It's been rather relaxing to rest at home instead of going to work. I figured with all my spare time, I'd clear out the Zen Room (so named because we've spent a long time thinking about what it should be called). Mr. Capp got an upright freezer for free and had been "storing" it in the hallway, so I moved it to a newly cleared space. One of the things that got removed was a bag marked "Rags" that Dr. Evil had brought over to the house. I looked inside and there were all sorts of cut-up shirts, but thankfully, none looked familiar.

Then I moved the sorting baskets out of the laundry room and moved the ironing board in to the freshly vacated space. I even moved the junk off the dining room table and put on a new tablecloth. After all that activity, I felt so domestic I decided to make some chocolate chip cookies. I mixed up the dough and dropped it on to my brand new baking sheet. When I opened up the upper oven door, I discovered that the new sheet was too long and wouldn't fit inside.

You know how they say necessity is the mother of invention? Well, I thought I was being all clever by tilting the baking sheet and cramming it inside the oven to get the cookies baked. It wasn't until I was finished that I thought to check the lower oven. I'd assumed the top and bottom ovens were the same size, but it turned out the lower one is larger and the sheet would have fit perfectly. I munched my lopsided cookies and pondered my lack of foresight concerning oven sizes.

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Monday, August 30, 2004

Hmmm.... Due to unbloggable circumstances partially beyond my control, I am still on "vacation", though I am not driving anywhere. Since I'll have some free time on my hands, I decided to clean out the box gutters on the house.

Oh. Man.

There's a freakishly huge walnut tree that sits on the property line between my house and the house of Mr. and Mrs. Mormon. A couple of years ago, Mr. M. cut down its twin on to my newly replaced roof, but that's another story (a painful story in which the reader wonders why I didn't snap and set fire to my neighbor's bungalow). The remaining tree drops individual leaves, then the leaf stems, then the walnuts in to my gutters with the precision of a B-17 bomber.

Each year I climb an extension ladder to survey the filled troughs. Then, I climb back down, go inside the house, climb the stairs to the bathroom, open the window and walk out on to the roof. I've thought about skipping the ladder part of the sequence, but I'm always hopeful that this will be the year that the gutters are clear.

No such luck this time around. In fact, this year was a little different, in that there were also giant piles of cat crap all over my shingles, and I had to clear those off. I gently swept them so that their trajectory took them in an arc that landed on top of Cat Guy's roof. After finding decayed leaves, curled-up caterpillars, an ant farm and tons more cat crap in the gutters, I swore (literally and figuratively) that this will be the last year I clean them. I predict that next year, I will attempt to hire someone for this task, no sober person will be available, and I'll have to do it myself, but for now, I hold out hope.

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Saturday, August 28, 2004

I leave tomorrow morning for my Vacation. My mother asked if I could e-mail her everyday, like I do when I'm at work. When I said no, she asked why not. I told her, "It's not like there's just some vaporous cloud of Internet out there that I can just tap in to wherever I am."

The Boss said that on Monday, he's going to call my mother and tell her that I was lying, and that there IS a vaporous cloud of Internet out there and that I'm just trying to ignore her.

I so need a break.

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Friday, August 27, 2004

Dr. Evil came over to the house while I was at work the other day. This time, since there weren't any green bowls to filch, she BROUGHT a couple of items she'd been unable to find in my kitchen.

The first item was something she called a "dish cloth" and she claimed that people use it when they want to wash their dishes in the sink. I told her that's what the "Scrubby Scrubber brush" was for. I also told her I was familiar with the "dish rag" method of washing dishes and that I chose to use the brush. She said it was a "dish cloth", not a "dish rag" and that it was "better" than a brush at cleaning.

The second item was a cover for my toaster, because people "shouldn't just leave appliances laying out in the open on the kitchen counter."

