Tag Archives: Whiskey

Chicken Fires & Whiskey Donuts

18 Jul

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First of all, WHS Pimp says, “Hi.”

…The Gnome would too, if she knew this blog existed.  She a very “interested” person, in general.  The MSN news page is one of her best friends. (‘Course so are “LOL cat blooper” and “how to bedazzle anime chihuahua sweater” YouTubes), but the point I am trying to make is that she is a curious person, who likes to learn things, and contribute.

…Usually one would think that would up a person’s practical intelligence…ie: real world facts, figures and info, but it never seems to.  She instead somehow manages to skip over all the political unrest, current events, and new cures to diseases…coming out reading the top news stories page every morning with a comment like, “They found a two-headed monkey in Belize!” while in large red block letters the day’s headline reads: “Typhoon hits China, killing 500!”

…She has a knack for missing the actual point of things…in general, skipping over the informative to get at the side-bar item.  Which is totally fine, obviously, each to his own.  But perhaps this helps explain how a person can reach their mid-twenties and still be quite clueless about so many things that the average person takes for granted as general knowledge. Even things which have nothing to do with politics or world-events…things that come with collective everyday American experience of this century.

…Like the other day when WHS Pimp handed her some cash to do a Taco Bell run. “Just get one of those mix box things of plain tacos and burritos,” he said. The result, a tentative unwrapping of a wrapper from the front office and her voice calling out:

She: “Um…does your burrito have cheese and sauce in it?”
Me: “Yeah.”
She: “Shoot! I told them plain burritos.”
Me: “That IS a plain burrito.”
She: “It is?”
Me: “At Taco Bell? Yes.”
She: “Oh.”

…Or how on Monday’s she frequently needs to relearn how to put someone on hold and take them off again without disconnecting them.

…Or how she loses track on which week is payday, when it is only every other one.

…That she can’t figure out that emails you sent to the wrong person with customer contact information can’t be magically “taken back,” that you have to hold the red button up on the water cooler at the same time as you press it, in order to get “hot” to come out…that ones boyfriend shouldn’t leave pot butter out on the table overnight and be surprised when your dog is totally hallucinating at two a.m..

…As if these mental blocks aren’t enough, she’s also added the new “Pregnant Brain” comments to the list. This is for the things she does that she actually REALIZES are not the smartest choices. Which lead to moments like:

Me: “Did you know ‘Pregnant brain’ is the leading cause of wrong shingle color this week?”
WHS Pimp: “Is that a thing?”
Me: “Well, it’s cost us about $300 in repairs so far, and it’s only Wednesday…so yeah, I guess it is.”

…Or…

Gnome: “Oh man, ‘pregnant brain!'”
WHS Pimp: “What?”
Gnome: “I brought in these donuts and forgot about [WHS Chick’s] insulin thing. She can’t have any of these. I should have got her a plain.”

…Or…

Gnome: “…So I was gonna get these diapers on craigslist …like a hundred or something for thirty dollars and things but then I thought about Costco. What are you guys buying them at right now?”
WHS Chick: “Well…we just got a box of 90 at size one, and 90 at size two for about forty bucks.”
Gnome: “So…is that worse or better? I dunno…I don’t do math too good right now…with the extra hormones and everything…”

…Really, it goes on and on. But there’s no need to beat a dead horse…(even if you think its whole problem is just being a lazy bastard.) But it does make things like trying not to laugh at someone’s future mother (6 months in), really, really difficult.

…And that doesn’t help AT ALL when one morning you come in and are greeted with:

WHS Pimp: “So, The Gnome won’t be in today. I guess her apartment burnt down in a chicken fire.”
Me: “Sorry, what?”
WHS Pimp: “I’m not really clear. She was kind of hysterical. And you know how when she gets all worked up she forgets words and things?”
Me: “Yeah.”
WHS Pimp: “Well…it was like that.”
Me: “So…a chicken fire.”
WHS Pimp: “Apparently.”
Me: “Is she…okay??”
WHS Pimp: “I think so. I mean she’s physically fine…she was out walking the dog at the time. But I couldn’t really make out much more after that other than they won’t let her back in, she only has the clothes on her back, and the whole thing has something to do with chicken.”
Me: “Okay.”
(long pause)
Me: “I’m super tentative right now, and I’m not meaning to make fun, seriously, but…was it by any chance her fault. Like, we aren’t going to have to bail out a pregnant woman from jail on accidental arson charges?”
WHS Pimp: (equally tentatively.) “I don’t know yet?”
Me: “Okay. So…we wait it out.”
WHS Pimp: “…It’s gonna be a ‘Monday.’ Yeah.”

