically, spraying the poop all about in the process.
I will try to get your white sleeper clean, because it is cute and Daddy loves how the collar makes you look like Elvis. But I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do your very best to ruin and stain it first.
Love,
Mommy
*****************
Dear H:
One more time, for posterity. The empty toilet paper roll does not stay on the dispenser. It gets removed and thrown in the garbage. The new roll does not go on the counter. It goes on the now-empty dispenser. I can leave an instruction sheet in all of the bathrooms, if you wish.
Love,
T
(Note: To be fair, H is actually far better at housework than am I. This is just my own little pet peeve.)
*****************
Dear Cat:
When J is snuggling in my arms and you leap into my lap, you should not be surprised when J grabs your fur and pulls, or tries to pet it in the wrong direction, or anything else. He is a baby, and he does not know any better. I will try to protect you as best I can, but you are best to just avoid putting yourself in the situation. I can accept your being grumpy, and I love you very much, but if you ever react harshly to the baby, I will give you away. And if you spark my computer one more time, as appears to be your preferred means of retaliation, I will no longer permit you to sit in the office.
Love,
Your Human
*****************
Dear Tutors:
Please refrain from answering questions from students' quizzes prior to the quiz due dates. It is most inappropriate to essentially do a student's homework for him or her. Besides, it is not the job of the course tutor to spoon-feed the students.
Yours truly,
Student
*****************
Dear Blogger:
Please respond to my email. It's been days, and I feel this situation should have been remedied by now.
Sincerely,
Cryptic
I love you, and I understand that you are sick. I am sorry about that. However, I must protest your latest antics.
Warning: May be TMI for some.
I am sorry that you have diarrhea. I wish you did not. But when you have pooped and overflowed your diaper, would you please not try to put your feet in it? And also, while Mommy is trying to change you and keep your feet poop-free, perhaps you could refrain from reaching down and sticking your hand in it. And then grabbing my arm, thereby getting poop on my shirt. And then trying to stick your poop-laden hand in your mouth, forcing Mommy to let go of your feet to save you from ingesting it. And then kicking your feet frantically, spraying the poop all about in the process.
I will try to get your white sleeper clean, because it is cute and Daddy loves how the collar makes you look like Elvis. But I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do your very best to ruin and stain it first.
Love,
Mommy
*****************
Dear H:
One more time, for posterity. The empty toilet paper roll does not stay on the dispenser. It gets removed and thrown in the garbage. The new roll does not go on the counter. It goes on the now-empty dispenser. I can leave an instruction sheet in all of the bathrooms, if you wish.
Love,
T
(Note: To be fair, H is actually far better at housework than am I. This is just my own little pet peeve.)
*****************
Dear Cat:
When J is snuggling in my arms and you leap into my lap, you should not be surprised when J grabs your fur and pulls, or tries to pet it in the wrong direction, or anything else. He is a baby, and he does not know any better. I will try to protect you as best I can, but you are best to just avoid putting yourself in the situation. I can accept your being grumpy, and I love you very much, but if you ever react harshly to the baby, I will give you away. And if you spark my computer one more time, as appears to be your preferred means of retaliation, I will no longer permit you to sit in the office.
Love,
Your Human
*****************
Dear Tutors:
Please refrain from answering questions from students' quizzes prior to the quiz due dates. It is most inappropriate to essentially do a student's homework for him or her. Besides, it is not the job of the course tutor to spoon-feed the students.
Yours truly,
Student
*****************
Dear Blogger:
Please respond to my email. It's been days, and I feel this situation should have been remedied by now.
Sincerely,
Cryptic
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Free Vote Here
Well, we're off to a running start with a non-confidence vote. Because, as we all know, Stephen Harper has a major yen for the position of PM. "I wanna be PM, so if I don't get into office, I'm gonna pout and force the issue", says Mr. Harper. Okay, maybe he doesn't use those exact words, but that's the gist. (Sounds a bit similar to "You won't have little Richie Nixon to kick around any more", doesn't it?)
Harper is already talking about conducting a free-vote on gay marriage once his party gets into power. He appears to have no other plans for running the country, but let's make darned good and sure that "those" people are kept in their place. Put the government where it belongs: in the bedrooms of the citizens. Right? Consenting adults; bah!
Now, let's completely ignore the fact that our country has a Charter of Rights and Freedoms which guarantees the same rights to all persons regardless of, among other things, sex. And let's completely ignore the decision of the Courts on that point, which found the previous legislation on the subject to be flawed and discriminatory. After all, "those" people don't deserve equality, do they? Oh no. If you are different from Stephen Harper in any way, shape or form, you should receive lesser treatment in this great country of ours, despite what our Charter dictates. Ignore the rights and freedoms afforded to all in our country; ignore the fact that those rights and freedoms are what makes this country the wonderful place that it is. In fact, why don't we just return to biblical times and make a practice out of stoning those who don't toe the line and conform to the whims of the majority? Hmmm?