The third item was a carton of buttermilk. She was appalled that we don't keep it in the refrigerator. I told her we don't keep it in the fridge, because we don't drink it. As she put the carton in my refrigerator, she picked my jar of peanut butter off the counter and put that in, too. WTF? She said that peanut butter should be stored in the fridge so it won't "go bad". I told her that we go through it like peanut oil through a bear, so it didn't have much chance to go bad at our house. She insisted that peanut butter was never meant to be served at room temperature.

Sigh.

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Storing material in hallway is prohibited - part deux

The stockpile of computers has been moved, but now there's even MORE stuff being stored in the same hallway. Recycling bins, lumber, bags of cement and more line the walls.

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Thursday, August 26, 2004

It's time once again for CK's Guest Blog Entry of the Week! w00t!

WARNING: NOT FOR THE WEAK OF STOMACH OR FAINT OF HEART.....

I walked into the ladies room during my lunch hour to wash out my bowl and take care of business. As I was rinsing my bowl out, I was surrounded by the miasma of rotting corpses and broccoli gone bad. 'Great', I thought, 'the match lady dumped a load and didn't bother to light up.' I walked around the stall wall totally unprepared for the horror I was about to see. There, floating gently in a brown bath of its own making, was the biggest turd I have ever seen. Gentle readers, the size and girth of it brought to mind a summer sausage from a Hillshire Farm's Christmas basket! Fighting down nausea and quite a bit of terror, I reached over with my foot to flush the dang thing down to the sewer hell where it obviously belonged, and no doubt, would be ruling within a few short hours.

Foot pushed down the lever, water swirled around it like the mighty Kharybdis and the surly log simply lay there. Not. Moving. An. Inch. WTF? At this show of power, I immediately ran out of the restroom and into Deb's office.

Me: "Deb! Deb! Oh my God, do not go into the ladies room. Danger, danger, Will Robinson!"

Deb: "WTF?"

Me: "There is a piece of crap as big as a house in the commode. I tried to get rid of it and it wouldn't leave."

Deb: >looking at me like I'm insane< "CK, surely you exaggerate. It can't be that frightening."

Me: "Well, okay then, when the Tell Tale Turd comes after you, don't say I didn't warn you!"

Deb: ...


2 hours later.....

Deb walks in with a traumatized look on her face, muttering about the horror and humanity of it all. It was still there, not moving, laying in wait like some monster ready to pop out. She had tried to flush it also, but it didn't work. Which brought some questions to mind as we tried to forget.

What kind of ass produces something like that? And is said ass now broke, a huge gaping hole where their rectum once was?

What kind of food are they eating to produce something of that size and the weight of concrete?

Last but not least, will Deb and I ever recover from seeing something like that? I don’t know if we will find the answers to these questions, but I feel like a stronger person for having survived seeing something like that.

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Using the "Next Blog" button on the navigation bar can be pretty scary. For every ten random blogs surfed, two will contain pr0n, six will contain the writings of some angst-ridden teenager who can't spell his or her way out of a wet paper bag, one will contain some decent content with interesting stories, anecdotes, and pictures... and the last one will be like Totoro Land.

Totoro Land is particularly upsetting because the dancing badger (while cute) doesn't even LOOK like the real Totoro!

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I went to the AAA office yesterday to pick up a TripTik® and some CampBooks® for my vacation.

Driving Maps Lady: Where will you be going?

Me: Yellowstone National Park.

DML: Oh, that's nice. I've never been to Montana.

Me: It's in Wyoming.

DML: Hmmm... {checks giant map on her desk} Aha! Yes, here it is. You're right. Let me get the maps for that.

As I waited, I looked over at the old guy at the next desk. He was arguing with another DML because he wanted an "historical roads" map and she kept telling him they didn't have one. He didn't want a current map that showed "historic roads", he wanted a road map from the late 1800's. The supervisor had to come out to the desk and suggest that he try The Big Library.

My DML came back and started to run her yellow highlighter over the route. When she was finished, she showed it to me.

Me: That's not how you get there.

