Snippits from a People Watcher

More From San Jose

2011-11-09T14:22:00.000-08:00

This is an exciting day for me.

I am inwardly bubbling because I have received a comment on the "Helen's Cousin From San Jose" post that tells the next chapter in the story. (I hope you don't mind -- you posted under Anonymous so I couldn't check)

Anonymous submits a picture of their own while referencing the street mine was on with a local's familiarity.

Overly neat, obsessive handwriting?

Check.

Pertinent detail match, keywords "Helen's cousin", "San Jose", and a general theme of alleged harassment?

Check.

Excess punctuation? (That misplaced comma just slays me...SLAYS me)

Check!

I have, however, two interesting things to add. Notice the text:

Helen's cousin from San Jose, harassed me for never feeling what she waited for me to.

Okay. That's just weird.

Second, notice how on BOTH pictures, the perfectness of the handwriting begins to degenerate after the third line. Hmmm.

Anyone with more possible details to this tale of love imagined, love lost, and enmity gained, please share!

Sally's Past (aka Legal Terminology Chap 32a)

2011-11-01T15:38:00.000-07:00

Sooo...I have always approached studying in interesting ways. When the last chapter of Legal turned out to be a hodgepodge of random words, I wrote the following to entertain myself:

(bold words are terms used)

When Sally got home from school one Wednesday, she knocked on her mothers' door.

"What is it?" her mother called. Mrs. Thorin was a busy woman; she did not have time for much of Sally's 9-year-old prattle today.

"Mommy," Sally's shrill voice cut through the oak door. "There was a strange man today. A strange man that kept following me. He kept asking me questions."

Mrs. Thorin jerked the door open. "They have stalking laws to prevent that sort of thing! What did he look like?"

"He was old," Sally said, "and he had a big mustache. He said he was my father."

"Alleged father, young lady. I never let him take a paternity test."

"Then what, Mom?" Sally pouted, "Am I adopted? An issue of marriage?"

"Well, That Man and I were married at one point, but we had irreconcilable differences. I had you after we divorced. He tried to go for joint custody, wanted split custody, but got sole custody because he was a cheating, lecherous dirtbag. That means he's a noncustodial parent.

"What kind of differences?" Sally asked.

"Well," her mother hedged, "it was a corporate resolution. It was so serious, they even wrote it out and put the corporate seal on it. The man was not good for my career."

"But MOM," (Sally's brain was not moving too fast, as usual) "Why would the company care who you married to?"

"Well, my father, as you know, was the chairman of the board. he wanted to release more shares on the market, and he made divorcing that sleazy scumpod a condition if I wanted to keep my subscription right. He couldn't have had that sort of control if it was a public corporation, but it was a professional corporation."

Court Observation: Try #2

2011-11-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

The first thing an enterprising observer of the baser issues in life must do –besides locate the proper courthouse – is to decide on the content of the desired case. I, Madam Soon-to-be-Court Reporter took the lead from my fellow college delegates. I took their lead up to the sixth floor. I took their lead back down to the first. Finally, I found it. The menu.

I would like to submit into evidence Exhibit 1: the menu of the day, otherwise known as the court calendar. I scanned the day’s specials. There was certain allure to a homicide case being tried by a one Judge Savage*.

On the elevator, someone overheard our quandary. Two words were all we needed. Those words were “follow me”, and follow we did. We followed to Courtroom 41, a lewd & lascivious case being tried by a Judge Candy. Over the jury box, where the jurors would have to mutate into owls to see it, was a banner proclaiming “Jurors Make the Difference.” I find out through clever deduction that we are sitting in on a child molestation case. I deduced this from the judge and attorneys asking every juror if they’d ever been connected to a molester or molestee. One woman initially stated that she had, but it wouldn’t be a problem. Less than 10 minutes later, she decided it was. Oh well. Would that one more juror had bitten the dust so my favorite juror of the day could have taken the box. In his mid-20s, when asked what he did with his free time, the good-looking young man responded, “Mostly play video games, play my guitar…drink beer.” Life is good.

To lay the case out for any interested parties, I’ll summarize. An 11-year-old wakes in the middle of the night to his mom’s boyfriend getting personal with his “personals” while holding an abnormally large Chihuahua in his other hand (Really. That thing was too big to be a Chihuahua.). Upon the child’s awakening, Mr. Garcia says “Charlie”, aforementioned dog’s name, and deposits the dog on the bed. Then he goes to the wall and hits it, swatting, according to the victim, Jackson, a mosquito. Upon telling his tale to his mother in the morning, it is discovered that the elder brother also allegedly received alleged attentions from Tom Garcia. Panic ensues. Other incidents are now thought to be additional instances of molestation, like when Tom would sit in the bathroom while Jackson studies for a test and quizzes him through the shower curtain, et cetera.

The players are the People, a smartly dressed female attorney who constantly called the defendant “Tom” and stood close to the 11-year-old boy on the stand in a mothering fashion. The attorney for the defense was a man in a tan suit that had difficulty speaking above a whisper. In fact, I have it on good authority that Madam Court Reporter was going to strangle him herself if he didn’t speak up pretty darn soon. Mr. Perez-Tan-Suit refers to the defendant as Mr. Garcia, no doubt to attach respectability to him. Compatriots decide that he is an expensive private attorney. I agree. I also decide to stay for the cross even though I have my hours Just Because it looks Fun. He indeed starts the entertainment off with staying as far away from the boy as possible. I bet he’s afraid to appear threatening.

Let’s learn some testifying tips, shall we?

If you either want to change your testimony or you don’t like the answer that comes to mind, just say you don’t remember. After all, what can they do to you? Example (fictional):

Q. Do you remember telling your daughter that your neighbor’s dog would bite her if she left your property without telling you?

A. I don’t remember.

Q. Yes, you do.

A. No, I don’t. And you can’t make me remember.

Tip two: decide the mental age of your witness. Do not talk down to them. If you do, try not to make it too obvious. Here’s what not to do:

Q. Was Mr. Garcia always the one that initiated the wrestling? I’m sorry. I shouldn't have used such a big word. It’s okay. I didn’t know that word at your age either.

Oooh…patronizing.

However, once you have decided your witness cannot understand words of more than three syllables, and you have informed him that you don’t expect him to, do not do the following. It makes you look like a four-letter word that means “cad” approximately:

Q. Have you spoken to your father about this situation?

A. The what?

Q. About what happened.

Mr. Perez-tan-suit, why would you use big words when little words will do?

How about this: Do child molesters really think that they can sneak in, molest a child, have the child wake up and then leave? Like, “hmm…maybe he’ll think it was all a dream.” All I can say is wishful thinking, much?

And while we’re on questions, how about some observations?

Judge Candy seemed to be paying little attention to the case. He reminded me of a carnival fortune telling machine. You stick a quarter in, and out comes either “Sustained”, “Overruled”, and “Approach the bench”.

Defense wanted to bring up a time when the kid said that a tornado hit his school, but he had actually dreamed it and thought it was real. Defense wanted to bring it up so bad that he snuck it in there three times. I could have played tornado Yatzee.

Let’s wrap up with testimony snippits:

Q. How did you know Tom was calling?

A. [The phone] said ‘inmate calling’.”

And

Q. What don’t you like about mosquitos?

A. They can crawl on you while you’re sleeping.

Note: this is not why people don’t like mosquitos. Keep that in mind.

Finally with

Q. Why didn’t you see his hand?

A. Because I wasn’t looking.

That is all.

*names changed in an effort towards discretion

Helen's Cousin From San Jose

2011-10-31T12:08:00.000-07:00

So. Found this gem on the pavement of my bus stop at 7th and J Street...mentioned it in 120s for you who were there.

As near as I can figure, the author is either a man or a woman (lol), so scenario one is:

Male. Let's call him Bob. Bob knew Helen for some reason. Maybe they were friends or maybe they were lovers, but things didn't stay tight like that. Helen's cousin (from San Jose) comes out for a visit. Maybe she's heard great things about Bob and wants to stake her claim. Bob isn't having any. So....Helen's cousin (from San Jose) goes around the town trash talking him. Bob isn't down with this, so stages a passive-aggressive note on a random sidewalk two blocks from the jailhouse.

Scenario two is more likely, as you've got decent penmenship and the unnecessary use of commas. (Come on...I'm right, aren't I?):

Female. We'll ignore the possibility that she's speaking of herself in the third person and assume this concerns three women. We'll call our main character Robin. Helen's cousin (from San Jose) heard about the rockin' times that Helen and Robin were having down in old Sactown and wanted a piece of that action. She trains on down, but Robin doesn't want anything to do with her. She's good with fast times with her bestie Helen. Helen's cousin (from San Jose) feels her offer of friendship spurned and begins to smear her already somewhat shady reputation around the streets. Robin goes passive-aggressive on her dirty blond head of lies and invective and posts a paragraph of doubtful prose.

In the comments, explain why her puncuation is incorrect lol

Mark Hill: How it Happened

2011-06-10T12:16:00.000-07:00

Kay, so today's post is kinda random so lemme explain. Day in and day out in dictation, we hear bits and pieces of really interesting cases but just get a few facts sprinkled in here and there. One such is Mark Hill who was involved in a robbery. I got a jury charge the other day where part of it went "knew it was an officer arresting him". Mark Hill was just begging to have his story told.

So I did what I do best.

I made something up out of thin air and brain synapse and posted it on Facebook. Here for your reading pleasure: Mark Hill

Ah, Mark Hill. Everyone's favorite intrepid burglar! And since I *do* love stories, here is a (somewhat) plausible summation of what went down...

Mark Hill was not your average young hoodlum. True, he had attended one year of community college and dropped out due to poor attendance and loitered…if he had time. He slunk rather than walked in order to avoid losing his baggy trousers, and it was true that he kept various colors of store-brand spray paint in the back of his '87 Ford clunker pickup "just in case." What made him special, unique even, was that he had a real talent for picking locks. And that his father was Littleton's Chief of Police.

It was hard being the son of a cop. Mark had sold the last of his Christmas presents to pay for his skunk habit, but he needed his next fix. He could feel his fingers twitching with a nervous jitter as he slunk down the street by Mr. Foster's house. Mr. Foster, a friend of his father's, presented a fine picture of what obese, balding men looked like on a riding lawn mower with no shirt on. Mark winced and tried to unsee what had just been seen.

The roar of the mower cut out. "Mark!" the man yelled, and Mark looked up, trying to focus solely on the face.

"Yes, Mr. Foster?"

"I'm taking the lady out of town for a few days; see the sights in Death Valley, the salt flats and so on. I meant to ask you pappy to ask you, but...could you keep an eye out for any packages? I'm waitin' for a box of...well...I'm waiting for a box. Just keep it for me, would you?"

"Sure," he mumbled, continuing towards home. An idea began to percolate. Gone for a couple of days? He craftily matched this information with his lock-picking skills and came up with a plan. A plan to rob someone who practically deserved to be robbed.

The next night, Mark was ready. He'd laid out his night-walking costume consisting of dark blue jeans, his brown hiking boots, and his mother's old black windbreaker when she had been pregnant with his younger brother (now at Harvard). From his spy tower on the second floor, he had seen the Fosters load up into a dangerously swaying motor home and drive off. The house

was decidedly empty.

Mark was pretty sure his parents were asleep, but he tiptoed past the master bedroom and out the back door. As he crossed the road all careful-like, Mark was feeling pretty proud of himself, felt like a real thief. And it was actually kind of thrilling.

The front door lock was a breeze. He sidled into the den and beheld enough equipment to fill Ali Baba’s treasure den. He headed over to the 73 ½ inch plasma screen monstrosity and began to unplug the wiring. Mark didn’t know how he was going to get it out, but he knew he was going to somehow.