Of course, everyone should be able to run around sporting unregistered firearms. Hillbilly Jethro likes his gun, after all. Question though: What if Hillbilly Jethro is gay? Does he get his gun, Mr. Harper, or are you going to take it away? Different freedoms for "those" people and all, remember? Apparently, they should just take it on the chin, shut-up, and consider themselves very lucky that you don't run right up to them on the street and shoot them with your unregistered firearm. Right?
Different rights for different citizens sounds like a good idea to the current leader of the Conservatives, does it? Ah well. I suppose I can get on board with that. Sure thing. Okay. But I think we should look at it from my angle, and just mistreat all who are different from me.
And so...
I have decided that Stephen Harper is different from me. Insofar as I can tell, Stephen Harper is a redneck homophobic SOB dictator-wanna-be. Heck! He's a politician, and that alone should be enough to distinguish him from me. But add the other personality issues, and we get a person who is very much unlike me in virtually every respect.
In light of the fact that Mr. Harper proposes different rights and freedoms for those who are "different", and in light of the fact that I consider Mr. Harper to be "different", I would like to conduct a free vote. I do not believe that the same Charter freedoms afforded to me should be afforded to people who fit the criteria of redneck homophobic SOB dictator-wanna-be. And so, I do not believe that Mr. Harper should have the right to be married (or to own a handgun either, but that is another issue entirely).
As a result, I think Mr. Harper's current marriage should be annulled, and I propose a free vote on the subject.
Provide a comment with your vote contained therein. Should Stephen Harper be allowed to be married in Canada?
(Know someone who might want to cast their vote? Send them this link.)
http://lovemyjared.blogspot.com/2005/12/free-vote-here.html
Harper is already talking about conducting a free-vote on gay marriage once his party gets into power. He appears to have no other plans for running the country, but let's make darned good and sure that "those" people are kept in their place. Put the government where it belongs: in the bedrooms of the citizens. Right? Consenting adults; bah!
Now, let's completely ignore the fact that our country has a Charter of Rights and Freedoms which guarantees the same rights to all persons regardless of, among other things, sex. And let's completely ignore the decision of the Courts on that point, which found the previous legislation on the subject to be flawed and discriminatory. After all, "those" people don't deserve equality, do they? Oh no. If you are different from Stephen Harper in any way, shape or form, you should receive lesser treatment in this great country of ours, despite what our Charter dictates. Ignore the rights and freedoms afforded to all in our country; ignore the fact that those rights and freedoms are what makes this country the wonderful place that it is. In fact, why don't we just return to biblical times and make a practice out of stoning those who don't toe the line and conform to the whims of the majority? Hmmm?
Of course, everyone should be able to run around sporting unregistered firearms. Hillbilly Jethro likes his gun, after all. Question though: What if Hillbilly Jethro is gay? Does he get his gun, Mr. Harper, or are you going to take it away? Different freedoms for "those" people and all, remember? Apparently, they should just take it on the chin, shut-up, and consider themselves very lucky that you don't run right up to them on the street and shoot them with your unregistered firearm. Right?
Different rights for different citizens sounds like a good idea to the current leader of the Conservatives, does it? Ah well. I suppose I can get on board with that. Sure thing. Okay. But I think we should look at it from my angle, and just mistreat all who are different from me.
And so...
I have decided that Stephen Harper is different from me. Insofar as I can tell, Stephen Harper is a redneck homophobic SOB dictator-wanna-be. Heck! He's a politician, and that alone should be enough to distinguish him from me. But add the other personality issues, and we get a person who is very much unlike me in virtually every respect.
In light of the fact that Mr. Harper proposes different rights and freedoms for those who are "different", and in light of the fact that I consider Mr. Harper to be "different", I would like to conduct a free vote. I do not believe that the same Charter freedoms afforded to me should be afforded to people who fit the criteria of redneck homophobic SOB dictator-wanna-be. And so, I do not believe that Mr. Harper should have the right to be married (or to own a handgun either, but that is another issue entirely).
As a result, I think Mr. Harper's current marriage should be annulled, and I propose a free vote on the subject.
Provide a comment with your vote contained therein. Should Stephen Harper be allowed to be married in Canada?