DML: This is an AAA-sanctioned route.

Me: Be that as it may, if I have to drive across the entire state of Nebraska, from Omaha, to Cheyenne, in the southeast corner of Wyoming, then up to Yellowstone through the South Entrance, I'll have to take a hostage.

DML: ...

Me: I'm not driving across Nebraska. Look, I've made this trip twice before, and it goes like this: Louisville to St. Louis, to Kansas City, up I-29 through the western edge of Iowa to Sioux City, then to Sioux Falls, where you turn west on I-90 and stay on it until you hit Wyoming State Highway 14 and then you take that in to Cody and get in to Yellowstone through the East Entrance.

DML: If you know all this, then why are you here?

Me: Because I want the TripTik® marked with all the road closures and construction.

The supervisor walked over to my DML and said, "Honey, when someone wants to drive to Yellowstone, we have them go through the Black Hills of South Dakota. It's a far more scenic route." Then she showed her the "Scenic Route" designation on "How To Get There" paper and had her re-mark the map. The Nebraska route got an orange highlighter over the top of it and green "Alternate Route" stamps. While my DML was changing the map, the supervisor said to me, "She's new."

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Wednesday, August 25, 2004

It's time once again for Wednesday Wreck of the Week!

Today's unfortunate vehicle seems to have had just a little too much taken off the side at its last Barber Shop/Guitar Store visit.

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At the house, we have some Dixie Stoneware bowls. They are "rinse and reuse" heavy duty bowls that go in the microwave, freezer, and dishwasher, but are ultimately disposable.

Mr. Capp's mother claimed that it was "shameful" to eat your meals on disposable dinnerware in your own home. I told her we don't eat our meals on them... that we use them for mixing up sauces and maybe for a quick bowl of cereal. Since most of my Fiesta Ware has been dropped and broken, we like to use the Dixie Stoneware bowls for prep work, rather than risk losing any more expensive bowls. I could tell she didn't believe me.

Then I noticed that the green bowls started to go missing. There are 20 in a pack when you buy them, and all 20 aren't in circulation at the same time, so I got some more out of the package. The new ones also went missing over a short period of time. Their disappearance seemed to be mysteriously synchronized with visits from Mr. Capp's mother. When I voiced my concern that his mother was tampering with our green bowl supply, I was met with dismissive laughter.

Until yesterday, that is. After his mother left the house, Mr. Capp planned to season his cast iron skillet with some bacon grease he'd saved in a green bowl. It had been sitting next to the cooktop and when he reached for it, the bowl wasn't there. Coincidence? Or no?

Putting the elaborate conspiracy together, he phoned his mother and pointedly asked her, "Why did you throw out my bowl of bacon grease?" She didn't feign innocence, but claimed that she "thought it was something else". When Mr. Capp asked her if she'd thrown it out in our outside garbage cans, she had to admit that she'd packed in her own garbage bag, removed all the green bowls that were sitting out, put them in her bag, and packed that bag back to her house so that he couldn't retrieve them from our own garbage cans.

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Tuesday, August 24, 2004

This date will go down in history as The Day of the Jackhole.

I went to the credit union to get a replacement debit card, since I've misplaced mine and I'll need one for vacation spending. As I stood in line, I could tell that I wasn't going to get the Nice Teller. I ended up in front of the Attitude Problem Teller and explained my situation.

APT: Why do you need a new card?

Me: I've misplaced mine somewhere in the house.

APT: Have you reported it stolen?

Me: It wasn't stolen. It's in my house somewhere.

APT: If it wasn't stolen, then where is it?

Me: ...

About ten minutes later, she decided that I wasn't going to leave her station, so she picked up the phone and, in less than sixty seconds, placed a new card on order for me. Then, without saying another word to me, hollered, "NEXT!"

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Monday, August 23, 2004

Another quick post for today. I worked the Back-to-School Tent on Sunday and today the store was such a madhouse that I couldn't even remember what day it was half the time this afternoon.