Then it hit him. The jitters. It had been 3 full days since his last hit, and only one thing cured the cravings. He just had to hope the Fosters were his kind of people.

The kitchen was spartan, the item of main importance obviously the extra large refrigerator and freezer (no doubt filled with frozen pizzas and other such delicacies). The fridge, how

ever, yielded the desired items: Kraft American cheese singles.

Yum.

He plopped that package on the island and got down to work. Unwrapping each slice of cheese was kinda annoying, but what’s a guy to do? When he needs his Kraft, he needs it.

Mark was in the throes of his sixth slice of the evening when he heard a step on the stoop. Why would someone be here? He shoved the rest of the package into his voluminous back pocket and made for the back door. His fledgling burglary attempt was about to turn into a fiasco!

In the hall nightlight, he saw the face of the interloper. Curses! He made for the back door, but felt his knees yanked out from under him. The man yelled “On the ground, Mark!”

Mark gave a mighty kick, hoping to score somewhere above the knee and below the abs, but got the gun belt instead. The gun belt of a Littleton Police Officer. Damn! Mark thought he had recognized that face. It was the face of the first baseman on the police baseball team. He wiggled free and ran…but only until the copper wire of the taser snaked out and zapped his brain silly.

The officer suddenly thought he smelled burning cheese.

Ten minutes later, backup arrived…along with Chief Hill who was still in his robe and slippers. “Mark…” he said, “Oh Mark, what am I going to do with you?”

Wow Mark. Sucks to be you.

Comic

2011-05-11T13:33:00.000-07:00

Don't ask me where this came from. I don't know. Or maybe has to do with the fact that if I have kids, I'm dressing them in only yellows and greens so as to have maximum fun with strangers. This is what I wish I could say.

Make it Hot

2011-05-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

Caution: Pick up line ahead!

So there I am in MexiGong drive-thru, doin' my SexyVoice™ when an SUV pulls up with two guys my age(ish) in it. I'm running both orders and cashier duties, so I get their credit card and make the payment. When guy 1 (G1) hands the receipt thingy back, G2 says:

"Does that receipt come with your phone number?" :D

Really?

Well, we're doing a program where we want people to call in and give good reviews. If they mention my name, even better. I figured, lets turn this into something good:

"It comes with a phone number that, if you call and leave a review of MexiGong, you have a chance to win a thousand dollars!" *ching!* tooth sparkle* "Would you like any sauce with your order?"

G1: I'd like some...HOT sauce (imagine twitching eyes accompanying this)

Me: Okay, some hot sauce. (I'm getting it set up)

G2: I'd like some fiiiiire sauce!

G1: Don't give him any; he can't have any.

G2: No! I want some fiiiire sauce!

G1: He can't have any. It's too hot and it makes him cry.

G2: But I want some!

Me: I'll give you a fire sauce. (I hold up one packet and place it on the small mountain of hot sauce.

G2: Only one?

Me: I don't want you to cry...

G1: Too bad you're married

Me: Indeed

G2: He's joking! I'm not married...

Me: (laughs, trying not to snort) Here's your food.

Next car pulls up:

Older Lady: They sounded like they were in a good mood...

Me: Hey, at least you're not flirting with me (she laughs)--not that you couldn't if you wanted to--I'm sure you'd be good at it...

People interest me.

Story!

2011-05-04T15:58:00.001-07:00

Hey all!

One of my stories just posted over at realbloggersunited.blogspot.com

Check it out if you get a chance :)

Say Again?

2011-05-04T12:20:00.001-07:00

Today's transcript treasures...

I mean really. I want to find these people and ask them more questions.

Att: And how did the accident damage your marriage?

Wns: It ruined our sex life.

Yay! Sex! Every transcript could use a little spicing up with some sex...

Att: I don't mean to get too personal or pry--

Get personal! Pry! Pleeeeeazzze!

Att: But how many times a week did you have sex before the accident?

Wns: Oh, every day. Then after the accident, I was in too much pain to want sex as much as he did. That's when he found that woman.

Att: Do you know where he met her?

Wns: No, and I don't care.

Classmate 1 (female) to Clssmt 2 (male): See? They're still out there, you just have to look.

And the joy of reading through a piece of the O.J. trial with my teacher deadpanning O.J. saying "I loved her. I loved her very much." with the obvious subtext is "...if I wasn't a lying sack of New York sewer waste."

That, along with a two-parter on a guy who got maced at two different bars "for no reason" made for a killer day.

Lalala! I Can't Hear You!

2011-04-29T10:01:00.000-07:00

Ok. Just because I have decided to pick up my fiction, that doesn't mean that I could ever abandon my people watching roots.

Conversely, all my stories could be works of fiction, and you would never know! That's the beauty of it.

So, this really happened. (Or did it? That's for you to guess and me to know.)

Anyway.

There I am on the bus with my trusty headphones in (spy *ahem* people watcher's tool number 4) and the scene sits as such:

In front is a Caucasian blond woman, nice shiny blond hair, with a tattoo of a hawk head on the left bicep and the words "Born Wild" in script on the other. In front of her is an older Asian

man. A trio of Af. Am. mothers with their small children enter. Cue dialog:

Well, to be honest, I have no clue what they said. The point I started paying attention was when the Asian gentleman started screaming at them to be quiet with a strong accent.

"You're being so noisy! All this talk talk talk! I can't hear anything! You need to be quiet!" or some such. The mothers, of course, had to have their say--or their "shout" rather:

"What you talking about! Don't tell ME to shut up! You're so rude! Yah! You're the rude one! I'll talk as loud as I want!" and so on.

The thing that makes this more than just a petty spat on the bus (trips without

them are few and far between) is the lengths that the Mom Side went to to taunt the poor Asian man, who broke out at one point in what I can only assume was Mandarin while shoving his fingers halfway down his ear canals.

Sure, he probably shouldn't have yelled at them in the first place, but for the next ten minutes (literally), they made a point to be really loud, talk about how rude he was and, with the help of the blond woman in front of me, encouraged their brood to make as much noise as possible.

An example:

"I think you have something to say! You wanna be loud? Noisy? You just scream as loud as you can now!"

Really? Can we at least TRY to act like adults, even if we aren't?

Ok, so maybe not. But I can always hope.

Let's Change It Up

2011-04-27T12:05:00.000-07:00

I realized today, looking through my blog, that something strange has been happening. I pondered it a bit, and it got through to me:

I haven't actually been writing for a while now.

I haven't been working on a fanfic that I actually have a large number of readers for.

I haven't been writing blog entries for you all to laugh and snark at.

I haven't been writing short stories.

I haven't even been working on one of my novels. And if I don't work on it, how will it ever get discovered, published, and make me a swimming pool of money deep enough to drown in?

That's right, it won't.

So, to fix this glaring error in my word count, I shall:

Be reviewing books from a cool website that will send them to you free if you review them. As my budget's a bit short right now, free books are a good thing.

Stop watching episodes of NCIS, Downtown Abby, and Sherlock, even though I adore Benedict Cumberbatch.

Perform writing exercises with my mother, the first of which was to pick three random nouns from a dictionary and write a piece about it. (This is not as easy as it sounds -- just try it for yourself, and be prepared to laugh. A glass of beer helps.) This week: Graveclothes, wreath, and skean.

Make writing a priority when not doing schoolwork. Sadly, this means I will probably have to read less, but such is a sacrifice....that I am not really willing to make. This option will be saved for last I think. This also means that, because I will be forcing myself to write and not just when whimsy takes me, some of my posts may not entirely be "blog title on-topic."

Oooorr, I could make like Jennifer (cake wrecks lady) and start another blog. But that honestly sounds like too much work. And if you know anything of me by now, you'll know I'm kinda lazy.

Thoughts from the whirling maelstrom of the Internet?

Ah, Caffeine Scribbles

2011-04-15T08:53:00.001-07:00

...and now you know the brief for "culpable mental state." Believe me, NOT fun to write that out when you're trailing.

Scribbles

2011-04-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

This is what happens with I'm waiting for dictation to start:

Guest Post!

2011-03-31T09:00:00.000-07:00

Check out my guest post at Mel's blog today.

It's part one of the Jane Eyre Partyparty last Saturday!

Serving Up Discounts

2011-03-25T09:24:00.000-07:00

Man comes in dressed in his air-force camos and orders his meal.

Me: And I'll throw on that military discount for you...

Him: How could you tell?

Me: Well...

Him: It must have been the hair cut that tipped you off.

(oh yeah: he was pretty much bald)

Me: Ahahaha...actually it was the Jagermeister pen.

Really, the guy took me by surprise. I like to joke around with my taco consumers, but they usually make me have to work at it. Thank you, military man, for catching me off guard!

Hide Your Car Keys

2011-03-12T15:54:00.000-08:00

I'm on a Saturday midday shift this time, and a man comes up. I recognize him as a regular in the evening when I'm at the drive-thru.

Me: I recognize you! Decided to come in the store this time?

Him: Well, I've been drinking all weekend, so I thought I'd walk.

Me: Aaahh...

Him: 12 crunchy tacos to go?

What Effect Does MexiGong Have on the General Populace?

2011-03-11T12:08:00.000-08:00

I'm having some interesting questions come to mind.

Such as:

What is it about MexiGong that drives people to drink?

Is there something about cheap liquor that causes munchies that only MexiGong can satisfy?

I need help to understand this....

If no one responds with a plausible thought, I might have to make something up, and NO one wants that.

The item below was found in the women's restroom and brought to me by a co-worker who knows how I roll.

Scavenger Hunt!

2011-03-08T16:51:00.000-08:00

I got to thinking about those games and retreats that highly paid execs go to where they learn to trust each other, fall, and receive multiple awkward backrubs. Even though we’re not very highly paid, MexiGong employees deserve to experience this magic.

And I’ve thought of the perfect way.

If you read the title of this post (I know not all of you do), you probably know what I mean.

There are plenty of interesting places to hide “treasures” around then place here. I’ll let you guess which ones I have actually found items in thus far:

Inside the trash doors, but not inside the trash CAN
Inside the cubby under the soft drink area, but to the side
Behind the seat cushions on a funky black ledge
Inside the water reservoirs of the toilets
Jammed up inside the seat cover dispenser in the men’s bathroom
Taped under a table or chair
Hidden inside a soap dispenser next to the bag of soap
Tucked up under the men’s sink in the insulation

Although all of these are good ideas, (and I’m sure I’ll see them in use eventually), the answers for now are E and H.

I think the issue of the men’s bathroom is that it doesn’t have a trashcan. I mean, when it comes down to it, what normal thing needs to be done routinely in a man’s life in a public bathroom that can’t wait an hour? (Hrmmm…don’t answer that) So, when a man needs to take care of a little extra baggage, he’s going to try to find a way to stash it so that the next man (or MexiGong employee going in to clean the bathroom) won’t see, remember who came out last, and JUDGE.

The first set I found was E: Seat cover dispenser. “What?” you ask. And I would say, “An empty 4-pack of AA batteries and the packaging for KY Massage Oil For Him And Her.”

Then we would both collectively say “Eeeeeww….”

I ask you…really? I mean, I’ve got ideas for that batteries, but the other is confusing. In a MexiGong bathroom? REALLY?

As for the other item, this one I really like. I had leaned over to pick something off the floor (with gloved hands of course) and noticed an object in the H hiding place. What could it be?

It was a mostly empty bottle of Southern Comfort, I tell you! It had about a fifth left in it. I proudly bore it to the back, dodged into the break room and took a pic for you all (with my camera phone!) and tossed it in the trash. Then I invited the rest of the workers and my manager to see my prize.

Again I ask. Really? I may be heading into conjecture here, but I’m really trying to figure out the circumstances of this one.

There you are on a Monday, and by golly you need a drink! You go to the liquor store and plunk down $8.99 plus tax for a plastic bottle of Southern Comfort.

