Not My Blog
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Don't listen to those voices. Last night I was at my no-longer-so-usual meeting, having rearranged my work schedule. The chair of my group saw me arrive and immediately pounced. "You're supposed to tell us about this stuff," she began. "Huh?" I replied, urbane Jane to the last. She handed me a list of volunteer events, and apparently I'd signed our group up for four separate events in November. The problem was, I couldn't remember signing us up for anything. The last time I'd signed us up for community service was in July and August. "Wait, who made up that list?" I asked, as steam wisped around my group chair's head. Turns out the new service rep got the info from the old service rep, a woman whose neuroses could easily be called "baroque." This is the same woman who swore up and down that I'd signed us up for a series of duties last May, and when I arrived at the first of such duties, I met two other volunteers whom she'd sworn had also signed their groups up. Only one volunteer was needed. All of us were confused.
I took my group chair aside and explained the likely screwup. I mentioned the name of the old service rep, and that I would not have subjected us to another of her schedule confabulations. The chair suggested I find another group to share the volunteer events in November. I did so. I don't think the chair knows who to believe, but damn it, I do.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Surprised, I am.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Scattered Thoughts: My, my aren't you clever to have bundled four bunches of parsley into one and wrapped that straining twist-tie around it. I am too stupid to notice the difference and will only charge you for one bunch! Oh, whoops . . . . You did an excellent job of removing the sale sticker from one DVD and pasting it on the "Iron Man" DVD. Except new DVDs rarely go on sale in their first week, and oh yeah, we scan the UPC code on the package anyway, Smarty . . . Don't worry, the naughty Piper can't jump high enough to dislodge the bag of kibble treats from the shelf. Oh. Wrong again . . . Um, Janey, dearest . . . if you've sent out an e-mail that you're working from home this morning, you should attempt to get some of that work done, yes? . . . Unexpected, yes, crying near the end of "Juno," that movie you finally watched. You old tea towel, you . . . Oh, hey--if you think we're bonding because you're taking me into your confidence and slamming a few coworkers, guess what? You'd be wrong.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Well, I still think it's neat that I knew what "ROT-13" was:
I doubt there's a score high enough for certain of my friends (hi, Grant).
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Fun with Democracy and Jane. Jane goes to vote. Vote, Jane, vote. Vote, vote, vote. The returning officer is laughing. "Thank you for exercising your *snicker* democratic privilege," say the returning officer. Jane lives in a province that is a foregone electoral conclusion. That is why the officer is laughing.
Turkey? Hell no. I worked chez Stupey for all 3 days of the Thanksgiving weekend, but enjoyed customer antics very much. Males in their 20s, carrying four or more bags of buns? They're making their usual contribution to the family dins. What's the difference between yams and sweet potatoes? "The price," I say sweetly. Apparently Ipomoea batatas, the morning glory descendants, are pricier than the generic tropical vine roots Discorea batatas. So now you know.
If no turkey, then what? Then we try yet again to approximate that fabulous Mennonite recipe, summer borscht. At last my borscht is not so very bad, although not as die-and-go-to-himmel delicious as that of Jean or the greatly missed Margaret, her mother. Both dogs were driven to distraction by the soup's aroma, another sign of goodness. Did I share it with them? No freaking way.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
And the Kiss of Death goes to: Vincent LeCavalier (Tampa Bay), Roberto Luongo (Vancouver), Steven Stamkos (Tampa Bay), Marc Savard (Boston), Ales Hemsky (Edmonton), Chris Drury (New York Rangers), Petr Sykora (Pittsburgh), Lubomir Visnovsky (Edmonton), Mike Komisarek (Montreal), Saku Koivu (Montreal). Sorry, lads: you're in the 2008 Jane Hockey Pool. Better start packing.
Bad Cashier. I had a foggy brain day yesterday, so no surprise, I made two fairly stupid mistakes as a cashier last night, each one requiring the attendance of an extremely pissed-off supervisor. Hey, that's why you make the big money, toots. Hmm. I seem to forgive myself just a little too quickly these days. As an apology I bought the supervisor a box of Lindt chocolate balls when I went on break. She thanked me on her way home, which was a nice change to the death rays she'd been shooting at me all evening.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
That itching may be telling them something. She's a regular customer, usually shops at night, and shows up about twice a month. She's middle-aged and, in the correct parlance of the day, a tad developmentally delayed. She's extremely cheerful and apologetic about how much time it takes her to unload her grocery basket. When the time comes to pay, she pulls out a cloth satchel and unzips it, reaching inside to count the bills. Slowly. While I am waiting for her to pay, I do a miniature double take and look at her again. She has a rampaging case of head lice. When I first saw her I thought she just had fluff in her hair (it's a windy day in Calgary). No. Those would be nits.
It's not covered in my employee manual, of course, but I'm still fairly sure I can't say "I won't touch your money until you buy some Kwellada and a nit comb." Besides, I've already handled the groceries she chose. I have no choice but to take paper money from her hands. I do, and hand her change, and keep the tone pleasant while she chats away, cheerfully apologizing for taking more than the usual time putting her groceries into bags.
My scalp itched for the rest of the evening, and while I knew it was psychosomatic, I still couldn't wait to get home and scrub the old melon -- and add a touch of the dogs' permethrin-infused shampoo to my own. Damn, even writing about this brings back the scalp twinges.
My nursing and doc family and friends have shared similar stories about coming into contact with the vermin-afflicted. Hands-on contact. Yet even if my passing glance at pediculosis was minor in comparison, it's still enough to make me shudder.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Hello, Friday. Hello, latest rhinoviral scourge to assault the snout and gullet. Gah. Snotland Forever. Anyhoo, politics is all around the place, what with the US Veep debate last night, and the Canadian election debate, aka The Free-for-All. Of course, these debates are not about issues, but about how each politician conducts him/herself. You could have set a question about compulsory execution for people who talk during movies, and you'd get five speeches that would sound hard-hitting and come nowhere near to answering the question.
This is why I watch more televised sports during election years. Puck go in net: goal. Player drop baseball: whoops. It's a nice counter to the semantic frottage of the political speeches.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Your Siegfried degree of 1. Cool, cool. I served Bernie Kopell when he came through my Stupeystore till last night. Very nice, very funny. Although, as I said to my Get Smart addict brother and friends, there was absolutely no one to share this with, as I am about 18-25 years older than all of my colleagues. Get Smart, what's that? Sigh. Okay, there was once this decade called "The Sixties" . . . get comfy, this could take some time.
I hate my keyboard. I hate it so much I want to punch it in the face. Some genius designed it so the directional arrows are directly below the Return key, so I am continually finding that my cursor has jumped back/forward/down/up the page. Grr. Okay, so perhaps the keyboard designer wasn't reckoning on users having two great boiled hams for hands, smashing on keys. Still, that's a dumb location for them directional keys, boy. Dumb.
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