(Know someone who might want to cast their vote? Send them this link.)
http://lovemyjared.blogspot.com/2005/12/free-vote-here.html
Saturday, November 26, 2005
You make me feel like ranting
I'm sick. Really sick. Preparing for an exam and feeling stressed. Really stressed. J was grumpy yesterday. Really grumpy.
So when H's friend called and wanted H to meet him for coffee last night, I would have liked it very much if H had said that it wasn't a good night; that his wife was sick and studying for an exam and he was needed at home. But he didn't. And when a time was suggested, I would have liked it very much if that time hadn't been during J's typical naptime, so that J could go with them. But it was, so he couldn't. So H went without J (forgetting to take the cell phone, so I couldn't reach him if I needed to), and left me to deal with J, study for my exam, and just generally be sick.
J woke up roughly half an hour after H left. I changed him (twice), fed him, gave him some extra cereal and green beans since he seemed particularly hungry, bathed him, got him all ready for bed, and then heard H enter the house.
H walked through the door, forgetting to bring the frozen beverage I had asked him to pick up to take down the swelling in my throat. He quickly ran back out to get it (without being asked; score 1 for H). When he returned, I was in the living room snuggling with a very awake J, with all my study materials splayed out in front of me. I asked H to please take care of J while I put the diapers in to be washed and did some more studying. H waited on this for a bit; first, he pilled the cat (which was necessary and didn't take a lot of time) and then he took J, and I put the diapers in the wash.
I came back upstairs and asked H to put J to bed when he was ready, put the diapers in the dryer and put them away when they were done, and to wash out J's dishes for me for the morning. (Ordinarily, we share these types of chores, but I was studying for my exam and I am sick, and H had just had an evening out, and it was only 9:00-ish, so I thought this was a reasonable request. Sticking the diapers in the dryer and washing a bowl, spoon and cup are hardly time-consuming tasks, really.)
So what happened? H put J to bed, fed the cats, then fell asleep on the couch. Did I notice? No. I was studying, and having problems with one particular statement that was taking all of my attention.
I woke H up at around 11:30, stating that it was probably time for bed. H agreed, and started to go upstairs. I asked him if he had put the diapers in the dryer. He had forgotten to do so, but went down to do it before bed (note: this time, he did not ask me to do it instead; score 2 for H). We then went to bed.
This morning I awoke, after a restless night of coughing and hacking, to discover that I had roughly one-third of my voice left and that this rather vicious cold appears to be turning into bronchitis (never mind how I know; that would fall under the head of "TMI"). H got up, pilled and fed the cats, had a bath, changed J and brought him to me for food. All pretty normal.
Then, since H had some extra time before he had to start getting ready for work, he sat down to play some computer solitaire. I cuddled with J to get him happy enough for playtime in the crib and then put him back in his crib to play; then I had a shower. When I got out, H was leaving for work. He headed off, and I got ready to face the day.
Now, how many clean diapers were in J's room at this point? One. Where were the others? Still in the dryer. Where were J's dishes? Dirty, in the sink. When I am so sick and busy these days, why didn't H attend to those chores this morning instead of playing computer solitaire? Well, he forgot. Odd, isn't it, since he changed J this morning and saw how low the diaper cache was at that time, but whatever.
I love my husband. He is usually a very supportive and giving person. I remind myself that everyone has their off moments. This was one of H's, I think. And perhaps I am being unreasonable in any event. Small stuff drives me crazy when I'm under the weather, and my perceptions become skewed as a result. I'll get over it. I'm sure I will.
Or I'll kick his butt just as soon as I feel better. Either way, really.
End of unreasonable rant.
So ... I have laryngitis. If you call and I don't answer the phone, you will understand. J and I are missing swimming this morning; this seems advisable. I have an appointment with the doctor this morning to get this stupid cold checked out, so that will be good. And then, more studying. Yippee.
J played happily in his crib while I did a few household chores. When I returned to check on him, this is what I found:
I got him untangled and back in the proper spot at the bottom of his crib. When I went back in a few moments later, I found him once more at the top of his crib, this time with the racoon blanket pulled completely over his face.
He dearly loves playtime!
So when H's friend called and wanted H to meet him for coffee last night, I would have liked it very much if H had said that it wasn't a good night; that his wife was sick and studying for an exam and he was needed at home. But he didn't. And when a time was suggested, I would have liked it very much if that time hadn't been during J's typical naptime, so that J could go with them. But it was, so he couldn't. So H went without J (forgetting to take the cell phone, so I couldn't reach him if I needed to), and left me to deal with J, study for my exam, and just generally be sick.
J woke up roughly half an hour after H left. I changed him (twice), fed him, gave him some extra cereal and green beans since he seemed particularly hungry, bathed him, got him all ready for bed, and then heard H enter the house.
