Do You Understand The Words That Are Coming Out Of My Mouth?

I swear, sometimes I wonder if I'm speaking English or not at work. I mean, I try to ask simple questions. Do you want the McDonald's on Fifth or Elm? Could you spell that? You would be surprised at how often I hear "What?" after I ask "How can I help you?" It's a simple question. What the hell do you want? Tell me and I'll get it for you. Everybody wins. There's a scene in Family Guy where Peter goes to Kentucky and tells the cashier of a Kentucky Fried Chicken he's there to see Colonel Sanders. The cashier is some hillbilly with two teeth and a bad accent. He tells Peter the Colonel's dead, but Peter just keeps repeating that he's there to see the Colonel. The cashier finally tells Peter "I say you he dayed" but Peter just can't understand what he's saying. Some days I wonder if I'm Peter or the hillbilly because I have to keep asking the same thing over and over and the customer just goes on and on like they don't have a clue what I'm saying. Sometimes I catch myself muttering "I say you he dayed" after the call's over.

Of course, there are times when I don't understand the customer. Like the time I was looking for a pet store named Elegant Snail, when the customer wanted Elegant Nails. Or when I was looking for a strip club called the Tripple Nipple when they wanted an arcade called the Tripple Nickle. I've learned just about any time I think somebody wants a pond shop they probably want a pawn shop.

As if this will help anything, they're starting a new rule at work. Get this, a dress code. No more tube tops and sweatpants. Luckily, I'm not a big fan of tube tops, or sweatpants, but I'm going to miss wearing T-shirts. At least I can still wear blue jeans and sneakers. I was thinking about going to the Goodwill and getting some comepletely butt-ugly pantsuits, but they would probably come up with a reason to complain.

Thank You And Goodbye

No, I'm not shutting down the Cud. I got in a bad mood at work yesterday. So bad I started just hanging up on people that pissed me off. Like saying one city at first then changing their story later. Like I can't tell the difference between San Diego and West Covina. They don't sound anything alike. People who mumbled or expected me to know how to spell their doctor's name. There were so many people pissing me off I finally decided I had to just log out and go home.

I think the reason my mood turned bad was because of the book I was reading. Not that I was reading while I worked. I don't do that anymore. I can. It's just that for some reason, the bosses at work, they don't like it. They don't care if I read on my breaks though, so I do. Usually, it's no problem because I usually like what I read. I mean, duh. But every now and then, I'll come across a book that pushes my button.

I picked out this book because it was one of those nice little romances that I can read in a day. Those are usually a pretty safe bet. They're going to be fluffy, no brains required, reading. Some sort of silly misunderstanding will cause all kinds of hurt feeling but in the end it's going to be all rainbows and butterflies. Not this one. It was bad enough that the heroine was horrible, but the guy she was supposed to fall madly in love with was a real prick. I just hated both of them. Keith couldn't believe I was going to finish reading it, but I did. A book has to be really really bad for me to stop reading it.

It has to be really really good for me to keep it. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I still haven't actually taken any books to the Goodwill, but I'm going to. Really, I am. When I finish reading a book I think about whether there was anything special about it. Was one of the characters special, or was the plot interesting, or maybe there was something about the writing itself that catches my eye. Otherwise I don't see any reason to keep it. Unless it's by certain writers that I can't live without.

Just don't tell anybody, but I think maybe instead of taking the rejects to the Goodwill I might take them to a used book store and trade them in for more books.

My Precious

The other day The Man was rooting around in the basement, looking for who knows what, when he hit the jackpot. He found one of those Crown Royal bags with a bunch of my jewelry in it. Jewelry that had been lost for years. Like my wedding ring. I gained some weight a while ago and it didn't fit anymore, so I put it up somewhere safe so it wouldn't get lost. Of course, then I forgot where I put it. It had been missing for so long we thought somebody stole it. The Man even knew who took it. At least he thought he did. I thought I put it up somewhere, but I was afraid I might have taken whatever I stashed it in to the Goodwill. That would have really sucked.

There was also a bunch of other jewelry in the bag, including a pair of pentacle earrings with wolfs standing on top of the pentacles. I put them up because they're silver and needed to be cleaned. Then there's the little green turtle earrings, and the earrings with the shark's teeth that aren't just shark's teeth, they're fossil shark's teeth.

I don't know why I stuck some of my jewelry in the bag and not other jewelry. Besides my wedding ring and the wolf pentacles there weren't any family heirlooms or anything, but I really missed those wolfs. If my wedding ring fit I would have missed it more.