No, I haven't been watching repeats of "Blossom". There seriously are no words:
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Friday, January 25, 2008
The New Girl
To put it simply, she's useless. She sits behind Jennie and mumbles into a phone all day long and occasionally gets "trained" by Him (See blog entitled "The Frighteningly Long Pinky Nail"). I use the word "trained" loosely because their conversations seem to go something like this:
New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "How you say... this is... how to find? Oh... amount in receivables, you must call.. we get the check."
New Girl: "Uhhhh... what? I don't understand what your saying *mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "Such headache... you call... or.. something like that to how you say...yabba dabba doo"
New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble ...I don't... uhh what?"
This fucking shit goes on from 9am till 1pm when she leaves for the day. When the phone rings, she looks at it. She fucking stares at it as if to decifer some code or alien language coming through the constant ringing. *RINGGGGGGG.... *RINGGGGGGG.... She stares... then looks back up at her computer screen *mumble *mumble *mumble .
It's so weird. Jennie even tells me that she sits there motionless... soundless... for HOURS. Is she even breathing? I even swear there's a strange smell coming from her purse.
Her new thing is the coffee pot. Now, there aren't many pleasures I get from this place, but if there's one thing (other than a liquid lunch) that I look forward to, it's my goddamned coffee. She INSISTS on brewing a fresh pot the second she comes in. She barely takes off her coat, when she bolts for the kitchen. This, of course, wouldn't be a problem if her coffee didn't taste un-fucking-believably bad. I'm dead serious. It tastes like a cup of roasted dick. It's foul, muddy, and not even watering it down and adding extra flavored creamer helps. Here's the best part - she doesn't even drink coffee!
Something tells me there's something she's putting in there that probably shouldn't BE in there. Yes, perhaps a little far fetched, but all in all completely plausible. I drank a cup today solely because its about 35 degrees in here (that's another story). As a result of ingesting this sludge, I'll probably end up growing hair in places no hair should be growing. Oh well... I've got a razor.
New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "How you say... this is... how to find? Oh... amount in receivables, you must call.. we get the check."
New Girl: "Uhhhh... what? I don't understand what your saying *mumble *mumble *mumble "
Pinky: "Such headache... you call... or.. something like that to how you say...yabba dabba doo"
New Girl: "*mumble *mumble *mumble ...I don't... uhh what?"
This fucking shit goes on from 9am till 1pm when she leaves for the day. When the phone rings, she looks at it. She fucking stares at it as if to decifer some code or alien language coming through the constant ringing. *RINGGGGGGG.... *RINGGGGGGG.... She stares... then looks back up at her computer screen *mumble *mumble *mumble .
It's so weird. Jennie even tells me that she sits there motionless... soundless... for HOURS. Is she even breathing? I even swear there's a strange smell coming from her purse.
Her new thing is the coffee pot. Now, there aren't many pleasures I get from this place, but if there's one thing (other than a liquid lunch) that I look forward to, it's my goddamned coffee. She INSISTS on brewing a fresh pot the second she comes in. She barely takes off her coat, when she bolts for the kitchen. This, of course, wouldn't be a problem if her coffee didn't taste un-fucking-believably bad. I'm dead serious. It tastes like a cup of roasted dick. It's foul, muddy, and not even watering it down and adding extra flavored creamer helps. Here's the best part - she doesn't even drink coffee!
Something tells me there's something she's putting in there that probably shouldn't BE in there. Yes, perhaps a little far fetched, but all in all completely plausible. I drank a cup today solely because its about 35 degrees in here (that's another story). As a result of ingesting this sludge, I'll probably end up growing hair in places no hair should be growing. Oh well... I've got a razor.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Balls
It was bound to happen, and I wasn't even the first. Countless tales of masseuses, yoga teachers, former employees, prophylactics strewn throughout the office. A good two weeks have passed since the incident, so I feel I now have the stomach to recount the ordeal in as much detail as I can muster without vomiting. It was 9am and there was a sign outside the office door saying "Yoga Practice till 9:20". Irritated, I waited in the front office and made coffee for myself. About five minutes later the yoga teacher walks in to get water from the cooler. Now, I assume then that the practice is over so I walk on back, say hello, and proceed to my desk. (It's a railroad office so I have to go through my boss' office to get to my own.) Then I see him sitting on the floor, legs crossed, in a pair of skimpy powder blue short-shorts.