Now, you don’t want to go dumping something that’s 100 proof on an empty stomach, so you feel like a little MexiGong to take the edge off of that initial rubbing alcohol buzz.

“2 crunchy tacos to go” you say, and then “a water cup,” because of course, just because that’s what it’s called doesn’t mean that’s what you’re planning on putting in it, right? ‘Cause that would just be dumb.

Plus, you’ve already got a beverage.

You down those crunchy tacos like a crocodile yanking a struggling zebra down to the bottom of the river. Now you REALLY need a drink to dull the crunchy edges of those tacos hitting your stomach lining.

You head into the bathroom—some place private.

Before you realize it, 4/5s of the bottle is gone!

That’s all right. It wasn’t like you were planning on sharing it anyway.

Now’s where we start diverging:

But then people start knocking on the door. After all, it has been an hour. In a drunken stupor, you accidentally ate the paper bag it came in, thinking it was a steak quesadilla with extra jalapeño sauce, and you can’t just carry the bottle out OPENly..sooo…you stuff it up under the sink; lodging it in the pipes and insulation.

Then, because you’re drunk, you forget it was there to retrieve.

You hear cop sirens screech to a halt outside the door. Crap! They know what you did last summer! (finally…) It will be even worse if they catch you will alcohol on your person (never mind the fact that you’re reeking of 100 proof), so you stash it and hightail it out the other door.

You realize that you are hungry again, so you stash the bottle and run out and get 2 more tacos. By the time you go back in, an intrepid MexiGong employee has removed it.

‘Kay, so in the comments, I would love to hear what explanations y’all can come up with for why I found this!

Good Luck on That....

2011-03-04T15:52:00.000-08:00

Here's a tip for all you employmentally challenged out there.

If you are a creeper, or have creepy characteristics, it's usually better to be hired first before showing them off to the (prospective) employer.

"What?" you say while tucking sauce packets for later down the back of your trousers while telling the lobby cashier that if she really wants a good time when she gets off (when is that again?), she should come to your place and you guys can -----

But I'm getting ahead of myself. And possibly skating a little too close to dangerous waters should I finish my sentence.

A man came in the other day: tall, black hair/beard (would have to go--frown-y face!) and wide, frantic eyes, a large plastic WalMart bag clutched in hand.

Man: Are you hiring?

Me: We're usually accepting applications, we might be due for another rotation of hiring...

Man: I already TURNED in an application! They never called me back!!!!! (grr)

Me: How long ago was that?

Man: A YEAR!

Me: Ummm (you dingbat, for any place I know, they don't keep those things for more than a year...and if they got your application and didn't bother calling you when an interview day came around, there must have been something wrong with it) Try submitting one again.

Man: (takes app) They'd better call THIS time....

Me: Good luck (on that...NOT. *pout* Doesn't want to work with crazy, twitchy man precious)

It Must Have Been Important

2011-03-04T11:53:00.000-08:00

Woman, after buying a couple of items: Do you have a cell phone?

Me: A cell phone? (I must have misheard this...)

Woman: Yeah, a cell phone. I need to call my sister.

Me: No, (not for you to use) I'm (not) sorry.

There are at least 4 things wrong with this. Can you find them all? Bonus points are available...

Work Snippits

2011-03-03T10:10:00.000-08:00

Woman: I'd like a bean burrito with no onions, no red sauce, and no mustard.

Us: Okay...

Me to coworker: make sure you note that part about the mustard down on the wrapper so she knows for sure.

3 variations of the comment:

Them: "You have such a nice manner! You're far to nice to be working at MexiGong!"

Me: I'm glad you think so! Could you call the number on the back of the receipt and let my bosses know? You might win a $1,000! (Ha, as if)

What I'm thinking: raaaiiiissse....

Her: Three kid's meals with Sprite

Us: Nachos or (desert item that would totally give away where I worked, because it's a secret and all) on those meals?

Her: That's fine

Us: Pardon me, but WTF?

Redgirl's dulcet voice strikes again: On one day, got three comments.

Woman: You have such a nice drive-thru voice!

Me: Teehee, thanks. I used to work at a hotel. Some dude even wanted to let me know it was sexy.

Woman: (eyes light up) Oh! Yeah! I wanted to tell you that your voice would be perfect for phone sex!

Me: (smiles, thinking: Oh? And how's the money in that? Do you know anyone who's accepting applications? 'Cause, you know the money AND the hours have got to better than here...)

Co-worker food preparer on one side of the food line (A): Ok, got the 12 crunchy taco pack here

Co-worker food preparer on the OTHER side of the line (B): Um...YOU made the crunchy tacos?

A: Yeah...you asked me to.

B: I thought I asked you to make the soft tacos and burritos...

A: No...

(cue frantic looks. side one gets started on other items, and there appears a bag of available crunchy tacos in the break room. redgirl avoids buying dinner that night and has tacos instead)

Weeewaaa...(kind of) looking forward to work tonight. I prepared by drinking several shots of espresso and practicing my "earnest" flavored smile in the mirror.

Packaging for Complete Idiots

2011-03-02T16:09:00.000-08:00

Good morning class! How are you all today? Don't answer that...we both know I don't care as long as you pay me my hourly teaching fee.

We'll take a break from learning to cook microwave pasta and rose flavored frog legs to discuss how you'll package your miracle meal when you finally make it into the big time: Frozen Dinners.

There are two ways to do packaging for weight loss meals. One way is to tell people that it's "light" or "lean." If you're going with this option, you're a sissy. All you do is slap a light blue or green back ground on it which implies that it's not only light and lean, it's green. And you make the food look attractive. Any photographer with a Polaroid camera can make your grandma's fish patties look tasty--with the right garnish.

I'm here to teach you the insidious, sneaky option.

You want them to take one look at that box and decide not to finish their plate. The challenge is to get them to buy it in the first place. Get out your pens and pencils; it's time to take notes. I direct your attention to the overhead:

Notice the dark red of the packaging, eliciting the association of blood. You want this, especially with chicken, which is not a red meat. And by all means, use parts of the human body in food descriptors! The marketer in this case has gone with the conventional "fingers," but you can probably do better than that. Homework part A is 3 food/body part submissions. That means you, Jack, so stop looking sullen.

The second food should always have a goopy look. The designer has been bold with this element; he threw in some indistinguishable noodle type substances that end up looking like a pig's small intestines smothered in melted margarine. That's a good tip, class! If you're calling it mac 'n cheese (or whatever the heck they called it), make sure you don't add any cheese. It's made out of COW FAT.

And finally, you must include a dessert. This is a requirement. If it's in the brownie family, the best way to make it look inedible (unless you're going with the "cracked, dry" approach, which is another lesson), add a shine to it. This just makes it look heavy and icky. Throw that pic on there like the black hole of the dish it actually is, and trademark that baby!

Next week, we learn the 10 important reasons to use alcohol in cooking.

**This box was sitting unattended on the table at school. Wildebeast and I discussed it thoroughly, especially the apparent in-edibility of the brownie. When I picked it up, sure enough! The brownie had one bit gone, but that was it lol

Dear Sir

2011-03-01T13:57:00.001-08:00

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,

To start off, I'd like to say I understand that you're only human, and therefore you make mistakes. So do I! It is with this understanding that I wish to address a couple things with you. The sorts of things I would say on an evaluation form if I were ever asked to do one for you.

Remember yesterday? I sure do! I boarded the bus to find you in a private moment: picking your nose. It was with this knowledge that I (understandably, I think) wanted to avoid touching your fingers when I showed you my bus pass. Yes, the new ones are very shiny. I *am* kind of perplexed that you, being a bus driver would fail to recognize the years's newest bus pass design. Not recognizing it, in fact so much so that you needed to hold it. I was willing to let you, (as long as you didn't touch my fingers) and let go of it, just in time for you to fumble and drop it. I'm still not sure that touching the floor was a worse alternative to booger fingers.

But hey, I understand. Like I said, it was shiny.

The problem I'm finding harder to explain away happened next. You pulled the bus out of the stop, made the two lefts to get on the highway--but due to a lack of attention (?)on your part, you made another left before reaching the proper intersection, and we were treated to another round of "circle the block," thereby wasting precious minutes that could mean making or missing my bus connection in Sac.

The woman in front of me asked me if you were new--no doubt to enable herself to find some modicum of forgiveness in her heart.

Don't worry, I assured her that you were a veteran. I don't mind telling you that I kinda wanted to get off right then and there. After all, if I can't trust you to pay attention on a dark, quiet, residential road, how can I trust you at speeds exceeding 50mph on the highway of death?

That's right, I didn't think so.

'Til next Friday then!

Not-so-affectionately,

Redgirl

I'm Sorry (No You're Not)

2011-02-28T16:06:00.001-08:00

This is not a rant blog.

That being the case, every now and then, I notice something that I feel compelled to point out, and thus drag any readers I actually have down the rabbit hole of justification and rationalization with me. So let's go.

I have a thing about people not really meaning what they say. I reference my post on people asking "how you are?" I'm not sure I put up a post on it, but the same goes for people saying the dreaded words "we should do coffee sometime." When I whip out my calender and say "OK, what time looks good this week?" and I catch the "deer in the headlights" look, I know that they didn't mean it. Then comes the interesting task of trying to let them off the hook without them realizing you've realized that they didn't mean it. It just gets awkward.

Something I've noticed while working the drive-thru window of MexiGong is the particular habit many of my coworkers have of saying "I'm sorry" every time they mishear or mispunch something in.

Example:

Them: 5 tacos please.

Us: Okay, crunchy tacos.

Them: I wanted them soft.

Us: Sorry about that...Okay, 5 soft tacos?

Problem 1: They aren't sorry. Why should they be sorry? It wasn't really a mistake per say. Misunderstandings happen. Between you and the customer, the order will be resolved to proper correctness, and throwing out a casual "sorry about that" does not mean you are sorry. Which leads to...

Problem 2: Getting into the habit of saying sorry when you don't mean it. It's kind of like the "how are you" thing. It feels uncomfortably like lying to me. It becomes something you just say, soon to be devoid of any meaning whatsoever.

When I'm taking an order, I only apologize when something was truly a mistake on my part, not just when the customer misspoke and therefore I mispunched. And when I apologize, you can hear that I actually mean it.

It just makes me want to put my plan into effect.

A) win the lottery

B) open a restaurant of the fast food variety solely for the purposes of the following experiment:

All my employees must be absolutely truthful. When asked how they are doing, they must tell it like it is. If they are not sorry, don't say it. If a customer is being rude and crazy, you are not required to be nice. When catheter Carl comes in, you do NOT need to give him dollar bills for his skeezy pennies.

What about you? What sorts of things do you find yourself saying that you don't mean, just because it's part of your job or your life?

Why I Wear Headphones

2011-02-15T13:38:00.001-08:00

…except I forgot my ipod today. This afforded me the luxury of getting to witness, hear, and actually take part in the affairs around me. Also make snarky commentary because I was bored out of my mind.

Let's kick it off with my ride on the Sac city bus homeward:

Woman1: Don't you go thinking I'm crazy by the way I look!

Me: No…we think you're crazy because you're talking to yourself, eating an orange peel straight, and carrying a large piece of dead palm tree matter on the bus.

I'm trying of stay out of the following conversation:

Man: Yup, I've been in the hospital for a month, just got out a day or two ago. Gotta work on my tan.

Woman2: Oh no! What happened? (why did you ask that? Why? WHY?)

Man: Well, I was out for dinner with my family and half way through, I got up to use the bathroom and passed out. They found me in the hall passed out when I didn't come back. They thought I had had a heart attack, but it wasn't. So they put me on oxygen for a month.

Woman1: Yeah, that's baaad

Man: Yeah, when I went in, I was at 146. When I came out, I was at 106.