H walked through the door, forgetting to bring the frozen beverage I had asked him to pick up to take down the swelling in my throat. He quickly ran back out to get it (without being asked; score 1 for H). When he returned, I was in the living room snuggling with a very awake J, with all my study materials splayed out in front of me. I asked H to please take care of J while I put the diapers in to be washed and did some more studying. H waited on this for a bit; first, he pilled the cat (which was necessary and didn't take a lot of time) and then he took J, and I put the diapers in the wash.
I came back upstairs and asked H to put J to bed when he was ready, put the diapers in the dryer and put them away when they were done, and to wash out J's dishes for me for the morning. (Ordinarily, we share these types of chores, but I was studying for my exam and I am sick, and H had just had an evening out, and it was only 9:00-ish, so I thought this was a reasonable request. Sticking the diapers in the dryer and washing a bowl, spoon and cup are hardly time-consuming tasks, really.)
So what happened? H put J to bed, fed the cats, then fell asleep on the couch. Did I notice? No. I was studying, and having problems with one particular statement that was taking all of my attention.
I woke H up at around 11:30, stating that it was probably time for bed. H agreed, and started to go upstairs. I asked him if he had put the diapers in the dryer. He had forgotten to do so, but went down to do it before bed (note: this time, he did not ask me to do it instead; score 2 for H). We then went to bed.
This morning I awoke, after a restless night of coughing and hacking, to discover that I had roughly one-third of my voice left and that this rather vicious cold appears to be turning into bronchitis (never mind how I know; that would fall under the head of "TMI"). H got up, pilled and fed the cats, had a bath, changed J and brought him to me for food. All pretty normal.
Then, since H had some extra time before he had to start getting ready for work, he sat down to play some computer solitaire. I cuddled with J to get him happy enough for playtime in the crib and then put him back in his crib to play; then I had a shower. When I got out, H was leaving for work. He headed off, and I got ready to face the day.
Now, how many clean diapers were in J's room at this point? One. Where were the others? Still in the dryer. Where were J's dishes? Dirty, in the sink. When I am so sick and busy these days, why didn't H attend to those chores this morning instead of playing computer solitaire? Well, he forgot. Odd, isn't it, since he changed J this morning and saw how low the diaper cache was at that time, but whatever.
I love my husband. He is usually a very supportive and giving person. I remind myself that everyone has their off moments. This was one of H's, I think. And perhaps I am being unreasonable in any event. Small stuff drives me crazy when I'm under the weather, and my perceptions become skewed as a result. I'll get over it. I'm sure I will.
Or I'll kick his butt just as soon as I feel better. Either way, really.
End of unreasonable rant.
So ... I have laryngitis. If you call and I don't answer the phone, you will understand. J and I are missing swimming this morning; this seems advisable. I have an appointment with the doctor this morning to get this stupid cold checked out, so that will be good. And then, more studying. Yippee.
J played happily in his crib while I did a few household chores. When I returned to check on him, this is what I found:
I got him untangled and back in the proper spot at the bottom of his crib. When I went back in a few moments later, I found him once more at the top of his crib, this time with the racoon blanket pulled completely over his face.
He dearly loves playtime!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Marketability
Questions have been posed of late, and I am being all reflective tonight. Why is it that our society appears to value business over art? Why is it that I make more working in an office than I ever did as a pianist? Why is it that a musician in Carnegie Hall is paid more and treated better than a busker on the corner?
The simple answer to this appears to be "marketability". Art is a wonderful thing, but unless the product is marketed (and marketable), the artist's work does not have a monetary value. I make more in an office because I am a better typist than pianist; therefore, my marketability is greater in this type of environment. The musician in Carnegie Hall has a following, an audience who has already paid in advance to come out and hear the music; the busker is still trying to attract that audience, and therefore is not as marketable at that moment in time.
I could have continued to pursue my art, trying to make a living playing my piano. But I am simply not the best pianist in town, and in order to make a living, a pianist has to be the best. Competition is fierce, and audiences are picky about what they wish to listen to. Also, our society is based on need. More folks need services like law and accounting than art (which is generally more of a want), and so the business sector has a larger target audience than does, for example, music. It is only natural in our needs-based society that I would be more marketable in a business-related capacity. I'm not particularly marketable as a musician. C'est la vie. I do very well in other capacities, and I have learned to make my peace with it.
So ... does the busker on the corner deserve to be ridiculed by a passer-by? No. Even if the passer-by is a businessman, and is therefore more marketable in our society than the busker? No. Is that passer-by a member of the busker's audience? Not unless he stops to listen. Is that passer-by a member of the busker's target audience? Yes. What is the busker's goal? To make money. How does the busker make money?