Yeah.....
So, I apologize, excuse myself, and turn around to head back up front.
"Hey Alf! Check this out, she's gonna torture me. You've got to see this pose."
Now, I can't tell you how much of my morning coffee had already backed up at at this point. I stopped and said "That's ok. I'll just wait up front 'till you're done."
"No Alf, you've GOT to see this. She's gonna torture me - you'll love it."
I have to admit, the thought of him in pain did intrigue me, so I briefly turned around. The yoga teacher grabs the cup of water, which I mistakenly thought was for her to drink. Oh no... it had become lubricant. She rubbed his shoulders and forearms, then his thighs and calves with the water. He sits indian-style and proceeds to put each arms through his crossed legs then wrap them back up and around to the opposite arm. If you're having trouble visualizing this - just imagine a wet unbaked pretzel with a tuft of curly grey hair in front... only the top of the pretzel is a head and at the bottom - a crotch. He's now locked in position. The yoga teacher then grabs his shoulders with both hands and proceeds to roll his body around the mat like a fucking beach ball! I'm not even kidding. She started rolling him forward, backward, back and forth and he's all knotted up like a roll of fucking yarn. Is this a normal yoga practice? Does one have to sign a waiver before attempting something like this? I watch this entire scene play out in utter shock. Joe glances at my face and loses it. He starts laughing and she stops playing "ball" for a moment. She stops him with his torso facing me, he lets one leg loose and BLOOP! There it is. My boss' left testicle in all its glory. (Note: "Bloop", in my head, is the sound that a nut makes when hitting the floor - sort of like when one retrieves a power pellet playing PacMan.) I'm not going to elaborate, but I will say this. If ever anyone out there reading this comes into several million dollars at some point in there life, or perhaps not... if anyone out there never sees that kind of money and ends up selling carnations on a highway off-ramp, please... for the love of God.... trim. Surely this man has enough money to have someone do it for him if he's physically incapable of doing it himself. That's all I'm leaving you with.
I immediately turned away and told him I'd wait up front. He was still laughing when I closed the door and walked up front barely able to blink. It's not like this was his first show. He flashed his furry gonads to a coworker about 3 years ago during a photoshoot - I can guarantee she still hasn't fully recovered.
I haven't.
Yeah.....
So, I apologize, excuse myself, and turn around to head back up front.
"Hey Alf! Check this out, she's gonna torture me. You've got to see this pose."
Now, I can't tell you how much of my morning coffee had already backed up at at this point. I stopped and said "That's ok. I'll just wait up front 'till you're done."
"No Alf, you've GOT to see this. She's gonna torture me - you'll love it."
I have to admit, the thought of him in pain did intrigue me, so I briefly turned around. The yoga teacher grabs the cup of water, which I mistakenly thought was for her to drink. Oh no... it had become lubricant. She rubbed his shoulders and forearms, then his thighs and calves with the water. He sits indian-style and proceeds to put each arms through his crossed legs then wrap them back up and around to the opposite arm. If you're having trouble visualizing this - just imagine a wet unbaked pretzel with a tuft of curly grey hair in front... only the top of the pretzel is a head and at the bottom - a crotch. He's now locked in position. The yoga teacher then grabs his shoulders with both hands and proceeds to roll his body around the mat like a fucking beach ball! I'm not even kidding. She started rolling him forward, backward, back and forth and he's all knotted up like a roll of fucking yarn. Is this a normal yoga practice? Does one have to sign a waiver before attempting something like this? I watch this entire scene play out in utter shock. Joe glances at my face and loses it. He starts laughing and she stops playing "ball" for a moment. She stops him with his torso facing me, he lets one leg loose and BLOOP! There it is. My boss' left testicle in all its glory. (Note: "Bloop", in my head, is the sound that a nut makes when hitting the floor - sort of like when one retrieves a power pellet playing PacMan.) I'm not going to elaborate, but I will say this. If ever anyone out there reading this comes into several million dollars at some point in there life, or perhaps not... if anyone out there never sees that kind of money and ends up selling carnations on a highway off-ramp, please... for the love of God.... trim. Surely this man has enough money to have someone do it for him if he's physically incapable of doing it himself. That's all I'm leaving you with.
