Archive for do your job

Some things I need to get off my chest

{ October 10, 2008 @ 3:41 am } · { These people are killing me, do your job, etiquette, gym }
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Landlord Bob -

Nothing you need to discuss with me is important enough to come to my door during the last five minutes of Grey’s Anatomy. 

. . .

Workers at the Gym -

Please do a better job of hiding your Dunkin’ Donuts.  Thanks.

. . .

Dudes at the Gym:

Please do not come to the gym with bare feet anymore.  It makes me feel like tossing my cookies, and I already am not enjoying myself at the gym.

. . .

Cottenelle Aloe & E Toilet Paper-

Although I love how you feel against my naughty bits – so unbelievably soft.  What I don’t love is what you leave behind.  I would rather use a rougher paper than have to pick pieces of toilet paper out of my crotch.  Unfortunately, I’m stuck using up the 24 roll pack that I bought. 

. . .

Direct Auto Insurance Company -

No.  No I will not accept your offer of 50% of the estimate for the repairs to my car.  I know it can be confusing, but no,  I was not 50% at fault for being rear-ended by your insured (who, by the way, is a HE, not a SHE as you stated) while I was at a complete stop at the stoplight.  And why yes, I would like to speak to the president of the company.

Yes, Mr. President, I am well aware of a concept called  “mitigating circumstances”, but thanks so much for explaining it to me so patiently.  Unfortunately, there were not mitigating circumstances, and this is not a negotiation.  I will take 100% and not a penny less.

Thank you for providing me with a release of claim.  I’m going to need you to strike the part that says “this is a settlement of a doubtful claim”.  Also?  No, I will not take you at your word that you will reimburse me for the rental car, even though your release says nothing of the sort.  Stop insulting my intelligence and just pay the fucking claim already, k?

Oh, and no, the letter you got from the law firm?  Thanks for asking, but no, that is not my attorney.  That is ME.  I am the attorney. 

. . .

Thank God tomorrow is Friday.

Is it just me?

{ February 20, 2008 @ 3:40 am } · { dirty, do your job, is it just me? }
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So B and I checked into the hotel when we went back home for my party.  We took a nap, did some other hotel room activities, and then I got up to shower to get ready for the party.  I started my shower, and when I reached for my shampoo, I noticed a whole CLUMP of long black curly hair hanging on the side of the shower.  I started freaking out, and not though I was not exactly screaming, I was definitely making noise and calling for B.  B  came running in, finding me half wet and half wrapped in a towel, shrinking away from the wall.  He thought I saw a rat or that there was “a big turd floating in the bathtub”. 

He thought I was overreacting.  He grabbed some kleenex and wiped the hair off for me.  I would have gotten completely out and called the front desk, but I was, after all, wet and naked, so I just finished my shower.  Needless to say, I was ranting to B once I finished my shower, and he told me to calm down, that it wasn’t that big of a deal.  I told him I was going to complain about it, but he didn’t want me to.  So I just waited for him to get in the shower before calling the front desk. 

Then my mom called, and I told her about it, and she told me to just relax and get ready.  

 But come on, that is seriously gross, right?  I cannot handle other people’s hair (unless it is attached to their head).  I used to freak out when my stepsisters put their hair on the shower walls, and I know them and their hair.  But a stranger’s hair??  *Shudder*

Crabby Abbey

{ December 5, 2007 @ 3:47 am } · { These people are killing me, dating, do your job, is it just me?, life, love, neuroses, random thoughts, relationships }
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So you know what makes me homicidal?  The racket that is express shipping.  In theory, a wonderful idea.  I need something right away, I pay an exorbitant fee for the service, and I get my stuff right away.  Fool-proof, right?  It would be, except that the express shipping services (today, namely DHL) only deliver during regular working hours, when regrettably, I am indeed at work.  So I get a notice when I get home telling me that they tried to deliver but I wasn’t home.  Not to worry though, they will try again tomorrow.  After all, I don’t work every day, do I? 

But alas, I am one of the unfortunate 90% of Americans who do work everyday, so again, I will not be here when they come by.  I use to call the toll-free number and go round and round with some poor schmuck of a customer service representative who happened to answer the phone when I called about why it was not possible for them to leave my package at my apartment if I sign the notice they give me.  I feel that as the receiver (and the one who paid for the shipping), I should have this option.  But no. 

So I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I have to pick the packages up (despite the money I paid for it to be delivered TO ME), so today I called as soon as I got home from work to let them know I will pick it up.  But the number that is printed on the notice is useless.  When you call the number, the only option you are given is to enter your zip code, and then your call is rerouted to a number that is NEVER ANSWERED.  I called again and again and again.  HOURS of my life that I’ll never get back.  There are several other steps that I had to go through that I just don’t have the inclination to type out for you loyal readers who are undoubtedly already bored.  The bottom line is I don’t get to pick it up.  Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to pick it up, they will give me a call when it arrives back at the facility.  Apparently my driver today is on some marathon shift.

Anyway, so then I talk to B and he irritated me too.   He uses this voice sometimes when I’m talking to him that sounds like he is talking to a child.  I think he thinks the things I worry about and the things that irritate me are stupid.  Its like he never does anything wrong or irrational.  Tonight I said something about how he thinks I’m stupid.  He didn’t like that.  He just doesn’t understand why I do things a certain way.  Because I’m not perfect like some people.

I can’t handle people thinking I’m stupid.  I’m not the cutest girl, I’m not the thinnest, I don’t have the most money or the best job or the best clothes.  I’m not the wittiest or the most charming or the funniest.   But I am smart, and I don’t need to be treated like a child. 