Marketability.
Draw the crowd. Get a following. Enhance your marketability. Then you can curse and scream, bite the heads off bats, or whatever other fool thing you like. The goal is to make the money. You can't do that if your target audience is unwilling to pay you for whatever reason. Convince them of your worth. It's part of the job.
Now, ask yourself this: Is it a job if no one is willing to pay you to do it? Maybe. But it's a pretty poor job when you work for free. Can I walk into an office, start typing, and then demand money? No, I can't. Someone has to hire me first. Likewise, artists have to have an audience who is willing to pay for the service they provide. I truly see no significant difference between these scenarios.
Busking is a pretty complex profession. There is a lot more to it than just being able to perform. There is even more to it than being able to perform well. A busker has to entertain, draw a crowd, keep the crowd, and get the crowd to pay. A busker also has to deal with rude people who misbehave at a performance; not that this is acceptable, but rude people exist on the street just as they do in the office, and they have to be handled in both environments. Busking is not an easy job. It's a very tough job, really. Few are skilled enough at all these aspects to make a living. For those that do, I hold you in highest regard; I cannot do what you do, and your skill set amazes me.
I love watching artists perform. And when audience members misbehave, I love watching them be put in their place by the artists.
Here is a memorable moment: A play is ongoing; a gentleman in the audience has left his cell phone on. The phone rings. He answers it, and begins a conversation with the caller. The play continues.
Actress: But why did you kill her?
Actor: [pointing at guy on cell phone] I will tell you, just as soon as that man finishes his conversation!
[Guy on cell phone leaves in a huff. Play resumes.]
Actress: But why did you kill her?
Actor: She just wouldn't stop talking!!
That kind of thing is wonderful! An artist using his or her imagination to put a rude person who is misbehaving in his or her place. The artist has been witty, has entertained the audience while still putting the half-wit in his place, and has gained the audience's respect and admiration. Increased marketability results. Everyone is happy - well, except for the guy on his cell phone, but what do you expect (doofus)?
So, for the future, when you are out busking, and some idiot walks by and tells you to get a real job, don't go all crazy-snaky-postal on him. Just tell him you have an interview later that afternoon. For his job; you understand his boss thinks he's kind of a jerk (can't imagine why). It's a good approach. Much better than resorting to name-calling or threats. People will laugh. The idiot's friends will give you money. And they'll remember you the next time they see you out by their building.
Marketability, my friends. Marketability.
The simple answer to this appears to be "marketability". Art is a wonderful thing, but unless the product is marketed (and marketable), the artist's work does not have a monetary value. I make more in an office because I am a better typist than pianist; therefore, my marketability is greater in this type of environment. The musician in Carnegie Hall has a following, an audience who has already paid in advance to come out and hear the music; the busker is still trying to attract that audience, and therefore is not as marketable at that moment in time.
I could have continued to pursue my art, trying to make a living playing my piano. But I am simply not the best pianist in town, and in order to make a living, a pianist has to be the best. Competition is fierce, and audiences are picky about what they wish to listen to. Also, our society is based on need. More folks need services like law and accounting than art (which is generally more of a want), and so the business sector has a larger target audience than does, for example, music. It is only natural in our needs-based society that I would be more marketable in a business-related capacity. I'm not particularly marketable as a musician. C'est la vie. I do very well in other capacities, and I have learned to make my peace with it.
So ... does the busker on the corner deserve to be ridiculed by a passer-by? No. Even if the passer-by is a businessman, and is therefore more marketable in our society than the busker? No. Is that passer-by a member of the busker's audience? Not unless he stops to listen. Is that passer-by a member of the busker's target audience? Yes. What is the busker's goal? To make money. How does the busker make money?
Marketability.
Draw the crowd. Get a following. Enhance your marketability. Then you can curse and scream, bite the heads off bats, or whatever other fool thing you like. The goal is to make the money. You can't do that if your target audience is unwilling to pay you for whatever reason. Convince them of your worth. It's part of the job.
Now, ask yourself this: Is it a job if no one is willing to pay you to do it? Maybe. But it's a pretty poor job when you work for free. Can I walk into an office, start typing, and then demand money? No, I can't. Someone has to hire me first. Likewise, artists have to have an audience who is willing to pay for the service they provide. I truly see no significant difference between these scenarios.
Busking is a pretty complex profession. There is a lot more to it than just being able to perform. There is even more to it than being able to perform well. A busker has to entertain, draw a crowd, keep the crowd, and get the crowd to pay. A busker also has to deal with rude people who misbehave at a performance; not that this is acceptable, but rude people exist on the street just as they do in the office, and they have to be handled in both environments. Busking is not an easy job. It's a very tough job, really. Few are skilled enough at all these aspects to make a living. For those that do, I hold you in highest regard; I cannot do what you do, and your skill set amazes me.