I immediately turned away and told him I'd wait up front. He was still laughing when I closed the door and walked up front barely able to blink. It's not like this was his first show. He flashed his furry gonads to a coworker about 3 years ago during a photoshoot - I can guarantee she still hasn't fully recovered.
I haven't.
Friday, January 4, 2008
It's been a while...
It has. And why I've decided to blog now when I can barely feel my fucking fingertips - I don't know. (It's about 20 degrees outside - maybe 25 in here.) So our company offices are moving to midtown in the next 3 weeks or so. If nothing else, it'll be a nice change of scenery. Mainly because the "scenery" that exists here consists of used sexual paraphernalia on the floor and in coffee mugs, and a creepy little employee with horrific hygiene.
Is it wrong that my main concern is what kind of food is available in the area? I've become accustomed to the Upper West Side, as much as I've complained about what actually IS available to eat here. For some reason, I find a restaurant that has great food, at decent prices, and the motherfuckers close on me within a year! Don't they know who I work for? Show a little compassion. My coworker Jennie and I found this place called the Silk Road Palace a few months back. Now don't let the name confuse you... it's far from a fucking palace. It's a small sea of tightly-packed, rickety little tables that are sometimes topped with some sort of residue, but all in all, not that bad. You walk inside and are greeted by one of three people. There's "Evil" (the angry skinny little woman with tight, thin lips who scowls at you when you order), "Wine Guy" ( the delivery/busboy/wine poorer who has since become our best lunch friend), and "Tranny". Tranny is a cross between a little hard-working boy, and... well... a small set of breasts. She takes your order, usually is at the register when you leave, and basically is helpful only when you need more soy sauce. You do not ask Evil for soy sauce. We've seen her get very upset with customers who complain about food or want extra anything. She'll stand over them and if you look very very closely, you'll see tiny horns peek out of her temples when she's particularly angry. The Silk Road Palace is usually filled with very old men and women.... and then there's us. We order the same thing every time, for the most part, so we try and make the visit as pleasant as possible without upsetting the beast. Did I mention the main reason we go there is you get a free carafe of wine with your lunch special? Oh yes... it's advertised as 1 free carafe of wine per customer, per meal. Wine Guy gives us 4! He usually grins at us when we come in.. like there's something "special" in the wine he's serving, but we don't care... we go back to work good and buzzed, and had a great-tasting greasy chinese lunch to go with it.
Lately, I've become concerned. We went into Silk Road as usual, and were seated. Evil comes to our table and says 2 beef chow fun, spring rolls, scallion pancake, no rice right? Then...... she SMILED at me. Jennie's eyes pretty much said it all. Now, it wasn't that she had major dental issues that would have normally frightened away a hungry customer, but it was that the smile had this sinister "I'm going to put you in tomorrow's spring roll if you say another word" effect. It made us both extremely uncomfortable - the smile AND the fact that she remembered what we order. Wine Guy gave us more wine and I even got a smile on the way out. After months of going there, what would possess Evil to do this? She's actually YELLED at me before. Twice!
1. I had asked if we could have more chow fun noodles instead of the rice that comes with it. I thought she didnt understand me when she said "uhh.. no comes with rice", so I repeated myself, and I got a very stern NO, accompanied by an "I will gouge your eyeball out with my teeth" look that made Jennie want to leave.
2. The next time, I tried to pay with a credit card.... for the second time. Yes, ok my fault. I was told the first time I went that they didn't take credit card, but I had forgotten... maybe it was the wine. So I put the card on the table. "AY! CASH ONLY!", she shouts from across the room. I cowered in the corner and sifted through my pockets to find the cash.