I thought I'd share an aerial photo of the town where I live. Check out the "By-Pass" that goes around our bustling downtown area. My house is on the right side, about halfway down, in one of the curves of the creek. Maybe tomorrow I'll have time to faf around with Photoshop and I'll put an arrow on the picture.

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Saturday, August 21, 2004

Just a quick post, since I'm knackered from working the Back-To-School Tent since seven this morning.

Before we closed the store on Friday, a tall, blonde guy came in to look at laptops. He asked me to show him all of them, but was mostly interested in the IBM T41 model. I had to listen to him rattle on about being "from Europe", how electronics are less expensive in the USA, how much Dell sucks, and so on. He asked me why the IBM stuff costs more than everything else, and I wanted to answer, "Just because", but I said that since IBM considers that their crap is "better" than everyone else's, and since some people equate higher prices with higher quality, they can charge more for it and no one questions why.

He finally asked for a quote for a specific model he'd seen on the German IBM web site, so I directed him to SBC. As SBC already had a customer at his desk, I stood for a moment with Mr. Europe.

Me: So, from which country are you from?

Mr. Europe: Austria.

Me: Ah, yes. Austria. The place where the history comes from.

CK heard me and almost choked on her Vienna Sausage.

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Friday, August 20, 2004

Yesterday, we got new tie-dye shirts at work. Each year when school starts, The Boss orders fancy new shirts for everyone, so that we can look like we're hip and in with all the college freshman who wander in to our store. The Angry Old Woman complained that she "wasn't consulted" on this year's color scheme.

Everyone in the office wore their shirt today. Everyone except CK, that is. She showed up wearing a black Babylon 5 t-shirt that said, "Alone in the night" on the back. When I asked her why she didn't have on the new shirt, she said that no one "told" her that she "had" to wear it today. I told her there was a spare shirt in the office, but she said she needed to wash clothes before wearing them.

Each person that has come in to the store has commented on CK's lack of tie-dye. Even the FedEx guy and our cleaning man asked her if she'd lost her new shirt. Finally, she blew a gasket and said that she was just going to leave for the day and come back at four this afternoon. I told her she would have plenty of time to wash the new shirt and that she'd better be wearing the dang thing when she returned.

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Another reason why I don't swim in actual lakes (props to Amanda).

Rabid otter freaks out and attacks children's swim class

The idea of crazy rodents showing up out of nowhere is what also keeps me from peeking in to the crawl space on the side of my house. I am convinced that as soon as I bend down to look, a drugged-up raccoon or squirrel will come flying out and attack me. In this scenario, it will latch on to my face, a la Alien, and will have to be physically removed by specially-trained police forces (the kind not found in our town).

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Thursday, August 19, 2004

Special Stuff I Wanted to Say vs. What I Actually Said Edition!

1) KIA came in to my office to tell me that she was moving out of her apartment and in to a different apartment on the same street, and that since she had to move "by herself", she'd need to take off September 1 through 10.

WIWTS: Why should it take you ten days to move a futon, a bean pot and your worm grid?

WIAS: Oh, look... I'm off those same days. Hope the place doesn't fall apart with both of us gone. Hahahaha!


2) The Angry Old Woman left to go to the doctor because she had a headache. When she returned, she stopped in to see The Boss and let him know she was back. He asked her how her doctor visit went and she said that the doctor told her the headache was caused by stress.

WIWTS: I'm sure it's not work-related stress, because all you do at your desk is write e-mails to your friends and family, make personal calls to your daughters and surf the real estate ads looking for your next house. Maybe the headache is induced by the guilt you feel for getting paid for forty hours of work when you put in about ten each week.

WIAS: Nothing, because I wasn't supposed to have been easvesdropping.

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Wednesday, August 18, 2004

It's time once again for Wednesday Wreck of the Week!