On the other hand, B’s personality is very very mild, and I’m pretty sure it was my general crabbiness today that made me irritated at him more so than anything he actually said (and the tone). 

And my last bitch of the day has to do with my friend, Jaded Lawyer Girl.  I was chatting with her today, and she asked me what I was going to wear to B’s work holiday party (where I will meet his mother) on Friday night.  I told her I wasn’t sure yet, but I sent her a picture of a cute shirt I had ordered (currently being held hostage by DHL and some rogue driver).  She thought it was cute, but was concerned that it wouldn’t look modest enough on me, given that my chest is much larger than the lovely model in the picture.  Specifically, she said, “you don’t want his mom to think he picked you up off of the street corner.” 

Um, excuse me?  Is that what I normally look like?  No.  It is not as though I don’t know how to dress appropriately.  Yes, my chest does hang out fairly frequently.  Not on purpose.  My boobs are hard to keep in sometimes.  But a little cleavage does not a lady-of-the-night make.    She said, well, but you don’t want B’s mom to have a bad first impression of you.  Oh, really?  I hadn’t even thought of that.  Never even crossed my mind that I might want his mom to like me, not once in what is now almost a year of dating this man.   So then of course I mentioned this to B, and he thought I was stupid for worrying about that.  He said he didn’t think his mom would care either way.  Really?  She wouldn’t care if your girlfriend came dressed as a total tramp to your work holiday party?  Why not? 

Like I said, I’m just crabby today.  I’ll blame it on the weather.  Or the fact that I’m in the inactive week of my birth control pills.  I should just go to bed and start over tomorrow. 

Rising from the ashes…

{ November 19, 2007 @ 5:49 am } · { dating, do your job, friends, love, relationships, worries }
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So I took B home for my friend’s wedding this weekend.  I’ve been sweating this weekend for VERY LONG time, as B had yet to meet any of my friends.  As usual, my anxiety was much ado about nothing.  We had a good time. 

My friends were great, as always.  They didn’t try to humiliate me, and they met the balance of behaving good but not too good.  They had told me before that they would be on their best behavior, but truly, it would have creeped me out to see them all acting perfectly nice.   Anyway, they made an effort to include B in the conversation and try to get to know him.  I appreciated that.

And I was happy with B, too.  He was very affectionate, more so than usual.  I like to think it was just because he liked seeing me in my natural environment – smiley and talkative, but it was probably the quantity of the beer he drank too.  Whatever the reason, I basked in the attention.  I just felt good having him see where I come from and that there are people out there who love me, because my life here is often lonely. 

In other news, that rat bastard of a tailor I took my dress to gave it back to me on SATURDAY (read:  mere hours before I was supposed to wear it) smelling like a dirty old ashtray.  I had a feeling there might be a little smell to it, given how his shop smelled, but I figured since he was a professional and a business owner, he would know how to work with clothing in a satisfactory way.  I was so wrong.  It REEKED.  He literally must have been blowing smoke right onto my dress for several days.  And to add insult to injury, I tried it on when I got home, and while he hemmed the dress as I asked, it seems he forgot to hem the lining.  Or perhaps having the lining hanging out for several inches on the bottom is the new hot trend, and I’m just behind the times.  The lining hem I probably could have taped, but there was no way in hell I was going to go to the wedding smelling like ass (excuse me, ash), so I had to go to the reserves and pull a dress out of my closet at the last minute.  Needless to say, I was NOT happy about that.  So me and my dress will be taking a little trip back to his store tomorrow, demanding our money back. 

But, overall – a good weekend.  And mercifully, a short week ahead!

Say it isn’t sew

{ November 14, 2007 @ 3:43 am } · { These people are killing me, do your job, mean people }
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So I had to take a dress to the tailor to get altered.  I walked in and the place REEKED of smoke.   Unfortunately, I need the dress for this weekend, so I didn’t have time to leave and find another place.  So this little guy comes out and I told him that I need my dress altered.  He asked me what I needed, and I told him I needed it to be hemmed and I would like the straps to be taken up (tired of my boobs hanging out, as I’m sure are the people around me).  I decided to leave out the part about how I wanted a new sash on it, as he seemed kind of put out already.  He asked me when I needed it by, and I told him Friday evening.  The look he gave me was so withering that I squeeked out a “saturday morning?”, and he shook his head and made some indecipherable sounds.  “No?” I said, and he just kept shaking his head and then told me to go try it on. 

I did so and he came and pinned it up.  I took it off, got dressed and took my dress back out to him in the front.  He then wrote me up a receipt, and he said, “you need it by this weekend?” and I said, yes, Friday evening or Saturday morning.  He said, “what time do you need to wear it on Saturday?  I am very busy.”  I was thinking that I’d rather not leave it until the VERY last minute, considering that I have to drive a couple hours to get where I’m going.  I told him that I wanted to pick it up no later than 11:00 a.m.  He said, “11:00 is fine?”  And I said yes.  I suspect if I show up at 10:45 on Saturday, he will have just started the alterations.  

Oh, and he is charging me more than the dress actually cost.  And I mean that literally.

Why did I let him make me feel bad?  I’m paying him for his service, and I almost felt like apologizing for bothering him.  I don’t sew (obviously), but I’m pretty sure a simple hem job will take no more than about 20 minutes.  The straps will probably take a little longer, but I can’t imagine that it will be too complicated.  Not to mention that my dress will likely come back smelling of smoke, and heaven knows that by the time I get it back at 11:00 on Saturday, it will be way too late for any kind of cleaning. 

I didn’t like him too much.