…Turns out the Chicken Fire was NOT the Gnome’s fault after all. It was totally the crack-head living downstairs, who decided to plop some chicken into a deep fryer and proceed to fall asleep.

…Which in the end was…”comforting???”

I dunno.

…But after many calls with Red Cross and other donation agencies, she is back under a roof, with more than just a single change of clothes, an insurance settlement, and no longer living next door to a crack addict. I don’t really know if this is a silver lining, cup-half-full thing or divine intervention from raising a child next door to a drug dealer.

…So that happened.

…In Other News: WHS Pimp decided to rock it 1940’s-Cop-Style this morning with a breakfast consisting of Gentlemen Jack in a coffee cup, and a donut. This is definitely not the norm at 9:05 in the morning…but considering he still hasn’t been to bed from yesterday yet, and was still here loading contractors at 3 am…that makes this both his Happy Hour, AND technical end-of-day. To which I say: “Party, on, friend. I tink my coffee cup to you!”

“…But if you touch that fucking custard filled beauty waiting for after this final report run…I will kill you.”

🙂

~D

Hello Idaho & The “I Quits”

19 Sep

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Boss: “We needed to do something to cut the bottom line…”

…This is maybe the second thing Boss said to me, when he arrived three hours late to work, my first day back from Vacation.

Me: “As in…?”

Boss: “You’re booking Spokane now.  And also, Idaho.”

Me: “So we aren’t doing the Spokane remote office.”

Boss: “Nope.  Oh, and also…the Vancouver Manager quit while you were gone.  So you’ll have to help the new guy figure some stuff out.”

Me: “Can you maybe be a little more specific?”

Boss: “Yeah.  Teach him how to do the job.”

Me: “Remotely.”

Boss: “Right.”

Me: “…While I catch up on the $47,000 in orders you didn’t process while I was gone, plus book all of Eastern Washington and Idaho.”

Boss: “…But I brought you whiskey.”

(He plops it on my desk.)

Me: “…Which is great if I didn’t have like fifty-thousand things to do right now…”

(He cracks it open.)

Me: “Also…it’s not even noon yet…”

(He tosses one back, clean.)

Boss: “I’ll be in my office.”

(He takes the bottle with him.)

…And this is how my Monday went. It just got better from there…the more buzzed he got.

[Around 1 PM]

Boss: (Singing from his office.) “…No I’ll NEVER, EVER, EVER…!”

Me: (From my office.) “Can you maybe not sing so loud? I’m on the phone and things…”

Boss: “…No I’ll NEVER, EVER, EVER…!”

Me: Seriously!

(He chuckles.)

…You guys, it’s taken me three days to stop hating him enough to find the “funny” in this shit, and actually write it down. Also…HE NEEDS to FUCKING LEARN MORE OF THAT SONG’S LYRICS. For three SOLID DAYS, it’s all he’s been hollering. Non-stop.

[Around 3 PM]

Me: “What is it with you and that song…why do you keep yelling that?”

Boss: “I just really identify with it, is all.”

Me: “Cuz you’re a 22 year-old pop-it Country superstar from Nashville?”

Boss: “Yes. And I’m gonna make you a CD of it to remember me by…”

Me: “No.”

Boss: “…Or a mash up, with that one Kelly Clarkson song…”

Me: “–I don’t want it.”

Boss: “Over a House beat.”

Me: “–Go away.”

Boss: “…And I’ll NEVER, EVER, EVER…!”

Me: (Yelling.) “YOU AREN’T EVEN SINGING IT RIGHT!!”

(He stands there in the doorway and grins.)

Me: “What.”

Boss: “…It’s good to have you back, you know?”