I have to stop this charming narrative here. Maybe he was using kilograms as a measure? Maybe he has a special scale? Maybe he's NUTS?

Oh yeah, that's probably it.

Well, I can't help the small amused smirk that probably crossed my face which apparently was interpreted by the palm-bearing lady as an inviting-let's-get-to-know-each-other sort of smile.

Her: You are a very pretty girl

Me: …thanks (Nervous smile. Don't want to encourage them, you know)

Her: You are! Your hair is just so pretty. Do you have Irish in you?

Me: I believe so; a little.

Her: You're very pretty. I know because I'm an artist. I sculpt. (Waves palm piece menacingly)

I'd dye my hair to avoid this stuff if I didn't:

A) Happen to really like it the way it is.

B) Want to lose my automatic place on bucket lists world wide

C) Mourn the lack of amusing blog fodder

But let's continue our bus journey!

An overweight young woman clamors on and I hear a yelp behind me: "Christine Hernandez! What are you doing here?"

Turns out Christine is on her way to the dentist to get a root canal. Yippee for her.

As the conversation continues, I find it odd that they obviously know each other and are interested in talking, but are sitting at opposite ends of an uncrowded bus yelling over my head.

Artist lady has left, and a woman gets on and sits in front of me where Christine has vacated. She is wearing a very fuzzy leopard print hat. So help me God but I really really wanted to reach out and pet it. Here kitty kitty!

I wonder if people think about who has sat in the seat before them. I remember a day where an obese man with his pants so low a plumber would probably sue for trademark infringement nestle down in a chair to the horrified astonishment of the bus population. When he left, no one in the crowded bus moved to the now-empty seat, even though they were pretty packed. Two stops later, a young, innocent school girl got on and plopped right down. All I could do is wince.

Like, what happens when you settle down in an area that reeks of KFC-eating homeless bum, and when you get up, you still smell that man almost as if he were dogging your footsteps? Your choices are:

A) The smell is just lingering in your nostrils

B) What ever they left on the seat has migrated to you

C) Check behind you for a satiated bum

Fuzzy hat lady leaves (sad face) and semi-attractive man sits down…except…sir? Sir? Excuse me? Bowl cuts went out of style along with sending your third son to join the priesthood.

The commuter bus north was fine…except for the fact that I seem to have an unhappy knack of picking seats near people who are going to want to talk on the phone the entire way home. Loudly. This happens more often than not, especially if I want to sleep.

Two quick things from school today:

Wearing cheap black sunglasses indoors while working on a computer in a windowless room does not make you look cool. It makes you look stupid.

No, a cupcake is not supposed to be crunchy. This is not an adjective you may apply to said pastry. If they are crunchy, we refer to them as something else. Like burnt. Or just trash.

Tonight, we have another five to midnight shift, so lets all cross our fingers and hope for some drive-thru crazyness!

Taco Tales: With Extra Lettuce Because I'm Dieting

2011-02-08T15:23:00.001-08:00

I'm happy to report that the little snippit that I wrote about insuring your spouses was not even the GOOD part of the week! I had a fantastic night at the drive through last night, in that I got me some storyz for y'all. (yes, I work tirelessly at this. it's not easy, and you're not always worth it, but I have hope)

Over the headset, I heard Lettuce Lady, aka Mrs. Iceberg ordering a tostada. She said she wanted extra lettuce, then started asking for extra of things that aren't on the tostada to begin with. My co-worker tried to explain what all was on the item, but Mrs. Iceberg wasn't having any of it. SHE knew what was most important:

"I want extra lettuce! Because you guys are real stingy with your lettuce! You only put like a tablespoon on and call it good!"

Any more lettuce than normal would really be like ordering a taco salad on a crunchy taco plate.

Man pulls in the the drive thu, finishes his order and wants a drink.

Me: What would you like?

Him: Tall Pepsi

Me: Pardon?

Him: Tall Pepsi

Me: (silence) So...a small?

(silence, as he contemplates what he's said)

Him: Yes, actually

(we both bust into laughter, adversely affecting my menu time quotas)

Me: Starbuck much?

Him: You have no idea.

Man: I want your new burrito combo (It's a HUGE burrito, people. Around 700 calories, surpassed only in the amount of sodium -- more than 3 TIMES the amount of calories! I said this place isn't inherently unhealthy. I didn't say you wouldn't blow up like Aunt Marge and need to be buried in a piano box if you wallowed in the trough of uninhibited consumption...)

Me: And what would you like to drink with tha--

Man: And I want that new quesedilla, the big one (750 calories: cha-chEEENG)

Me: Ok...and what did you want to drink with your combo?

Man: Can you make it an extra large? And since I'm on a diet....I'll take a diet Pepsi!

Me: (confused as to his definition of the words "diet")

Car load of young men comes through. At the menu, they are scatter-brained, can't seem to put a coherent sentence together. They keep saying the wrong thing and giving me the old

"Why is THAT there? THAT'S not what I ordered!"

(Me) "....That's the number one combo that you ordered..."

(Him) "Oh. I didn't mean that one...."

They get up to the window, and it's 4 guys in a teensy li'l old car. And it's obvious that they're all higher than Lawnchair Larry ever made it.

Why, you ask?

Hyper man one says: "This is--this is--that is why I don't do drugs. Ever. I would be, you know, even more messed up--confused by that menu---even now than I am...

Me: Uh huh...

Hyper man two: Hey! What time do you get off? What are you doing when you get off?

Long time readers will know that I have encountered this question before, and with disastrous, yet humorous results.

Seeing as my boss was standing not too far behind me, I decided not to play with the poor drunk boys.

"Midnight, and then off to sleep!" Flash quick smile, hand food, slam takeout window.

Coworker: You should have gotten their numbers!

Me: Huh??

Coworker: Their numbers! You should have asked for their numbers!

Me: I didn't WANT their numbers....

Boss: You should have asked for their numbers...

Me: I would have liked to play with them...'Would you like some (breath) sauce with that?' <--- in my best seductive voice

Boss and Coworker: They would have given you their numbers...

All these happenings are slowly trying to eradicate the little room in my mind where lives the infamous "Catheter Carl", as some ladies from my church call him. Ah well, there's the good, the bad, and the Carls in every work place.

And now, for some audience participation:

What is the good, the bad, and the Carl where you work? Where you've worked in the past? On your morning commute?

Advice for the Ages

2011-02-08T14:11:00.001-08:00

My dear sweet place of work kept me out 'till midnight last night. Already sleep deprived, this did not bode well for the bus ride to school this morning.

My nap on the commuter bus went well. (Basically: Get on bus, fall asleep, wake up when bus starts stopping at lights in Sac)

It's the city bus that's a wee bit more tricky. It stops every 8.4 seconds, so the "stopping rule" doesn't work when I want a nap. The trip from there takes 35 minutes, so I set my phone for 30 and called it good.

When I woke up in a part of town I didn't recognize, I called it Not Good. Luckily, it just retraces its route and the bus driver wanted to chat on her 15 minute break. From her, I bring you this sage advice after mentioning what economic struggles she had gone through after her husband died:

"When you get married, insure his ass"

You're all quite welcome.

That Certain Boquet...

2011-02-01T14:09:00.001-08:00

Welcome to today's lesson on the the five senses.

These are:

Touch, sight, hearing, taste, and smell.

If something is hot or painful, you can choose not to touch it (unless you are tied up, but we'll ignore torture...for the moment). If something is ugly or frightening, you can close your eyes or look away (...but that doesn't mean it's not there). If you don't like what some one's saying, you can put your fingers in your ears and begin a litany of "lalala". And taste? Why, do what we tell toddlers every day: Don't put that in your mouth!

While smell may seem simple as well, events of yesterday have proven otherwise. See, there is a polite way and an impolite way to defend against each offense; like with hearing. I simple wear noise cancelling headphones to avoid vapid conversation* such as:

"Oh HELL no! She did not just wear that! She's black! B**** can't f***in' wear no booty shorts like no white girl!"

"She ain't GOT no booty!"

"Well black girl gotta have booty or she no f***in' black girl!"

*Ahem*

Problem with smell is, the most you can do is breathe through your mouth...but what then when your mouth tastes bad?

The man who got on the city bus must be the smartest guy in the world--there's nothing like securing your personal space than body odor that would drive a mother polar bear to offer her young to a wandering seal shaman on a floating iceberg if he would cut off her nose.

Told you that to tell you this:

At work, there's a man who comes in the evening and sits in a corner table, just gets himself a small soda cup, and camps for hours. The story goes that he's killed someone. Why? Because that's what he tells someone here about once a week. And who are we to argue with a murderer? Exactly. Also, after he uses the bathroom, the idea is to check it. If you do, you will get the reward of discovering a couple little liquor bottles. Empty because he has emptied them into his cup of soda.

Unfortunately, I've never had lobby at the right time to *discover* these treasures.

Friend of Bum1 comes in, we'll call him Bum2. Bum2 stinks. He stinks so badly that after about 10 minutes, the smell has wafted over to and behind the counter and sits there as a stagnant swamp miasma. Bum2 orders some burritos for himself and Bum1. He asks me to grill them AFTER he has paid. And, well, the computer doesn't let me do a side order of grilled by itself. You have to do it TO something, and we do charge for it. (don't ask me why. the only reasons I can think of include words like corporate conspiracy and racket) Then he wants a water cup.

*Sigh*

We go ahead and grill them anyway, and I'm to tell him that next time, he has to tell us before or no-go. Like that's going to happen. Then, while we're making his food, he disappears into the men's commode.

CoWorker: You know he's going in there to take a shower.

Me: Why did you tell me that....

I notice that his water cup has something other than clear liquid in it, so it adds to the speech I have to give when he comes out. I tell him all this, and he pretends to listen while I pretend to believe him when he says he won't do it again.

What is surprising to me is that the smell has gotten worse. I don't know if the water somehow released some sort of pent-up....something....or what. What I will say is that it was difficult not to lose my dinner, especially as I had to hold it together for another 2.5 HOURS.

And you can't perform good customer service while pinching your nose.

The final point of this is that I do understand how difficult it can be for the homeless or those of limited means to find regular access to bathing facilities (other than our restroom), but:

: even for paying guests, 2 1/2 hours is excessive

: my normal guests don't leave chunks of food ground into the floor and liberally smearing the table where they are sitting.

I'll take a drunk murderer over a skeevy slob any day.

*This is real. I am so not making this up. It was hilarious!

Practice Makes Perfect

2011-02-01T12:27:00.001-08:00

I usually share things that actually happen to me, or at least within two persons.

But every now and again, I come across a snippit that is really too funny.

In school, we have these fake court sessions that give the higher speeds a chance to practice with 4 different voices, and I often help.

This morning, we got the following piece of Q & A. Q is the lawyer (obvs) and A is a highway patrolman assigned to traffic.

Q Did you ask him to perform any other field sobriety tests?

A Yes, I did.

Q Which test?

A Counting backwards from 100 to 80.

Q And did he perform this test satisfactorily?

A No, he did not.

Q What did he do?

A He counted backwards from 100 to 91, then said 80 and stopped.

See, apparently, this guy had failed the "writing the alphabet on a piece of paper" test, and seemed confused at the "count your fingers for me", even though he managed that one a few times with coaching. I don't think I've ever gotten to the point that I couldn't write the alphabet or be confused with counting my fingers.

Someone obviously needs to learn this info WHEN HE IS SOBER so that the cops won't think he's drunk just because he's dumb.

How about you? Do you ever practice the alphabet backwards .... just in case? :P

Commotion!

2011-01-25T13:27:00.001-08:00

Ah, MexiGong! You never cease to delight me with not only your customers, but with the bonus events for your regulars!

First, you sent in Steve. Steve told me that he came in because our drive-thru was closed.