I love watching artists perform. And when audience members misbehave, I love watching them be put in their place by the artists.
Here is a memorable moment: A play is ongoing; a gentleman in the audience has left his cell phone on. The phone rings. He answers it, and begins a conversation with the caller. The play continues.
Actress: But why did you kill her?
Actor: [pointing at guy on cell phone] I will tell you, just as soon as that man finishes his conversation!
[Guy on cell phone leaves in a huff. Play resumes.]
Actress: But why did you kill her?
Actor: She just wouldn't stop talking!!
That kind of thing is wonderful! An artist using his or her imagination to put a rude person who is misbehaving in his or her place. The artist has been witty, has entertained the audience while still putting the half-wit in his place, and has gained the audience's respect and admiration. Increased marketability results. Everyone is happy - well, except for the guy on his cell phone, but what do you expect (doofus)?
So, for the future, when you are out busking, and some idiot walks by and tells you to get a real job, don't go all crazy-snaky-postal on him. Just tell him you have an interview later that afternoon. For his job; you understand his boss thinks he's kind of a jerk (can't imagine why). It's a good approach. Much better than resorting to name-calling or threats. People will laugh. The idiot's friends will give you money. And they'll remember you the next time they see you out by their building.
Marketability, my friends. Marketability.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
To those classmates who annoy me
Stop it. You are irritating the snot out of me. Even the course tutor appears to have had her fill of you. I wouldn't blame her if she quit.
Stop trying to cheat on your quizzes. Stop insisting that a URL on your screen displays a different "due by" time than that identical URL on everyone else's screens. Stop pretending that you are a victim in all of this, when the truth is that you just didn't bother reading your student handbook.
Are you literate? Yes? Then read the student handbook!! What is the matter with you?!
Own up to your mistakes and move on. Be a grown-up, for crying out loud!
THBBBBBBBBBBT!!!
(Oh ... and I flip you the bird via my internet connection, too. May your brand new paint job be scratched and dinged beyond repair in the Walmart parking lot!!)
Update: Quiz extensions for certain students have been granted. This despite the "absolutely no extensions will be granted" reference in the student handbook. A pretty unfair advantage as it relates to awards, if you ask me. And while a part of me sympathizes with my classmates, another part of me does not believe this is right.
AAAAAAUUUGH!!!
I need to learn to be at peace with my surroundings. I have vented. I will let it go now.
Focus. Prepare to write final exam now.
Que sera sera.
Two weeks to final exam. Eep!
Stop trying to cheat on your quizzes. Stop insisting that a URL on your screen displays a different "due by" time than that identical URL on everyone else's screens. Stop pretending that you are a victim in all of this, when the truth is that you just didn't bother reading your student handbook.
Are you literate? Yes? Then read the student handbook!! What is the matter with you?!
Own up to your mistakes and move on. Be a grown-up, for crying out loud!
THBBBBBBBBBBT!!!
(Oh ... and I flip you the bird via my internet connection, too. May your brand new paint job be scratched and dinged beyond repair in the Walmart parking lot!!)
Update: Quiz extensions for certain students have been granted. This despite the "absolutely no extensions will be granted" reference in the student handbook. A pretty unfair advantage as it relates to awards, if you ask me. And while a part of me sympathizes with my classmates, another part of me does not believe this is right.
AAAAAAUUUGH!!!
I need to learn to be at peace with my surroundings. I have vented. I will let it go now.
Focus. Prepare to write final exam now.
Que sera sera.
Two weeks to final exam. Eep!
Monday, November 14, 2005
Nuisance
Stuff annoys me more on some days than it does on others.
I really don't have much more to say on the subject. Just know that I know who you are, and I am suitably annoyed.
You are a nuisance. Nothing more. Mission accomplished. You may stop now.
I really don't have much more to say on the subject. Just know that I know who you are, and I am suitably annoyed.
You are a nuisance. Nothing more. Mission accomplished. You may stop now.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Free Falling
J is up late. Talking. And throwing his soother about. If we put him in his crib, he gets progressively louder. We are exhausted and are currently taking turns walking the floor with him.
Odd things occur to you when you are passing-out-tired and the baby won't let you sleep.
****************
Dear Mr. Petty:
Much as I generally enjoy your music, I must take issue with "Free Falling". While it is an excellent song in many respects, I cite the opening lines:
"She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus, and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses, and her boyfriend too"
Has it occurred to you that you have rhymed "too" with "too"? This is one of the worst rhyme schemes I have ever heard, and it has annoyed me for years. There is no shortage of words that rhyme with "too". Let's explore a few possible ways of completing this lyric without repeating the word "too" at the end, shall we?