This week's feature is extra special, as it's the first User Submitted WOTW AND the first International WOTW. A big thanks goes out to Bushra, who saw this vehicle outside her house one morning.

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I think that if I ever decide to open a pub, I'm going to call it "The Foot and Flusher".

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Tuesday, August 17, 2004

More evidence that people that work in my building are incapable of following directions:

One simple sign in the hall:


In the same hall:

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The official results are in and my beer cart totals rocked! I sold more beer than anyone else in my group AND more than any other cart staffed by the other organizations. My grand total was $19,978 in sales, which means I sold 2854 cans of Budweiser and Bud Light. w00t! Our group gets fifty-six cents per can, so I cleared a little over $1598 for the treasury. Of course, it's easier to sell something that people already want.

While I was stocking the cart Sunday, the Beer Guy kept telling me I should drain the water off the ice and that sales would start to slack once the race started. I told him my strategy was to establish my cart as having the coldest beer on the concourse, and that meant the beer needed to be in ice with a little water (since any buffoon with half a chemistry class learned that ice water is colder than ice by itself). Once the race started, I had no slow-down in sales, because I had repeat customers who returned for more icy cold brew.

For those folks out there who like a warmer beer, so you can savor the flavor, I just want to remind you that I was at a race track. People were buying beer specifically to cool off and get a buzz, not to ruminate on the delicate mix of hops and barley. Too bad I can't make a living by selling beer on a street corner somewhere.

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Monday, August 16, 2004

Evidence of illiteracy and/or insubordination and/or laziness at my workplace:

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I keep giggling over the Dr. Scholl's Gel Inserts commercial. It is one of the most ridiculous advertisements of all time and it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"I'm so gellin', I'm like Magellan."

Seriously, WTF is that even supposed to mean? Magellan???

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Yesterday, I sold more cans of beer than Wyoming has mountain peaks. My beer cart was set up near the Kentucky Speedway entrance and next to an Outback Restaurant Outpost that sold frozen alcohol slushies. Even though there could be no beer or alcohol sales until one in the afternoon, due to the Sunday Blue Law, I still managed to sell everything in the cart, everything in reserve that was allocated to my cart, everything considered "back-up" for my cart, plus the reserves of four other carts BEFORE the race even started at 3:45 PM.

About 95% of the driver's licenses I checked were from people that lived in Ohio. It was so nice of the Ohioans to cross the river and spend their entertainment money in Kentucky! The "record attendance" for the IRL IndyCar race was announced as 61,8885 people, and I think I saw each of them walk through the gates.

One man came up to the cart and surveyed the sign that read, "Beer. $7.00 per 24 ounce can. Limit 2."

Man: Seven dollars a can. That seems rather expensive for beer.

Me: Yes, but I calculated it up and it comes out to twenty-nine cents an ounce, so it's quite a bargain.

Man: Hmm... well, darlin'... I don't know anything about doing division in math. {steps closer to the cart} I only know how to.... multiply {wink, wink}.

Me: ...

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Saturday, August 14, 2004

It is complete.

I have finished finding all the right tax forms and supporting documents, filling out mountains of paper (all the while wondering about this "Paperwork Reduction Act" notice printed on every page), reading convoluted instructions, re-opening sealed envelopes to insert forgotten forms, re-calculating columns of figures, and banging my head against my dining room table.

Next year, I am taking all my stuff to a professional tax filer. I don't care how much it costs. No, wait. I do care. But, if it's like, $40, it would be worth it to pay someone else to do this.

When I get both my federal and state refund checks, I think I'll buy that king-sized Tempur-Pedic bed after all. Speaking of bed, I need to go ON to bed, since I have to be on the volunteer bus to the Kentucky Speedway by SIX IN THE MORNING.

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Why is it that you only discover that you've forgotten to include an important paper in an envelope only AFTER you've sealed and stamped that envelope?