Me: “I’m sure it is.”

Boss: “You missed this. Come on. Admit it.”

Me: “I will quit and leave all this work, if you say one more word. I swear to you.”

(He disappears back into his office. At some point, I get up to go pee. When I come back, a shot of whiskey is sitting beside my computer. I think of all the work I’ve done today, and how little I get paid for it, and how he’s getting a bonus that I earn him every month, so he can sit there Facebooking and drinking whiskey all day, while singing pop songs. Badly. I shoot the drink.)

Me: (From my office.) “This doesn’t mean we’re friends, you know.”

Boss: (From his office.) “… … … AND I’LL NEVER, EVER, EVER…!”

…You guys…sometimes, it’s just too much.

~D

10,000 Cups Of Tea, And A Gollum

19 Jul

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In keeping with the norm, I’m mid a beaut of a “post-show crash.” 

Every time a show ends, all that adrenaline I’ve been souping up with instantly wooshes out of me, like a pregnant woman whose water just broke.  Really, it depletes that fast.  And with the precise timing of Mother Nature, I spiral dramatically into a hell of a decline: sobbing sinuses, raging fevers, throat feeling like a cheese grater attacked it…you know, the usual misery of a common cold.  It happens because I push myself too hard, get little sleep, and eat crap due to time restraints.  When you’re “on,” the rush of it will help to compensate these things…but when the show is over, it’s a total nosedive.

…Which is what happened little more than 4 hours after I reached home on Sunday night, post-dinner with the group. 

Home!  My bed!  Fresh jammies! 

…This lasted all of a trip to the bathroom.  I was still unpacking after one of the longest, hottest showers ever invented, when I started to feel it all climbing onto me with sticky realness.

…’Member that terrible “Spiderman 3” movie, where the alien black tar animal stuff glunks onto him, inflicting evil?  It was like that.

Alien.  Black tar.  Animal stuff.  Glunked.

It’s exactly what I felt like.  And depending on how much I am physically attempting to do: it still is.

…Monday’s noon call at work, was a wash…because I couldn’t sit up by noon.  I couldn’t even swallow.  By two, I made it exactly as far as my couch. This is where I laid for the next many hours, only moving occasionally to flip like a  pancake in a pan, and boil some more hot water.

…Water.  So much water.  10,000 cups of tea made from about eight different spice, herb and flower varieties…and the magic juice of theatre, which a few of us two shows back decided to call “Gollum Piss.”  It tastes about like what it’s named, and is basically a hot toddy from hell: Hot water, as much straight lemon juice as you can take, ditto on cyan pepper…and if you’re new to it: maple syrup to sweeten.  At some point you just stop adding the maple, because it’s a useless attempt to make it taste better anyway.  And if you are home: a jigger of whiskey every so-many-cups, rounds it out nicely.  With luck, you’ll have burnt through all the mucus, freed your vocal chords and be sporting quite a nice buzz, before the mixture settles in your gut and begins torching holes in the stomach lining. But you will be able to breathe again.  And sometimes swallow.  And it’ll out-burn the fever. Whatever is left over has you happily humming to your bottle of Jack Daniels…so: good all ’round.

…Course, this is just “Day One.”  By “Day Two,” you are at work, gripping your guts with acid indigestion and honking out coughs like a yard animal.  But the important thing is that you made it through the first day.  This is what you tell yourself as you drool all over the make-up paperwork you’re doing, because you had the audacity to be rendered almost dead the day before, and no one saw fit to start on anything from over the weekend…just pile it up on your desk.

…Which brings us now to day four. Because days two, through now, haven’t changed much, really.  Still paperwork hell…only now I can breathe naturally out of both nostrils at the same time, and my guts don’t feel like they’re cooking over an open flame.  Also, I can walk a reasonably straight line again without my head floating ten feet above my body somewhere at the end of a string.  Tonight: I’ll get me some fresh air…try a short walk…drink more fuzzy water.

Tonight: I will defeat the last of this scourage…so I can come in tomorrow, fight my weekly battle with Payroll, turn in the last of the week’s reports, and have me a “weekend” like the normals.

It’s good to have goals.

~D

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