Here is my "Top 40". Let's take it from "Loves horses":
In short: Buy a rhyming dictionary, you twit!!
Sincerely,
T
Odd things occur to you when you are passing-out-tired and the baby won't let you sleep.
****************
Dear Mr. Petty:
Much as I generally enjoy your music, I must take issue with "Free Falling". While it is an excellent song in many respects, I cite the opening lines:
"She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus, and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses, and her boyfriend too"
Has it occurred to you that you have rhymed "too" with "too"? This is one of the worst rhyme schemes I have ever heard, and it has annoyed me for years. There is no shortage of words that rhyme with "too". Let's explore a few possible ways of completing this lyric without repeating the word "too" at the end, shall we?
Here is my "Top 40". Let's take it from "Loves horses":
- 'cause they make good glue
- they're so fun to shoe
- and cows that say "Moo"
- and homemade beef stew
- them horses can chew
- she once thought they flew
- and an actress named "Drew"
- and her boyfriend, Stu
- and cats; they say "Mew"
- she can play the kazoo
- and her boyfriend's canoe
- and the Great Gazoo
- and a bear named "Baloo"
- coo-coo-ca-choo
- she's contracted the flu
- and Little Boy Blue
- and Cindy-Lou Who
- and her floral mumu
- she can build an igloo
- for a price, she'll love you
- could you please buy a clue
- when she gets sick, she'll spew
- and a boy named "Sue"
- and playing "Taboo"
- and Seaworld's "Shamu"
- from Katmandu
- she's staging a coup
- she lives in a slough
- and good witches brew
- and the whole cast and crew
- bright with morning dew
- and of course, the Haiku
- Nanu Nanu
- and "The Taming of the Shrew"
- she invented "Yoo-hoo"
- and Dogpatch's "Shmoo"
- all shiny and new
- skinamarinky doo
- was that a kangaroo?
- but not Raj Pannu
In short: Buy a rhyming dictionary, you twit!!
Sincerely,
T
Friday, October 14, 2005
Taking a Break
If I listen for long enough, my course lecturer eventually starts to sound kind of like Grover. If I imagine Grover delivering the lecture, it actually becomes far more entertaining. But I can't stand listening to the lectures for all that long. That is unfortunate. I need to listen to the lectures and do the review problems so that I can stay on top of the class. And I already find myself a bit behind the 8-ball on those things. I have some catching up to do on lectures and review problems. A lot of catching up to do, actually. I'm getting quite freaked out about it. I should be studying right now, but I've been going for a couple of hours now and need a bit of a break.
******************
On another note, tonight some jackass on the Ave nearly sheared off my half of the car. Here's how it went down.
A vehicle turned right from a red light without the driver (we shall simply refer to him as "Mr. Blind" for the sake of convenience) first stopping (or even apparently looking), and cut us off. H was not able to stop our car in time, so he quickly moved over into the next lane. He would have needed to do this anyway, as there were parked cars ahead. Quick thinking, but not a big deal. So far.
Then, when Mr. Blind immediately found himself about to strike a parked car, he decided to change lanes. Suddenly. Without signalling or shoulder checking. Directly into our passenger door.
Again unable to stop, H moved as far to the left as he could without hitting the vehicle beside us and, at the same time, hit the horn so as to alert Mr. Blind to the fact that we were directly beside him. Mr. Blind ignored the horn and continued unabated, and we briefly found ourselves precariously driving three abreast in two lanes of traffic. That is, of course, until Mr. Blind got so close to our car that he actually struck our mirror. Then, he decided that his game of chicken was perhaps a tad too risky.
As we pulled into a parking lot, Mr. Blind followed us. I was amazed; I thought for sure he would continue with his traffic violations and leave the scene. H got out of the car (ready to beat Mr. Blind to a pulp, by this time). Mr. Blind meekly apologized for his stupidity, and then they surveyed the two vehicles. Fortunately, there was no damage to either car. (Thank heaven for spring-loaded mirrors. I gather Mr. Blind's mirror was what hit ours, and the two mirrors survived the impact.)
So no harm done. The car is safe. We are all safe. But we were pretty ticked about the whole thing, and we aren't sure who this guy paid off to get his driver's license.
****************
Back to the books now.
******************
On another note, tonight some jackass on the Ave nearly sheared off my half of the car. Here's how it went down.