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I am spending this beautiful Saturday filling out federal and state income tax forms. Yes, they were due in April, but I filed for an extension, because I was a little BUSY then. I've spent the ensuing four months forgetting about them, but since they're due Sunday, I must complete them today. I'd complete them tomorrow, but I volunteered to help out a local organization by working concessions at the Belterra Casino Indy 300. Ashley Judd will be the Grand Marshal, so if any of you are obsessed fans and need a photo or autograph, let me know. Otherwise, look for me on television.

While sitting at the dining room table with all the tax forms, receipt paperwork, pencils and my calculator, I noticed that Mr. Capp was reading the NY Times online on his laptop. This annoyed me for some reason.

Me: Look, I can't sit here working on taxes while you lounge around trying to get your loaf on.

Mr. Capp: I'm just reading the paper.

Me: It's a laptop. Move it to another room.

I'm halfway finished with the federal form. That means the front of the first page is complete. I still have the back of the page to fill out, which requires the filling out of several more forms before I can enter the figures. I can't find the form the bank sends that tells you how much interest you paid on your mortgage. Since we're getting a refund anyway, I can't decide if I should estimate this amount, skip the line and mark it zero, or if I should get a new form from the bank on Monday and mail my tax forms later. I mean, will the IRS get upset that they were delayed in sending me my own money?

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Friday, August 13, 2004

The Boss Speaks:

CK: So, how exactly does this wireless internet router work?

The Boss: It pulls an internet signal out of the cloud of static electricity generated by all your cats.

CK: ...

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I took a vacation day yesterday and got my car worked on at Main Street Mechanix in town. The car has begun to pull slightly to the right {feel free insert your own political joke here}. I took the car in last week, and after several hours of not finding anything wrong, it was determined that I needed a new tire. They figured this out when they rotated the tires and the car began pulling to the left.

However, in the past week since the "fix", I discovered that the car pulled to the left with far more vigor than it ever pulled to the right. Yesterday, I asked them to put it back the way it was. It took a couple more hours for them to determine that a new tire on the other side would even everything out.

Meanwhile, I walked down to the fancy new Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant for lunch and then to the Art Gallery. The gallery owner was in and she started to tell me that the works were done by Kentucky artists. I expressed interest in a particular painting and she said, "Oh, right. Well, everything on this wall is by a Canadian artist." It turned out all the art works that I liked, save for the gothic limestone sculptures, had been crafted by a band of roving Canadians who stop in town on their way to Florida. The paintings were quite lovely and none of them depicted a Mountie riding a moose, so how was I supposed to know?

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Thursday, August 12, 2004

Last night I went to the Barber Shop with LB. Since we live in a small town, it's actually a combination Barber Shop/Music Shop/Guitar Store. When the barber has no customers for his chair, he gives guitar, banjo and mandolin lessons.

We got there at 6:45, but there were so many people ahead of us that LB wasn't seated until 9:10. Right as we arrived, the barber put in a Roger Miller cassette tape and the stereo played the two songs I knew, two songs I didn't know, and two cover songs. Then I thought the barber would surely replace the tape with something else, but he LET IT LOOP. If I ever hear Roger Miller again, it will be too soon.

Meanwhile, I read the paper, talked to the street urchins and looked at the hair care and music products for sale on the shelves. In one corner, there was an 8-track tape recorder, so I called CK to tell her about it. She thought I meant the barber had a reel-to-reel recorder, but no, it was an actual 8-track tape deck with recording capabilities. I didn't even know such a thing was ever made.

A girl of about eleven or twelve was there with her two younger brothers. I thought she'd been sent up to the shop with them to supervise getting their hair cut, but when the second boy was finished, their mother rushed in and wrote out a check. Then she asked if the girl's hair could get cut, too, thus backing the line up one person. The mom ran back out and I watched her get back into the driver's side of a minivan parked in front of the shop. I looked at her a little later, and she was just sitting there, staring through the window at her kids inside. After fifteen minutes had elapsed, she flew back in to the shop, stomped her foot and told the barber he was taking too long. The man wasn't done with her daughter's hair, but the mother proceeded to make such a scene that he untied the smock from the girl's neck and let her go.

