Caustically Optimistic

spots on the wall

Last weekend someone had an accident at work. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to clean as the time one of the guys in the detail shop left the parking break off on a car and it rolled into another car but was much more amusing. Some woman had a bout of incontinence in our bathroom while her husband was flying cover for her pretending to buy a car.

Now, I noticed a woman leaving the dealership in a hurry and there was something funny about the way she was dressed but I am no Clinton Kelly so I didn’t judge. Yes, yes I did judge but I don’t really have friends at work so I have no one to judge with and keeping your comments to yourself is incredibly tiresome - also Valerie doesn't answer her phone while teaching. Luckily, I have a ‘friend’ at work who pointed out what happened – and by ‘friend’ I may have meant, ‘someone who is nice to me at work but wouldn’t be caught dead with me outside of the office.’

Apparently, some woman was incontinent and covered herself, our bathroom and pretty much everything besides the inside of the toilet with her waste. Luckily ‘my friend’ told me what had happened – but in the manner of all parents of small children he spoke in the tender terms of parenthood and I had no idea what he was talking about. He was using the euphemisms for defecating he uses with small son when I would have gotten it a lot quicker if he said, “someone shit all over themselves and the place.” Does making a baby impair your vocabulary? Will I forget what a lexicon is when I knock someone up?

We don’t know exactly how this happened but we know two things: it was disgusting and however it went down it had to be funny. I like to imagine, from surveying the wreckage (everyone looked) that it happened in the following order. First, she must have ‘hovered’ over the seat in order not to share germs with whatever proletarian used the bathroom before her. She then slipped in it and fell; and I hope (because this is my favorite) that she did one of those falls where your feet go out from under you and you land on your back.

I don’t want bad things to happen to people, but that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy it when it does. Remember: I am not here to help - only to observe and pass judgment. It’s just that, in my past life, I had a cadre a harem that would enjoy the tacky stories on the base side of life and I didn’t have to share the dross with you. I don’t have friends where I work now and it’s a huge switch from my past life where I didn’t just have friends, but people thought I was funny, smart and loved me.

However, I will visit them soon – and it will seem like another Chappell Skit, one featuring Rick James. I may even do my hair in beaded braids. I imagine myself stomping on Cindy’s desk screaming, “they should never have made you team leader,” and saying things like, “Chino Bandito is a helluva drug.” Really? I just want to say, "I'm rich, bitch" and finally lay the hand down on the one who needs it the most. Hitting people is a bad, bad thing to do but slapping someone can be comical - if you do it like its a Chappell skit.

Seriously? Someone pooping on a wall is FUNNY and not having friends to guffaw about it with is really an unfortunate situation.

company picnic

Yesterday I went to my company’s annual picnic at Huber’s Farm in Indiana. I realize that I have worked there less than a month but apparently its still socially acceptable if not required to attend these events. I had planned to volunteer for my political candidate but maintaining employment is also a very important activity in my life.

I didn’t want to go because I don’t know anyone and I am the last person to just walk up to random people, introduce myself, and strike up a conversation. When people do that to me I excuse myself because I am not cool with behavior – I’m very WYSIWYG and babbling for babbling’s sake is pretty lame in my estimation.

In addition to not wanting to go on a nice day, the weather was pretty nasty as the remnants of Hurricane Ike roared through our area: knocking down trees, blowing roofs off houses, knocking over trailer homes, and bringing down power lines. Before I left the house the weather was ominous but not yet dangerous – the pandemonium started after I left and it seemed like a better idea to avoid Mom’s nagging by braving the weather. As I wandered southern Indiana looking for this farm – the way to it was not well marked and intentionally designed for a scenic ‘gas is a dollar’ stroll through the back roads passed farms and little towns. It might have been pretty but after two trees nearly hit your car and you have to drive on someone’s lawn to avoid power lines it gets old – also when you realize that there is a direct route to the place after being redirected by State Troopers it becomes irritating. I had invested an hour already looking for the place and avoiding the weather’s wrath so I took the directions to the alternate route and followed that road.

Unfortunately, those signs had been blown down and it was only on accident that I ever found the place – after a lot more driving around and through devastation. There was on part of the final leg to the farm where a record third tree nearly fell on my car, leave were blowing and power lines waving – I was almost certain that I was going to die and had that confirmed for me when a McCain/Palin yard sign flew onto my windshield heralding, “beware, beware.”

The power was out at the farm when I arrived so everyone was sitting around playing bingo or watching a softball game outside. I opted not to watch the softball game when it was likely that lightening would strike because if I avoided being struck then I’d be covered in the remains of the person who was. I barely made it out of the woods and I wasn’t going to tempt fate. I do not win bingo but was okay with that and not winning any raffles because I was not dead. I was okay with the stock fare of fried chicken, boxed mashed potatoes, green beans and corn bread muffins that will someday be sent to Alaska for poor children to use as hockey pucks in the endless winters because I had not died on the way in – I was careful not to be smug about it or congratulate myself because I didn’t want to catch it on my way home.

My lesson learned is this: when your number is up, your number is up. God will come get me when he wants me but until then I am not moving my number up the list. I’m staying at home on the couch.

the show goes on

Have you ever thought of making a career change and switch to something ridiculous? Is there a job you’ve always wanted to give a try but didn’t have the chance? I harbored a secret fantasy of selling imported luxury cars and have taken the opportunity when it knocked to do just that.

Today was my first day to actually sell after weeks of training. I was a little nervous because this is really outside of my box for job skills. I’ve had to learn a whole new skill set and adapt old ones to my situation.

There is one thing that I have not unlearned or adapted: a dislike of filth and vermin. I was out on one of the show room floors and I saw a big bug dash under a car. I had a napkin in my hand so I decided to scoop it up because no one was in the room with me and no one would notice, but God forbid someone walk in and see a bug.

When the little pest spied me swooping in and rushed under the next car – an SUV. I was already near the ground so I went under the car and after him. I wasn’t thinking but the room was empty and no one was going to see me.

Isn’t it amazing what you miss when you’re engrossed in something else? How many of us have been counting kids passing basketballs and failed to see a gorilla? How many of us have been arguing with our significant other and transposed the baking powder and baking soda? How many of us have welcomed someone a luxury imports dealership popping out from under an SUV?

My biggest fear in taking this job was that I wouldn’t have funny stories anymore. Children are always doing ridiculous things that promoted me to engage in one-upmanship.

Is this not like the time that the student had his head on his desk the first day of school? Is this not like the time that I trained students on the art of light saber combat during lunch to protect themselves in the event of a zombie breakout (their proximity to one of John McCain’s houses takes that from ‘if’ to ‘when’)?

I don’t need seventh graders to bring me stories and entertainment because, deep down, the person who would crawl around on the floor and train Jedi apprentices to ward off a zombie invasion is a seventh grader himself. Sure, I lake the cover of children for my crazy behavior and I more pointedly lack a lunch crew, hiking buddies, and most importantly other drunks for happy hour but writing will prevail. Sure, I won’t hear Valerie laughing through the wall at my stories I know that she’s getting a two-for-one deal on annoying math teachers.