A vehicle turned right from a red light without the driver (we shall simply refer to him as "Mr. Blind" for the sake of convenience) first stopping (or even apparently looking), and cut us off. H was not able to stop our car in time, so he quickly moved over into the next lane. He would have needed to do this anyway, as there were parked cars ahead. Quick thinking, but not a big deal. So far.
Then, when Mr. Blind immediately found himself about to strike a parked car, he decided to change lanes. Suddenly. Without signalling or shoulder checking. Directly into our passenger door.
Again unable to stop, H moved as far to the left as he could without hitting the vehicle beside us and, at the same time, hit the horn so as to alert Mr. Blind to the fact that we were directly beside him. Mr. Blind ignored the horn and continued unabated, and we briefly found ourselves precariously driving three abreast in two lanes of traffic. That is, of course, until Mr. Blind got so close to our car that he actually struck our mirror. Then, he decided that his game of chicken was perhaps a tad too risky.
As we pulled into a parking lot, Mr. Blind followed us. I was amazed; I thought for sure he would continue with his traffic violations and leave the scene. H got out of the car (ready to beat Mr. Blind to a pulp, by this time). Mr. Blind meekly apologized for his stupidity, and then they surveyed the two vehicles. Fortunately, there was no damage to either car. (Thank heaven for spring-loaded mirrors. I gather Mr. Blind's mirror was what hit ours, and the two mirrors survived the impact.)
So no harm done. The car is safe. We are all safe. But we were pretty ticked about the whole thing, and we aren't sure who this guy paid off to get his driver's license.
****************
Back to the books now.
And the award for "Stupidest Non Sequitur" goes to...
...this sentence: "Katie will be having a drug-free birth, because Tom is a Scientologist".
I really don't see what one has to do with the other. When Tom tries to pass a pot roast out his butt, then Tom will be able to dictate what type of birth Tom would prefer. Is Katie a Scientologist? No? Then how does this affect her decision on how she will be handling her pain in childbirth?
No pain medication now, dear. And don't scream either. It's against someone else's religion. Yeah, sure. Childbirth as a beautiful, still experience, huh? Gimme a break!
The other night, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was in a Tom Cruise movie. As part of the script, I was to beat him about the head with a 2x4. (A real 2x4, and no stunt double either.) I awoke, feeling so happy and refreshed!
I really don't see what one has to do with the other. When Tom tries to pass a pot roast out his butt, then Tom will be able to dictate what type of birth Tom would prefer. Is Katie a Scientologist? No? Then how does this affect her decision on how she will be handling her pain in childbirth?
No pain medication now, dear. And don't scream either. It's against someone else's religion. Yeah, sure. Childbirth as a beautiful, still experience, huh? Gimme a break!
The other night, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was in a Tom Cruise movie. As part of the script, I was to beat him about the head with a 2x4. (A real 2x4, and no stunt double either.) I awoke, feeling so happy and refreshed!
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Now, for a rousing round of "We Don't Know Your Debtor"
We don't know your debtor, so stop calling.
We don't know your debtor, for the third time in a week.
You can call throughout the year,
But there will be no "Michael" here.
And the fact that our surname's creative
Doesn't mean we're all related.
(We concur that it's unique,
But we aren't the one you seek.)
We don't know your debtor.
We don't know your debtor.
We don't know your debtor, and we're calling the police.
*****************
Seriously, folks. Three times now. And she sounded so surprised when I said that we didn't know him. For. The. Third. Time.
Honestly, the shared last name is just a terrible coincidence. Hardly a big one, either. I mean, if our last name was "Smith", no one would question it. It would not be assumed that we were somehow connected to every other "Smith" in North America.
Anyway, I toasted the skip tracer. And I asked her not to phone here again. I hope that will do the trick; if not, we may need to file a formal complaint. (Fortunately, my years of experience working in a collection agency mean that I know exactly how to do that.)
We don't know your debtor, for the third time in a week.
You can call throughout the year,
But there will be no "Michael" here.
And the fact that our surname's creative
Doesn't mean we're all related.
(We concur that it's unique,
But we aren't the one you seek.)
We don't know your debtor.
We don't know your debtor.
We don't know your debtor, and we're calling the police.
*****************
Seriously, folks. Three times now. And she sounded so surprised when I said that we didn't know him. For. The. Third. Time.
Honestly, the shared last name is just a terrible coincidence. Hardly a big one, either. I mean, if our last name was "Smith", no one would question it. It would not be assumed that we were somehow connected to every other "Smith" in North America.
Anyway, I toasted the skip tracer. And I asked her not to phone here again. I hope that will do the trick; if not, we may need to file a formal complaint. (Fortunately, my years of experience working in a collection agency mean that I know exactly how to do that.)
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