In short, I don't know what her deal is. Maybe she knows we're leaving the neighborhood and there will be no more Fun to be had. Jennie and I generally talk about how much we hate our jobs, and often how much her service sucks while we're there for the hour. Oh, I love Fun. Fun and wine is what gets me through a typical Sporn week. That and watching Jennie get busted for coming back to work shit-faced and flushed. Joe will tell her, "Wow, it's smells like alcohol in here... have you been drinking?" Jennie looks confused, "Ummm, no why?" I love it. Hopefully midtown will have it's own version of Fun. Something tells me it's a lost cause. Maybe I can convince my boss to hire Wine Guy. He's hard-working, foreign, heavy handed, it's perfect... maybe he cleans mugs too.
Is it wrong that my main concern is what kind of food is available in the area? I've become accustomed to the Upper West Side, as much as I've complained about what actually IS available to eat here. For some reason, I find a restaurant that has great food, at decent prices, and the motherfuckers close on me within a year! Don't they know who I work for? Show a little compassion. My coworker Jennie and I found this place called the Silk Road Palace a few months back. Now don't let the name confuse you... it's far from a fucking palace. It's a small sea of tightly-packed, rickety little tables that are sometimes topped with some sort of residue, but all in all, not that bad. You walk inside and are greeted by one of three people. There's "Evil" (the angry skinny little woman with tight, thin lips who scowls at you when you order), "Wine Guy" ( the delivery/busboy/wine poorer who has since become our best lunch friend), and "Tranny". Tranny is a cross between a little hard-working boy, and... well... a small set of breasts. She takes your order, usually is at the register when you leave, and basically is helpful only when you need more soy sauce. You do not ask Evil for soy sauce. We've seen her get very upset with customers who complain about food or want extra anything. She'll stand over them and if you look very very closely, you'll see tiny horns peek out of her temples when she's particularly angry. The Silk Road Palace is usually filled with very old men and women.... and then there's us. We order the same thing every time, for the most part, so we try and make the visit as pleasant as possible without upsetting the beast. Did I mention the main reason we go there is you get a free carafe of wine with your lunch special? Oh yes... it's advertised as 1 free carafe of wine per customer, per meal. Wine Guy gives us 4! He usually grins at us when we come in.. like there's something "special" in the wine he's serving, but we don't care... we go back to work good and buzzed, and had a great-tasting greasy chinese lunch to go with it.
Lately, I've become concerned. We went into Silk Road as usual, and were seated. Evil comes to our table and says 2 beef chow fun, spring rolls, scallion pancake, no rice right? Then...... she SMILED at me. Jennie's eyes pretty much said it all. Now, it wasn't that she had major dental issues that would have normally frightened away a hungry customer, but it was that the smile had this sinister "I'm going to put you in tomorrow's spring roll if you say another word" effect. It made us both extremely uncomfortable - the smile AND the fact that she remembered what we order. Wine Guy gave us more wine and I even got a smile on the way out. After months of going there, what would possess Evil to do this? She's actually YELLED at me before. Twice!
1. I had asked if we could have more chow fun noodles instead of the rice that comes with it. I thought she didnt understand me when she said "uhh.. no comes with rice", so I repeated myself, and I got a very stern NO, accompanied by an "I will gouge your eyeball out with my teeth" look that made Jennie want to leave.
2. The next time, I tried to pay with a credit card.... for the second time. Yes, ok my fault. I was told the first time I went that they didn't take credit card, but I had forgotten... maybe it was the wine. So I put the card on the table. "AY! CASH ONLY!", she shouts from across the room. I cowered in the corner and sifted through my pockets to find the cash.
In short, I don't know what her deal is. Maybe she knows we're leaving the neighborhood and there will be no more Fun to be had. Jennie and I generally talk about how much we hate our jobs, and often how much her service sucks while we're there for the hour. Oh, I love Fun. Fun and wine is what gets me through a typical Sporn week. That and watching Jennie get busted for coming back to work shit-faced and flushed. Joe will tell her, "Wow, it's smells like alcohol in here... have you been drinking?" Jennie looks confused, "Ummm, no why?" I love it. Hopefully midtown will have it's own version of Fun. Something tells me it's a lost cause. Maybe I can convince my boss to hire Wine Guy. He's hard-working, foreign, heavy handed, it's perfect... maybe he cleans mugs too.
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