Steve: I thought it was strange, but I figured maybe you're just fixing it.

Me: Our drive-thru is open (I gesture). What would make you think so it was closed?

Steve: (Points in opposite direction) But it had signs on it saying it was closed!

Me: That's the drive-thru that belongs--er--belongED to the locally owned Mexican restaurant next door that shut down last year....

Steve was good...but you had a pleasant surprise for me. You weren't done for the night! You sent in Chad, the hopeful flashlight salesman to dart in and out of our drive-thru trying to sell a flashlight, but succeeding only in being creepy! Folk were kind of concerned; locked their car doors and such, but *I* enjoyed the fruits from your degenerative tree!

And then told a manager. I want to keep my job in your hallowed halls, after all...

When I was on my lunch, you invited the cops over for a spot of "bathroom commotion". Two of them. Must be close friends of yours, interrupting the dinner hour like this. I tried to conceal my curiosity, not wanting you to be ashamed of your employee. I knew I could get the facts from another such. In the mean time, you had another surprise! The women's bathroom looked like someone had taken 2 1/3 tacos, crushed them in a ceramic bowl and added liberal sauces of every hue, then allowed their 2 year old to paint the bathroom with the debris!

And someone gave that child a stool...as I reflect how high up some of those deposits are...

I noticed another thing, but I wanted to ask about it before I bothered you with it. After my inquiries, I have no choice.

Dearest MexiGong, Do you know where the women's restroom trash can is? It's a small little thing, lithe and black; sits between the wall and the commode? It was there when I came on shift, and there when I started my lunch. But now, you see, it's gone. No trace of it remains. Yes, I've looked everywhere--outside, in the restaurant, in the men's bathroom (oh the horror!). I just though you might like to know, knowing how women can be and all.

But oh, MexiGong! You saved the best for last, you playful gong you! I mean, when I found out why the police were there! I have it from a number of witnesses that the aforementioned young man (Chad) attempting to sell his flashlight was found passed out in the men's bathroom with his trousers down. So the police came. And they found paraphernalia of a *particular kind* on his person.

Which of course they did.

I would think passing out on the floor of an as yet un-mopped fast food restaurant bathroom floor pretty much requires you to be high.

So? Any ideas where the trash can has gone? Perhaps how much the druggie got for his flashlight in the drive-thru? (considering he bought something about 10 min before the "incident") Anyone passing out in y'all's various places of employment? Share the love!

Would You Like Some....Sauce With That?

2011-01-20T15:50:00.000-08:00

I really like to take orders at the *restaurant* where I work.

This is for a couple of reasons:

A) It means I'm not having to clean anything. Taking orders is actually the most fun part of work.

B) I can use accents if my boss isn't around.

C) I like hearing what idiots people can be and commenting on this stupidity with my coworkers.

D) Come on! I get to talk on a cool ear-radio-thingy!

The other day, I was working with the General Manager; I was taking orders, she was collecting money, and she said to me "You have a really nice voice over the radio."

It got me thinking of a story from back In the Inn.

I *do* like to pride myself on my speaking skills--heck, for almost three years, talking on the phone was my job. It's all in how you pitch it and modulate it.

So there I am at the desk with GreyGirl the morning after a big town party, and a call comes in from one of the rooms.

Me: Front Desk (in my sultry, seductive way that I have*)

Him: Can I get some Gatorade?

Me: We have some here at the front desk...

Him: Can't you bring it up to me?

Me: No.

Him: Oh. (silence) Okay, I'll come down. Hey, did anyone ever tell you? You have a sexy phone voice.

Me: Hahaha....thank you....

Him: Tell you what. When I come down to check out, I'll wink at you, and if you like what you see, you can wink back!

So, an hour or two later a group of guys came up. I was busy with someone else, so they went up to GreyGirl.

Him: Did I just talk to you on the phone?

Her: Probably.

Him: So...what do you think?

Her: About your bill?

Heheheh...you see, I hadn't told her of the little exchange, so she had no idea what was going on. She said later that it would have been nice if I had clued her in. Ah well...

The idea of the front desk clerk having relations with the guests is always an interesting subject for me. (Espesh since Spoon Man) After hearing that, I really REALLY wanted to, when I needed to call rooms up to do the husky thing.

"So you need some...fresh...towels?"

"I'll have that sheet sent up...sir..."

(OBVs I can't say it for you on this here blog, but just try to imagine it)

When guests came from other countries, we had to be careful because (I hear) in some places, the clerk comes with the room, ifyouknowwhatimean. So lifeshighway, the question is not "does the carpet match the drapes" but "Does the hair match the decor?" Luckily, we had no Red Rooms at our place.

What about you, Dear Readers? Ever showed signs of Cruise Ship Syndrome**? If so, by all means share! My ears are burning for a good story ;D

*Being another RedGirl secret, I am loathe to divulge the particulars of what makes my voice so attractive to the opposite sex. However, since it's really just between me and you 30 or so readers, what's the harm in spreading the *love*? Coming soon then, you TOO can pick up a date! Love is just a phone call away! (And it had better stay that way, 'cause once they see you, all bets are off. But not you, my readers! I know you're all an attractive bunch)

**Being a disease in which, finding one's self in a place far from home, an attraction is had for either staff or other travelers that both know will not last, but continue to adamantly refute this notion to each other. Hmmm, I should write about romance more often! I seem to have so much to say on the subject! Even better that I have no experience; it keeps my explanations from being cluttered by facts! Hateful things, facts...

Aahh, Be Still My Beating Heart!

2011-01-19T09:29:00.000-08:00

For those of you who weren't aware, Court Reporting is a female dominated profession. (At least it is in the schooling side; not sure what the actual statistics are) What this means is that, out of our current class of roughly 80-90 students, there are exactly 7 males in attendance. The breakdown is as follows:

A) Hardly ever comes

B) Strange. I've never actually heard him speak, but the fact of the matter remains: he is an odd one

C) Married

D) Married

E) Genius; not to be trifled with

F) Friendly when not actually...studying...

So, when the program director walks in with the newest possible recruit, who turns out the be male and possibly above a 6 in the attractive quotient (stand still! I can't score you if you don't stand still!), the eyes of the room turn towards such an attraction.

It's really funny to watch the female population just "happen" to need things in the room where they're talking and the innocent "I need a piece of tape that can only be found in the theory room" justification.

We shall see...

A Few Whacks on the the MexiGong

2011-01-14T12:03:00.001-08:00

Considering that court observations are going to be rather prominent while in school and (hopefully) even more so when I get out, I now christen these new tales in the tasty rhyme-mation of Court Report.

I took copious notes, jotted down some real zingers uttered....in an actual courtroom setting.

I know.

Awesomely stupendous, oi?

So, tomorrow, we'll have a big helping of "So by saying suspended, you meant my license was, like, suspended?" followed by a tureen of phone threats and name calling. Entree is a pile of unopened Christmas presents, and for dessert, a dollop of brothers from different mothers spritzed with rhetorical questions from the Bench.

But that's tomorrow's menu.

Today, you get commentary on MexiGong. (I think of you, Funder, every time I use that, with a snicker)

At every one's nonspecific faux Mexican fast food restaurant, we have combos. Does this sound familiar? One of the most common things I hear:

Them: I want the number 4.

Me: With what to drink?

Them: I don't want nuthin' to drink

Me: Sooo...you just want to purchase 3 tacos?

either

Them: No (you idiot), I want the combo, just no drink!

Them: Uuhh...yeah, I guess so

My comment on this is that I think it's the pictures that draw people. Combos have pictures. The see and go "oooh! I wanty!"

Then we have Mrs. Layt. Mrs. Layte came in the Monday of Christmas week. She wanted to purchase some $5 gift cards.

Me: I'm sorry, we don't carry those. We normally carry the $10 and $20 ones, but we only have the $20 ones in stock right now.

Mrs. Layt: That's ridiculous! You had them last year!

Me: I'm not sure the company makes them anymore, because all the promotional posters only have the two I mentioned.

Mrs. Layt: You're wrong...I can't believe you people! I drove all the way down to get here--a half hour--and you're saying you don't have them?! I always get them for my family for Christmas. NOW what am I going to do???

I think it's interesting that we aren't allowed to run out of a product; that it was OUR fault that she couldn't do the easy-breezy Christmas shopping she wanted to do. She also tried to make me feel guilty for not having them when she had to drive all the way down here. I don't know about you people, but I'll usually check on something like that if the drive is more than 15 minutes and it was all that I wanted to get. (Plus, I used patented RedGirl strategies on dealing with people trying to guilt-trip you! Works every time! As seen on the Internet! Which was invented by Al Gore! Which rhymes with smores! I like smores! They have chocolate in them....)

Then we had a woman come back after having gone through the drive-thru. She was standing to the side, waiting, while a manager was doing something on the line (food prep).

Me: What's the issue?

Coworker: She went through the drive-thru, and when she got her food home....half an hour later...it was cold.

Me: She came back for THAT?

Coworker: She's really very upset.

What really brightens my day though, is something that lifeshighway will give me black marks for, but something that, if you people know me at all should be obvious.

I love it when people come in and order something that's not on the menu anymore.

For example:

Them: I'd like a chicken flatbread sandwich.

Me: I'm so sorry...(not) but we don't carry those anymore.

Them: (get really upset and lost looking) But I loved those!!! (proceeds to make it my personal fault we don't have them anymore. OBVs I knew he really liked them, and had a problem with him personally, so ripped down the signs when I saw him coming and bribed the rest of the staff to be in on it)

Repeat this with the enchilada burritos, the 12 taco pack, the giant, calorie laden chalupa, and several other burritos. I love the crestfallen looks on their faces, the betrayal in their eyes. "I loved you, how could you do this to me?"

It's really all I can do not to laugh. Even my lips twitch a bit while I try to distract them with sad eyebrows.

Any things y'all find funny in a similar vein? Don't be shy! No one's judging you! (except me. I'm always judging)

Held Hostage

2011-01-11T09:11:00.001-08:00

I've been trying to save this character up until I had enough fodder for a full post, but i don't want to forget about her.

There's an elderly Asian lady that rides the bus around 3 o'clock every day. (I think she was the one who sat by me in the "Bus Tour to the Ghetto") She makes conversation with anyone who will look in her general vicinity, and for the best part, when it is time to get off the bus, the following happens:

The way the back doors work, you press on the center when the light overhead is green. This signals to the driver to open them. She waits at the door, and as soon as the bus barely rolls into a stop, she starts pushing on the door screaming "Let me out Let me out! I want to get off the bus! Let me out! A few seconds later, the doors will open and she hops out, starts making tracks. She calls out as she's fleeing "Thankyouhaveaniceday!"

I have to try very hard not to laugh when she is doing her hostage to the bus act :)

New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-04T13:03:00.001-08:00

Certain people (you know who you are) have been cheerfully suggesting that we all share New Year's Resolutions. While this idea is charming in it's naivete, there remains a problem.

I'm not writing anything down that people can then refer to:

Them: Hey! Your resolution list says that you were going exercise EVERY day!

You: I broke my flippin' ankle!

Them: But you saaaiiiid....

See? Not good.

In that spirit, I present to you some of MY resolutions*:

1) At least once a week, smile at a small child and think affectionate thoughts

2) Not to lose half finished letters to my little sister that I find 3 months later and have to decide then whether there is still enough interesting content and/or humor to still mail it to her.

3) Actually start practicing at home on my steno writer...let's start with once a week and see what happens.

4) Take the amount of times that I say I will write a blog post, divide it by a yet undetermined number, and have that actually be the number of times that I post.

5) Ditto for writing fiction.