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Wednesday, August 11, 2004

It's time once again for Wednesday Wreck of the Week!

I think this car looks like it has a scowl on its face.

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Disturbing news (to me): The sudden appearance of TWO (not just one, but two) gray hairs.

It's because I teased Jack when he posted pictures of himself as a grown-up from the 1970's, isn't it?

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Tuesday, August 10, 2004

My new rugs have arrived! w00t!! I had to buy two 4' x 6' rugs and deal with the leftover spaces, because I couldn't find (nor could I have afforded) a single 4' x 18' rug.

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Monday, August 09, 2004

Our church moved the Spanish Mass from Thursday night to Saturday night at 7:30. I figured that I can't half understand our Vietnamese priest when he speaks English, so what's the difference if he's speaking Spanish? Plus, since the service is on Saturday, that meant I could sleep in on Sunday. Always a plus.

I showed up at the church door a little early on Saturday night. The regulars were surprised to see a newcomer, but I passed their little impromptu Espanol conversation test at the Baptismal font and was allowed to proceed. I have to say the Spanish-speaking choir had more pizazz than the English-speaking one I was used to, but the congregation was similarly apathetic when it came to singing along.

A different priest was brought in for the Spanish Mass, and, while his language skills were exquisite, his homily was no more on topic than those of the regular guy. And, while he was all "Sangre de Cristo" to everyone else, he was all, "Blood of Christ" to me. What gave me away as an English speaker?? However, I enjoyed myself so much more than usual, that I'm going to stick with this time slot from now on.

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Sunday, August 08, 2004

Is it wrong to use the front of your "Nature Conservation Association" decal to smash a mosquito that has landed on your "2005 Respect Biodiversity" calendar?

Because that's what I just did.

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Saturday, August 07, 2004

A guy from my bank called and asked if I'd like to apply for an increase on my line of credit against the house. In return, they'd lower the interest rate. What the hey, I figured, and started to answer his questions about the house.

Bank Guy: Now, is this your primary residence?

Me: It is now. However, when we bought it, it was our pied-a-terre.

Bank Guy: Uh... {typing}... right. I'll just put down that it's your primary residence.

My smart-aleck remark apparently had no bearing on the bank's decision to approve the increase.

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Friday, August 06, 2004

The Boss Speaks:

{Department of Back Story Disclaimer - we used to have a manager we called The Sofa King, because he was Sofa King We Todd Did. He ruled the department with a Psycho Fist, made up insane policies, and basically terrorized everyone into doing what he wanted. He finally got fired two years ago for different reasons, but his legacy lives on to this day. We always find SOMEthing we're doing "because The Sofa King said so", and we try to modify that process.}

The Boss of The Boss {picks up mail out of my box}: Oh, you got this same letter then. Did you know that The Sofa King got mail at my office yesterday?

Me: Did you set the envelope on fire?

TBoTB: No, I put it on top of the urinal in the men's room.

Me: Maybe you should have put it IN the urinal.

The Boss: And then you could truthfully say that The Sofa King is clogging things up to this day in our department.

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Thursday, August 05, 2004

Tonight as I was leaving work, I asked CK to come over and relock the door behind me, since the store was already closed.

SBC: No, that's OK. She doesn't have to lock it.

CK: Oh, yeah. You say that now. But then as soon as I don't lock the door, Blarney McBogsider will walk in here after hours and want to buy something, but won't know what he wants and you'll be angry because you'll be spending the next thirty minutes dealing with him.

Me: Blarney. Mc. Bogsider. Bwa-hahahaha!!!

CK: Bwa-hahahaha!!

SBC: ...

{Fifteen minutes later}

Me: Blarney. McBogsider! Bwa-hahahahahaha!!

CK: Bwa-hahahaha!!

SBC: ...

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