Archive | 1:19 pm

The Great FedEx-ing

1 Oct

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Boss spent an hour and twenty minutes today trying to figure out how to FedEx a box, on account.  This was due to the fact I was too busy with month end, and he’d forgotten he’d promised it to someone last Friday.

…As I continued my ongoing coding and computing sessions, he continued to pop his head in for help, rendering the fact that I was too busy to do it all to begin with, totally irrelevant.  It would have just been easier had I done it.

Boss: Hi. Yeah.  What site do we go to?

Me: FedEx.com.

Boss: Really?  Not a special account one?

Me: No.

***Later***

Boss: What’s our login and password?

Me: It’s in the Master Book.

Boss: What’s that? 

(I hand him book, and work on.)

***Later***

Boss:  Where in the book?

Me: Huh?

Boss:  The login and password.  Where is it?

Me: In the section marked “Accounts Info,” under, “FedEx.”

***Later***

Boss: Do we have any packing tape?

Me: Prob’ly.

Boss: Where would it be?

Me: In the supply closet.

(From supply closet)

Boss:  Where?

Me: With the tape. 

Boss: I don’t see it.

Me: Are you looking?

Boss: Yes.

Me: With your eyes?

Boss: Oh. There it is.

***Later***

(The sounds of manic amounts of taping are coming from his office.)

Me: The box break?

Boss: No. I’m just trying to put the label on.

Me: That’s what the sleeve envelope is for.

(I get up and walk to his doorway. The single piece of paper is taped so hard to the box that a blizzard couldn’t part them.)

Boss: (Looking up from the ground, while sweating.) Will this work, do you think?

Me: (Blink.) Sure.

***Later***

Boss: Hey. So where online do I go to call in a “pick-up?”

Me: You can just call the 800 number.

***Later***

Boss: Where?

Me: What?

Boss: I can’t find the 800 number.

Me: It’s on the main page under…you know what…it’s on speed dial in the phone. Just go there.

Boss: Kay…

***Later***

Boss: How do you get to speed dial?

***Later***

Boss: (On phone.) No. I tried the phone tree and it just went on forever. I need a person. It’s this number. No we aren’t located there anymore. No, we aren’t. No. Nope. No. Don’t you pick things up from us like every other day?! How can you not find us?! (To me.) They can’t find us!

Me: Give them our phone number.

Boss: I did that.

Me: And my name.

***Later***

Boss: (Into phone.) No, “on account.” No. “Account” “Account.” Yes. Oh. I dunno. (To me) What’s our account number?

Me: It’s on the label.

Boss: (Into phone.) It’s on the label.

Me: No, no…”it’s on the label”…you have to look at the label.

Boss: (Into the phone.) The label!

Me: No! You! You have to look at the label. The one you taped to the box.

Boss: Oh! Right. (Into phone.) Just a second…

***Later***

(I walk in his office, a post-it with our month-end totals on it is placed under his nose, as he is still on the phone.)

Me: …Nearly $300k.

Boss: (Hangs up phone.) They’ll be here by four. Fuck.

Me: That was FedEx the whole time?!

Boss: Do you know how many kinds of “Express” they have? First Day, Second Day, Next Day — JUST GET IT THERE! I DON’T CARE!! I’m exhausted. I’m gonna go getta drink.

Me: Right.

Boss: See you later.

Me: Uh huh.

***He exits the door***

***Later***

Boss: I brought you some tacos.

Me: Okay.

Boss: So, can I go for the day now?

Me: Sure. Thanks for the tacos…

Boss: …Fucking Mondays…

Me: (Mouth full of taco.) Yep.

***He leaves for good***

~D

Genetic Lotto Wins Of Talent & Beauty

1 Oct

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You know how every once in a while you see a print ad or a commercial or are watching a movie and a person is standing before you with just unconscionable beauty, and you think, “My god, that just cannot be real. No actual person can possibly be that ridiculously beautiful?!”

…And you know how then, you really have to acknowledge the fact that, yes, these people actually DO exist, if for nothing else than to fuck with the normal human laws of averages?  Like you HAVE to have the highest heights of esthetic perfection, and you have to have the lowest lows…because that’s just how you have a ruler on which to gauge things.  And most people fall somewhere in the middle.  And that’s better than being at the bottom.  Unless you really think about the dilemma of “relations.”

…Not “sex” mind you, but ACTUAL “relations”…of the blood variety.

For instance: No matter how “pleasant” the fraternal twin sister of Isabella Rossellini might look, tell me it didn’t TOTALLY  blow the big one, with “Ms. Lancome” growing up right beside you.  Not that she isn’t brilliant…a professor for one…a noble profession, yes…but her mother was a fucking gorgeous freak of modeling and acting talent, her father helped reinvent Italian cinema, and her twin sister’s face is plastered on every major magazine from Vogue to Harpers, across like four decades.  So yeahThat didn’t suck.

…Its like that, you see, with my own sister.  (Minus the Doctoral degree.)

She’s but a “half,” (different Mothers, ironically both of Irish descent)…though both of us very clearly take after our Father in looks…and she very clearly, managed to get the fucking genetic Lotto on every level outta the deal.  How can this be? And where is the fairness in that?  When you put our pictures next to one another, you can tell we’re “related”…only she’s in sharp focus, with fine lines and perfect teeth, a beautiful figure (even after two babies), and model print portfolios, with musical talent comin’ outta absolutely every pore.  She prob’ly even shits rainbows. 

My photos look like a person who hasn’t quite finished cooking yet.  They are all sorta bulgy, with extra chins, and not great noses, who has no “good side,” has never…in the HISTORY OF LIFE…taken a good picture, (yet, bless the theatre, I’ve been airbrushed and Photoshop’d with religious fervor to ATTEMPT it); and at the BEST of times, could be said is a “decent character actor,” who can write and sing “a little.”

This topic all comes, by the way, in due part to the latest photo-sitting of the sister I barely know, and her family…newly posted on FB, all of which look like they just came out of a GAP ad.

…I’ve never spoken to her husband in my life, (whom I am told, is a lovely man), nor my niece and nephew, (the former, an absolutely eery carbon copy of her mother)…and only to my sister herself, maybe twice since my own High School graduation.  (We are not close…due to circumstances of our childhood, not any ill will.)  And yet even having NOT been raised in the bedroom beside this beauty queen all my life, I still shake my fist at the fairness factor involved here.  Not that I would take it away…I’d just like to have gotten perhaps a bit more of the “fabulousness cocktail,” that was clearly for the taking, genetically speaking…when it was MY turn.  After all, I DID come first!

…It’d be nice to have a “profile” and not a “potato” (for instance.)  I could use a little less of the “Latina” in the ass department, thank you.  Would it have really fucked fate to have gained another inch in height or relocated a couple pounds into my bra?  And the weight distribution?  Even when I’m small, it still falls in all the wrong places than it should, by just plain common sense and physics.

…Which is all to say: The new family photos are ridiculously adorable, enchanting, and beautiful.  She married a hottie, and BOTH her kids managed to also cash in on the genetic Royalty line.  And I’m proud to say, “These people are my family!”  But at the same time?  It’s gotta be stated:

“Average sisters of the world, of print-art-freak-beauties: I feel your pain, all!  And this one’s for you.”

(toast.)

~D

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