6) No more than 2 pots of coffee a day (I'll drink tea instead)

7) At least once a day, decide NOT to say something rather than saying it. This will help me appear more mysterious and wise. It doesn't count if what I would have said was "Watch out for that car, you're gonna get hiiii.....ahh...too late"

*May or may not be factual or intended. Some humor may be implied. Do your bad things now; Santa's still sleeping off the eggnog. Batteries included if retail price is greater than $25.79. Instructions sold separately.

Taco Tales: Interactions

2010-12-27T12:04:00.000-08:00

I was chatting with a friend about work:

Him: I never go there

Me: Why? Don't like the food?

Him: Oh, the food's fine. It's the, you know, PUBLIC.

Me: True, that is the downside.

So, I'll share a few treasures just in case you can't imagine the entertainment yourself.

(A)

Even though my workplace is a completely generic, non specific Mexican-style fast food eatery, I think the general public knows the nature of combo meals in that they come with a drink...that's the point.

So when Ms. Starving pulls into the drive-thru and says she wants combo number 5...

Me: And what did you want to drink with that?

Her: I don't want nothin' to drink!

Me: So you don't want the combo?

Her: I want the combo, just don't be chargin' me fo' that drink!

Me: Ok (removes combo and just punches in the three tacos)

(B)

I've just clocked in and am waiting to get my drawer. At the beginning of a shift, we count our drawer to make sure it's at the right amount, then we are assigned to a register. I don't have my drawer yet.

A man is lurking around the counter, looking at the menu:

Me: Sir? Were you wanting to order?

Him: (nothing)

Me: (waits for a minute, he's still perusing) Were you needing to order today sir?

Him: (nothing, so I can only assume he plans on taking a while)

Him: (after a minute or two of me standing there) I want a medium soda and a --

Me: I'm so sorry, I don't have my drawer yet; let me find someone to take your order.

I go to get someone, but when I turn around, he's gone. Huh? I get my drawer and go to open the register. He pops out from somewhere and comes up to me again.

Him: (mumbles something or other; I can't make it out)

Me: I'm sorry, what was that?

Him: (mumbly mumbly, then something that sounds like:) How long have you worked here?

Me: I'm sorry, I can't understand you....

See? You should be proud of me! I'm starting to remember not to answer just any question!

Him: (gives me a really dirty look and says:) You understood me (and then walks away)

What was strange was that I was getting the *trying to pick you up* sort of vibe which is really strange because I never get that, even when it's happening. Things have to be pretty straight forward for me.

However, that does NOT mean approaching it like the following man:

I'm at a bus stop in a shady part of Sac and a man of questionable demeanor (and dress. and smell. and age. and, well, everything) approaches me.

Bum: You got any change?

Me: I don't carry cash, sorry (truth)

Bum: (sidles a little closer) Hey...you got a boyfriend?

Me: No (truth, should have lied)

Bum: You want one? (leers)

Me: No (broad lie, specific truth. Don't want YOU)

Bum: How 'bout a husband? You want a husband? (smiles)

Me: No (broad lie, specific truth. want one...with TEETH!)

Bum: (disappointed)

Me: (mildly creeped out, excited for future blog post on the subject)

Cough Drops

2010-12-16T08:52:00.001-08:00

It's a sad, sad thing when you get the the point that you start including cough drops in your daily caloric intake. Hall's Lemon and Honey have 15 calories per drop. Now, if I go with sugar free, I can knock it down to 5 calories. Those taste funny though. And while the sugar would account for the 15 calories in the regular, what makes up the calories in the sugar free ones? according the the nutritional information, there's NOTHING in them. What are you sucking on then?

This brings me to sodas like Coke Zero. If there aren't any fats or carbs or anything else (to speak of) on the label, what are you drinking? Food coloring and sucralose? Slightly disturbing....

Taco Tales: Learning Curve

2010-12-07T12:10:00.001-08:00

When you start a new job, there's an inevitable learning curve:

You start, screw up a lot

Hmm...I kinda know my way around now...

Yay-ya! I'm not half bad!

I thinks I gots this!

Oh (expletive deleted) I guess not...

Yup. That last stage happened last night. Maybe aided by the fact that I forgot my hat on the bus from Sac (hopefully I can get it back today). Walked in early to finish changing, realized I'm missing my hat (I'm still more than 5 minutes early at this point) and I'm about to call the bus company. The girl on the register calls over that they need me to clock in NOW!

Me: "I'm trying to locate my hat. Do we have a spare?"

Her: (to shift leader) Do we have a hat?

Him: (yells over) No! We don't have any extra HATS!

'kay. I could tell he was busy. And, to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe the last 3 people came on by asking that same question.

But seriously? Not only are you going to ask me to clock in early, but you're going to get your knickers in a bunch because I was going to use that extra 5 minutes to locate said hat?!

Fortunately, they found one...eventually. When I was done with my shift, I stashed (ie HID) it in case I can't have someone get it from the bus depot by later today.

So, today's count:

Hopeful leers of teenage boys: 1

Kids I was consciously nice to keep my job: 5

Kids I probably slighted because I didn't remember to be nice to them: um...a lot?

Vans with a vase of flowers attached above the passenger's door to stick straight up out of the roof along with a Breyer-type horse super glued to the top-middle-front of the roof with a sting tied to a hoof with the other side tied somewhere inside the car in case the glue failed: 1

Women who rode in said van than wanted to tell me (and did) about morbidly obese friend who is in the hospital with kidney problems who is on dialysis who "is probably gonna die real soon" : 1

Husband of said woman of said man that was in the bathroom for around 1/2 hour and the reason I waited another half hour to check it: 1

**so...what do you think? "Taco Tales"? Slap the icon on whenever? "Bell Blogging"? Other ideas?

Gnomes!

2010-12-01T10:49:00.001-08:00

I used to be a bit indifferent about lawn ornaments even though I recognized that the pink plastic flamingo was the height of tackiness. (And glowing ones? Don't get me started...)

After discovering the Yard Art Game, these views changed. Now, I am a somewhat rueful champion of the lawn gnome...and of golden manatees. Which I hear are selling rather well on cafe press these days.

Which was why, when working the drive-through window at Taco Bell last night and young man in a dented green truck pulled up for his Fat Fiesta (*ahem* His XL Chalupa) I was a bit taken aback by the contents of his truck bed.

Three lawn gnomes along with a few cuttings and a shovel.

If you know me at all, are a regular reader, you know the kinds of things I started thinking. Is it not a heinous crime to steal a gnome? Were they kidnapped? Used as payment for "lawn service"? (hey, you know what they say about gardeners and pool boys) Possible Mafia hit with shovel to bury the evidence?

Of course, much in the spirit of learning as a Walmart clerk not to comment on items bought, I wasn't going to bring the subject up. "So, uh, nice gnomes you got there...." See? Awkward....

A Day in Court (but not in orange)

2010-11-30T12:09:00.001-08:00

For part of my Thanksgiving break from school, I decided to treat myself with a little day in court. Ever since I thought I wanted to become a lawyer (11th grade: don't judge me!) I knew court was the place for me. I've adjusted that a bit (to my supreme delight), but I still love the scene.

I talked the li'l bro into it, so off we went.

Following the advice of my 60-100wpm instructor, I hit up the information counter to find some juicy cases. Criminal? Heck ya!

Her: There's Family Law too...

Me: (repeating self) Just criminal sounds good.

Her: Okay, you've got Departments 4 and 5. Both start about now.

Me: Thank you. (in head: YeeeeehAW! Here we go!)

I peered through the window in Dept 4, but the seating area was M.T. Not good. I didn't want to stand out like an...um...law abiding person in the midst of the (alleged) unlawful. Dept 5 was filled--much more promising.

Scene:

Triple podium booth thing set up, two clerkys on the right. Bailiff with a belt sporting some serious hardware (one of which I like to imagine was a tazer) meandering about, court reporter with related equipment (squeee!), the People (skinny bald man with large white mustache--looked like a shriveled turtle), and the court appointed defense attorney (or whatever you call them).

Oh yeah. And a room full of people. And they were all innocent. It was rather amazing, really, that that many people could be called in to court like that, and all 100% hadn't done that thing for which they were accused.

(yeah, I know. guilty ppl wouldn't show up, they would just pay or go to jail. leave me my Shawshank Redemption moment)

Judge pops in and we get underway.

First case: Welfare fraud and perjury (meh, not too exciting)

Next: Petty theft from....Wal Mart. I would find that this was to become a theme. In fact, let's just get Wal Mart out of the way now. These two hoodlums (hey, I can only tell you what my eyes tell me) apparently drove to said retail outlet under a suspended licence, stole stuff, and attempted to abscond. My fevered imagination can only begin to fill in the holes on this. And it wants to. Oh it wants to. But onward!

Two girls (ahem: young women) are called up. Judge seems surprised to find they have the same last name.

Judge: Are you two related?

Them: tee hee....yes

Judge: How?

Them: tee hee...we're sisters

Guy behind us that has decided to audition for the role as "Peanut Gallery": They're SISTERS!

Me: (thinking: Duh. That's what she just said....)

Judge: You're both too young to be getting involved in a life of crime.

See, they got hit with petty theft AND burglary. Burglary, huh? I wonder what they took. I am beginning to find out that is the problem with hearings...there aren't any details. In fact, the judge even says not to tell her details because it won't affect their case in the slightest. Dang.

After a couple more cases are pulled up about Wal Mart, I realize the reason is one of three things:

1. Walmart is the only significant retailer in the area.

2. Walmart is huge, a lot of stuff must get stolen.

3. Walmart is good at catching the bad guys. (and upon discussion with li'l sis, who works there, I'm going to place a whole lot of weight on that last one, though I suspect it's a bit of all three)

And all of them get the "Stay away from the Walmart! Don't shop at the Walmart. Ya hear me? Don't go go near the Walmart!" speech. I could barely keep from giggling when I considered the line from Oh Brother, Where Art Thou where the guy says "And stay out of the Woolsworth!" after he kicks out Everet for fighting.

We had 3 or so spousal abuse cases, though strangely, it was mostly the women beating up on the guys. I wonder if that's an area phenomenon. One guy wanted to take it back, saying that it had all happened when he had four beers in him (only 4? really? He was a big guy...). The People wouldn't drop b/c the statement he had made to the Sheriff when he called was completely different with what he was saying. After discussion with friends, we decided there was a lie by omission: only 4 beers. Who knows what else he knocked back? I guess he had to be sober enough to call tho...but then again... Drunk Dial: Sheriff Edition! (I see a whole new reality show...I could help write!)

Makes me wonder how much money the county is going to lose prosecuting this guy when both of them want it dropped. But hey. Goes to show: Don't Drunk Dial the Sheriff.

We have Marijuana Man. And of course, what did he do?

Oh come on, YOU know!

He played the "medical marijuana card". Literally.

Peanut Gallery: Of COURSE he does...

The Peanut Gallery was there b/c he had missed a payment on his DUI class and they had dropped him. But oh. He wanted to go back. He BEGGED to go back. "I must finish this!" He says with earnest sincerity, "It is my heartfelt dream to finish this course and get my licence back!" The judge gets a tear in her eye. "Go forth young man and conquer!" She says, " I believe in you!" or some such dialogue.

Last type was the guy they pulled up on charges of trespassing and (get this) loitering. As my sis says "I will loiter...if I have time." Then it comes out that this guy (who must be at least 18 if he's in reg court) loiters and lurks and stuff around the house of a man and his daughter. His 14-year OLD daughter. Not cool. That's at least 4 years, and at that age, 4 years is a LOT. Man-boy is ordered not to loiter, lurk, or otherwise tarry at said household.

Of course, as they are getting down to the last couple, the bailiff and the judge start giving us the eye. "Why are they there?" they wonder. The bailiff even comes over and says in a not-stage-whisper "Which case are you waiting for?"

Me: We're just observing...(Please don't give us paperwork!!!)

Him: Oh. (obviously disappointed he can't give us paperwork in triplicate that will ask us to divulge our blood type, name of our first born children--or prospective children-- the serial number on our home fax machine and financial information to determine whether or not we can get a court appointed lawyer. Sorry Bailiff, I know that's all you live for.)

The judge finishes up, then goes over the names of the ppl who didn't show up to make sure she can legally slap warrants on them. Every time she mentions a female name, she stares straight at me, no doubt waiting for me to jump up with the clarion call "That's MEEEEE!!!" When this doesn't happen, she asks us what case we're here for. Bailiff-man, happy to get *some* mileage out of us, pipes up "They're just observing!" I think I see confusion pass over the clerk's faces. "Oh..." the judge says.

I don't think ppl observe very much.

We left right about then.

Me: Thanks and all...Great job Judge! You really nailed that loitering case! This will make excellent material for my blog and all. (I actually only said the first word of this--probably a good thing)

All in all, great and productive use of a free morning. :)

Sexual Harassment

2010-11-10T12:03:00.001-08:00

What do YOU know about sexual harassment*?

I mean, I assume it's bad. What I don't expect is for you to show me a lengthy video featuring a man in suspenders and a 90's haircut in front of a large empty fish tank outlining in explicit detail how exactly to go about doing said harassment if you so chose. With "skits" of each type. (I mean, it's also possible that they WERE real, and whoever was manning the security footage let it go so's they could get the goods for a training video that they could then copyright and sell to various franchises across the country)

Sexual Harassment Option 1:

Bug people for dates even when they said no. Then, follow them into the stock room and when your backs are to each other, poke out your butt and gyrate it on theirs. You will know you are successful if you hear cries of "hey! stop it!". Then explain to the young handsome manager that touching other people in the stock room is unavoidable. This option works best if you are slightly creepy-looking to begin with.

SHO 2:

Get yourself into a management or supervisory position so you can force your minions to enter into "relationships" with you. This is an especially good option if you are a woman in your mid 30s and want a little action with some of the hot young stuff. Make sure you use the word "relationship" when making your flirty advances. This is suitably creepy, yet defendable to your superior: "I want working relationships with ALL my lackeys".

SHO 3:

Find the middle-aged man on staff (all restaurants are required to have at least one for diversity's sake). In the break room, pressure him for details about his date the previous night. Because he told two young women less than half his age about the date hoping they could offer...advice? Hangout hotspots? A shoulder to cry on when it didn't go well? Make sure you and your sycophant flank him so he can't get away easily. Then pull out the thumbscrews and grill him about his lady friend. Fun for all! (except him)

SHO 4:

This option is good for men, because I think only they can pull it off with the proper amount of offensiveness. (how much offensiveness? a LOT. Trust me folks, to do this, you need to be able to leer, and I haven't yet met a woman who could leer half as well as a man) So. You need to grab the person you want to make uncomfortable for a makeshift ruse, like taking inventory of the canned goods closet. Then, halfway through, look behind her at the woman loading up a cart with unidentifiable objects. Then say "Man, look at THAT! What a body..." Your victim will try to get back to work, but you should pepper the conversation with more snippets such as "Hot damn, how does she even work here with a body like that" and "I'd sure like to get my hands on those curves". With the proper facial expression, it will do wonders for your reputation (as a lecher).

So, especially as we got to the end, I found myself excited about all the ways to harass someone that I hadn't known about before. And then suspender man came on again and said "Sooo...all that stuff we just showed you? Yeah, don't do any of it." Me: "The why the heck did you SHOW it to me and get me all excited??!!"

I also find it interesting that these videos and courses are always about your fellow co-workers and never about the public, which happens a whole heck of a lot more.

*yeah, yeah. SH is not for the weak of stomach, or even for ppl who actually strive to be morally righteous. Perform these options at your own risk, and the risk of pepper spray. Redgirl is not responsible for your subsequent unemployment and/or possible incarceration. Be good boys and girls.

Job!!

2010-11-09T13:02:00.001-08:00

Some of you know that I'd been looking for a job, and moreover, that I got one.

Where you ask?

At "Mexi Gong", the bell of all tacos: "Mexican inspired" quick cuisine as a "Service Champion". (as opposed to a Food Champion)

And you, my readers know what this means. Oh yes. Delicious stories in the customer service field of the kind I am so good at. I doff the vest and tie for the Ball Cap of Knowledge and the Polo Shirt of Barely Restrained Enthusiasm.

To kick things off, my next post will walk you through the videos and training material because I had too....and I am firmly in the school of thought that misery and suffering loves company. (Plus I had to restrain my laughter at some REALLY inappropriate times because the manager might think I wasn't taking things like sexual harassment seriously. As if.)

A Taste of Adventure

2010-11-04T09:25:00.001-07:00

I'll be the first to admit that I like a a little adventure. Especially if it happens to someone else.

What I do not like is adventure on my morning commute when it might make me late for class.

* * *

I finally got to sleep for my 30-40 minute morning nap when I wake up to a slight smell of diesel. I know this smell well*. I go back to sleep thinking, "All these wimps in their heavy coats. I'm in a long sleeve shirt and I'm hot."

Next time I wake up, the air is stifling with fumes, the bus is stopped on the side of the road, and a voice from the rear proclaims "I see smoke!"

I'm not going to discount that, but I know from the Moorpark trip that a cloud of spraying diesel mixed with seam in cold air can look like that. Not that I'm not willing--and ready--to vacate this death trap. Or, in the bus driver's words: "If you might like to join me on that service road across the shoulder? (We are on Interstate 5, so it was a BIG shoulder).

As I stand on the service road some 60 feet away, noting the fuel puddling on the ground, I start to consider the possible blast radius. When firing a canon (3-inch ordinance rifle), we use 6-9 oz. Cannon Grade GOEX black powder, to which the safety zone is 60ft. How much fuel is the bus carrying? What is the blast radius of a 47 passenger bus carrying 3/4 a tank of fuel? How much fuel was that? How many of the cars passing by would it take out when it blew?

These were questions I wanted answers to, though not necessarily questions that would help me in any way considering there wasn't much I could do except walk down the side of the shoulder.

Somehow I suspect that an exploding bus might cover more than 60 feet.

The next bus that morning comes by, and the more anxious (and hotfooted) of our bunch hops on.

Lady behind me after looking in: "I looks really full...I'll wait for the next bus..."

I thread my way to the back, and we leave with 3 seats open on a 57 passenger bus. After we drive off, there are more than 20 people dotting the highway shoulder who decided to wait. The next bus is only a 45 passenger and is usually 3/4 full. Even if they can get most of the people on, I'll be a few will have to stand. How many?

Probably 3.

As we're seated, I turn to the woman across the aisle. "That was different."

Her: "Yes, yes it was."

When it comes to adventure for myself, I'll stick with just a taste.

*Those who know me in my Civil War reenactment capacity will recall the epic journey back from Moorpark with 7 horses and leaking fuel injectors. Ah...for the old days!

Jury Selection

2010-11-02T14:52:00.001-07:00

So I was thinking.

Studying to be a court reporter and all (criminal, ir you cared), and I haven't really spent any time in a court room. I went once in highschool with an attourny to job shadow back when I thought *THAT* might be a good idea. Closest I've gotten in the interveening years was going for a police ride-along courtesy of Civics.

Such fond memories:

The woman who experienced the loss of a ceramic toad planter the size of a basketball off of her front porch
The discovery of a stolen car, but no one had a finger printing kit in their car (3 cars people--3 whole cars!)
Shown an area of the city I had always thought pleasant and told that if you wanted to swap drugs or have gay sex, that was where you went
Slapping the siren on and racing though town to get to the scene of "shots fired"....wasn't allowed out of the car tho *pout*

Only other brushes with the judicial system include watching crime dramas (Criminal Minds, Wire in the Blood, etc) and hearing people tell me how they talked their way out of a traffic ticket. Being a basically law-abiding citizen though (mostly don't want to deal with the consequences), I usually end up thinking "Well, you *were* doing 80 in a 60 mph zone because you spent too long on your hair this morning, so I'm kind of with the law on this one."

The point is that I would love to be called up for jury duty. Problems that I have and would prob try to mention to the judge:

I could loose my financial aide with the amount of days I would be missing.
I just started an hourly job, which will be my only source of income. I can't afford it.
I'm a court reporting student. I'd be too busy watching court procedure, what the court reporter is doing, and thinking of the entire proceedings in steno, which means I won't be able to pay attention to the content. I mean, I caught myself doing that last Sunday halfway through the sermon on Acts.
None of the above

Aaaand....reasons that the judge will probably allow:

(4) None of the above.

Plan for gettin' a little court action without the dangers?

As Thanksgiving rolls around, I get a week off. I plan on sitting in on the local courtroom for at least one of those days.2

Any interesting brushes with the law out in blog-o-land? Or purely theoretical things that may have happened to a friend of a friend? :P

Word Search

2010-10-29T11:10:00.001-07:00

When setting out a word search that appears to be kid-friendly, one should always include a word bank. When one is absent, the enterprising adult will find...other words.

Some Halloween words discovered:

Yeti

trick

treat

vampire

pumpkins

cauldron

Possible Halloween words:

Beg

Drat

Buck

Words I doubt I was supposed to find:

Avid

Mar

Sin

Rape

Although I'm certain that all manner of things can happen on Halloween, I doubt the average child would like to mar their night with the sin of a bit of avid rape.

Bus Rule Violation Shocks Community

2010-10-29T09:55:00.001-07:00

Dear skinny Asian lady with impossibly supple neck:

I understand why you sat by me. The commuter bus was full and you needed a seat. I even get why you didn't move to an adjacent seat after the first stop (of three). After all, there weren't more than 1 or two open seats open around us. What I don't understand is why you didn't move after the next stop when EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERSON on the bus got off and it was just you and me, as is customary. Or why you kept trying to talk to me when I was obviously trying to read a really engrossing book.

If you can shed light on any of this, I'd appreciate it.

Saving Money on a Tight Budget: Patented Redgirl Shortcuts For Retaining the Appearance of Wealth While Still Having Money For the Things You Want

2010-10-26T13:49:00.000-07:00

Wendi's comment on my previous post on a proper diet sparked new, exciting thoughts. After all, people out there are getting rich on self help books, advice columns and the like. Why shouldn't I get a piece of that? It doesn't seem to matter if they know what they're talking about or not, and since I KNOW what I'M talking about (*snicker*), I could be ten times better at this business. Let's kick it off with a little financial planning! Especially in *this* economy. (I just had to get that in. It annoys me when other people say it, so I thought to help you feel my pain)

I know how it is. You live in your 4.5 bedroom house, drive your Hummer to and from work, but can't save money to go to Africa for that Mighty Roar Big Game Hunt you've had your heart set on for years. You have 649 channels on your HD TV, but can't afford to upgrade your 20-gauge shotgun to that Browning Over and Under you've had your eye on since you had your first attempted robbery last year.

Fear not! What you need are just a few simple money saving tips to fill your coffers.

The idea is not to give up life's pleasures. Without a Hummer, what's the point of even going to work? You wouldn't be able to park next to that little crappy Toyota* your boss drives and edge in on his parking space.

To start with, look down. How many kids do you have? If you have more than 1 or 2, you have too many. You have options with the extras. I firmly suggest reading A Modest Proposal for one idea. (If you don't have time to read now or have never read it--shame on you--the basics are that poor countries can use excess children as a food source) If your child has passed infancy, consider selling or leasing them

Set up a still for a lucrative home business. Especially in an urban setting, no one will know what it is, so you have less of a chance of being busted. Because city folk haven't sampled the joys of a little white lightning, your market will grow exponentially once everyone knows where to get the good stuff. Think of this untaxed, unreported income as your retirement plan.

Hummers take a lot of gas. A Prius doesn't. These are facts. So, help a Prius owner out and take some of that gas off their hands. Don't mention it to them though, they'll only be embarrassed at having to thank you.

Keep an eye out for stray animals and "Missing" pet posters. When you find two that match, go to it. Rewards for "finding" lost pets can add up over the long term. In fact, if you want to be really enterprising, set up a mini kennel in your backyard so you can grab likely looking animals as you see them. The only down side to that is that you'll have to feed them. Of course, if your turnover is good...

Make some friends in Nigeria. If you're always going in the bank and cashing checks, you can certainly keep up the "appearance of wealth" part.

***Persons reading this advice should use only if right for their current situation. No refunds for YOUR bad decisions. I am a licensed professional. Getting arrested isn't fun, but I hear the prison wine is to die for. The buck stops here.

*I drove a Toyota for years. I loved it more as each part ceased to function. It now shambles faithfully around under the firm guidance of my little sister. I will say this though: Their public relations department reacted in a less-than-ideal fashion after this year's recall over shoddy brakes.

News From the Home Front

2010-10-26T09:25:00.001-07:00

As anyone in NorCal can remember, we had a pretty epic storm this last weekend. As with any good storm that comes visiting, it left us a gift.

No, not those two inches of rain. Not the branches everywhere.

Rather, it took out the phone lines. Dial up sucketh greatly, but this is a new opportunity for further sucking.

And since we're rural, I get the feeling they're going to take their sweet time fixing it.

But because the phones are out, we are able to have great moments of meaningful family time.

Dearest Mother was wistful about the days of going to the local pumpkin farm when she would watch us all play (?).

Father: We can still go...

Mumzie: It's not the same! I loved to sit and watch the kids play, but they don't go anymore.

Me: You can still go and watch kids play. Other people's kids.

Mumzie: ?

Father: (has some idea where I'm going with this)

Me: Of course, they generally call you a pedophile when you do that...

Isn't it interesting all the things you can do with your own family/people you know that you couldn't get away with otherwise?

Redgirl's Guide to Healthy Eating

2010-10-07T11:15:00.000-07:00

Tired of munching on Twinkies and ice cream as your main fare? Want something that doesn't give you that "I fell off the wagon" feel in the morning?

You've come to the right place! Eating right is easy; just follow a few simple mostly color-based rules and you'll be dining high in no time.

If it's green, it's healthy for you

Just like it sounds! If you're colorblind, and can't tell green from blue, ask your neighbor. If it's growing, it's usually green. Foods and food-like substances in this group include:

cabbage
artichoke hearts
pickles
cucumber-vodka cocktails*
anything with green food coloring in it.

*I know! I was surprised too, but it was green, so what can you do?

If it's white, it has no calories

This one may come as a shock, but if you come from the (proper) school of thought that the colors are where all the calories live, this makes perfect sense. Luckily, there are a LOT of white or nearly colorless foods out there:

string cheese (mozzarella)
boiled eggs (the yellow yolk is on the inside, so it doesn't count)
cauliflower
Crisco (the regular stuff, not the butter flavored)
extra white-white vanilla frosting

If it's red, it's awesome and therefore healthy for you as WELL as having no calories

Red, being the best color in the world is available for consumption in any food. Examples include:

Rare steak
shrimp (close enough, anyway)
red velvet cake
tomatoes

A few other rules of thumb are:

Blue is kind of unnatural, so approach with caution. Orange has some red in it, so it's all right on occasion. And stay away from tequila. It's not your friend.

***consult your doctor before making any drastic diet changes. The Redgirl Eating Plan may not be right for you. Don't swallow sharp things like caltrops. No refunds. Check for a working sewage system before buying a house.

Words That Descibe

2010-10-06T09:16:00.001-07:00

Musings from today's trip. Starts with reality, ends with...something else. Hey! That should be my motto!

Motto s of Sac Denizens

Sheridan Valets:
Not only will we park your car, but we'll look damn good doing it!

the cafeteria (restaurant):
We make money by trying to sound unpretentious and failing. Miserably.

Sac Regional Transit:
If we're on time, we'll pay YOU a dollar!

Shoplifter from local outdoor mall: *Pant* If I can *Pant* fun faster than the cops *Pant*, I deserve to keep this stuff!

Cops:
We only ignore traffic law in an emergency. It's usually an emergency.

Lady sitting in front of me:
If a chair can lean back, it should always be leaned back. To the fullest extent possible.

Classmate:
Foremost in Fuzziness:
Even after cutting my hair, I'll wear sweaters a sheep would die to own!

Hoodlums at school: Don't worry, we can spoil your day too!

Lifeshighway:
....and it glows in the dark!
or
Lightning free for over 25 years!

Woman I saw at bus stop:
I just look like a man!

Caltrans:
Road Narrows
(repeat as needed, or just anytime you feel like watching their eyes get all scared)

Inventor of the deep fried turkey:
But have you tried deep frying it?

Squirrel (my cat):
Helping you....feed ME every day, all day!

Seagulls everywhere after watching "Finding Nemo":
MINE!

What I wish the Judge would have said instead of 4 repetitions of admonishing the jury not to discuss the trial or decide the case that I read in Mock Court today:
Shut your traps and no thinking (about anything) at ALL until you're in that Jury Room. Or I'll slit your throats....so help me God.

Financial Aid:
We're open EVERY day not ending in "Y"!

Starbucks and Makers of Spiced Pumpkin Ale:
Keepin' you comin'
In for the Pumpkin!
99 Years of restricting
when you can have
pumpkin ANYthing

Yes, I am bitter. Why does the pumpkin spiced latte have to come back? Can't it stay for a bit? Like...FOREVER???

Fleas:
Putting the "play" back in Bubonic Plague

Chuck Norris:
Mere words cannot contain Chuck Norris.

Next time: Redgirl's way to eat right!

Tour Bus to the Ghetto (p 2)

2010-09-24T09:44:00.001-07:00

Last week, we boarded the tour bus. Let's continue our trip to the ghetto!

If you'll look out the window to the left, you'll see the circus is in town.

The circus? Where? Waaait a minute....all I see is "The Pancake Circus"

Or rather, the Pancake Circus. Ha ha ha...that's a restaurant

Ha. Right. Not really that funny.

Other landmarks include the Rio Vista Hotel that always has vacancies.

All I see is a sign and an empty lot.

These innovators have obviously taken a new approach to the travel industry, as it appears to be a "bring your own cot, water, and portable bathroom" sort of place. No one appears to be taking advantage of the hotel right now, but we're not exactly in season.

That place will never be in season. Someone had a little too much to smoke this morning....

On the other side of the street, I'll draw your attention to the large panel on the plaza sign that reads "After 75 Years, WE QUIT"

Who quit? And why would they put up a passive aggressive sign about it?

There are many theories on this sign. One is that the building was razed, but none of the remaining plaza stores cared to remove the old signage. Another popular idea is that there is a store by that name. If this is the case, it's the holy grail of Orange Blossom Plaza, because no one's been able to find it.

It's like a ghost story: "The Business that Wasn't There"

And if it DID disappear, think of all the people that could have been inside when it did, and are now lost to us forever...

Tripe. Gag me with a SPOON.

As we approach this next bus stop, inspect the incoming passengers.

There's only two. A really old Asian lady and a young man that probably has a somewhat dubious reputation. Which one?

Exhibit A: The Asian Lady. Notice how she's talking to the bus driver in her native tongue? He -obviously- doesn't speak her language, but she somehow thinks she'll get directions for a place that might not even exist. Rule #2 for buses: Drivers know everything. About other routes, you ask? And how about intercity bus routes that aren't even run by the same company? Ditto I say! That bus driver has the knowledge and skillz to get you from here to the Berkley Pit on nothing more than local city buses, a tandem rental bike, and a one-eyed sway-backed mule named Zonks.

If he really knew everything, he would have a way to turn you into a GOOD tour guide.

Now, perk your ears towards exhibit B.

Perking...oh my stars!

Notice his turn of phrase while talking to a fellow hoodlum, " I saw the cops, so I got on."

I want to change seats now. Who knows what he did.

Obviously, Hoodlum 2 knows why he would want to get on if he saw the cops. Hoodlum 1 wants to alert Hoodlum 2 that cops are around, so as to prevent him from doing anything untoward, prove he's not a pansy for riding the bus for one measly block, all with leaving opportunity for speculation as to the cause of his concern. Way to go Hoodlum 1! Point for Team Ghetto!

I'll bet he killed someone and buried their body in that empty lot. I know I would run from the cops if I had strangled my buddy over a contested backwoods meth lab. I'll bet that's what went down.

Hold on to something.

Yikes!

You're now experiencing a "sudden stop". This is achieved when A) the bus driver forgot about the stop and sees someone standing there at the last minute or B) when someone pulls the yanky "stop" string at the last minute. Often, perpetrators of the latter are students; both from inattention to surroundings or malicious fun.

My coffee spilled. You suck.

Follow the progress of the students. Notice how they dash across the middle of the road like a diseased rabbit whose brain is filling up with fluid and a temperature through the roof causing it to start having delusions about what is where and when it is safe to cross.

I can't believe you just went there.

Unfortunately, these students don't realize they're acting like a group of lemmings jumping off a cliff and hoping they'll know how to swim when they hit the bottom when they've never seen water before. If we're lucky, we may see one get hit.

Enough with the animal metaphors. I feel like I'm watching the Discovery Channel....ooooh! Almost got one!

One day, a member of this pack will be slower than the rest, and get dragged down by a hungry.....car. Such is life in the ghetto.

Ugg.

Now. Notice how a female in the back of the bus yelled, "Come on driver, it's HOT in here!" ?

Yes....

And now that man said "yeah, and I can see the fleas!"

YUCK. I'm done now.

This is A) offering encouragement to the driver to go faster--this never works---and B) an example of a crazy smelly person who thinks they're being intelligent.

Really too much information there.

That's what she said.

Wait a second......

That's actually what she said. The woman behind him said that.

Hold up...can you hear me??!!

That concludes our tour! Upon exiting the bus, the attendant will give you souvenir; a limited edition poster that was found on several street corners in block handwriting last week. We hope you enjoyed your "Trip to the Ghetto"!

I SELL DRUGS, DRINK & SMOKE ALL DAY I HAVE NO REGARD FOR HUMAN LIFE I AM A LOSER & A WAIST [sic] OF THE AIR I BREATHE.

P.S. THE RUIN$

And yes. All of this did happen at one time or another...

Tour Bus to the Ghetto (part 1)

2010-09-17T15:21:00.001-07:00

Hello! Welcome to CapTours! Get it? Get it?! CapTOURS? Hahahah....Anyway....

I get it.

*Ahem* With CapTours, the tour's the thing--we show you the capital like you've never seen it before!

...That's why I'm here. I'd like to take the "Rose Garden Tour"....with no bees please.

Hmmm...so sorry. The Govenator used the center quadrant of roses for target practice, so it's closed for replanting. We do have an opening in another tour though.

Which one?

It's called "Down and Dirty: Trip to the Ghetto".

I don't know about that....

It's one of our most popular tours! I'll even throw in the "Premier" package :D

(suspicious) So what's in this "premier package"

Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil it--and look! There's your tour bus now! Hop on!

Who are all those other people and why are they getting on? I thought this was personalized...

You'll see....

*takes out headphones and plugs them into wall jack for tour info*

*Static* Welcome to your personalized trip to the ghetto! The people you see around you are part of your premier experience--to provide you with full sensory adventure as you progress. As we approach our first stop, you're probably thinking "this looks like a normal city. where's the ghetto I paid for?"

I'm not sure I what what I paid for.

Fear not! We start downtown, and then approach our destination through varying degrees of the landscape. Entering now is a local creature; a young man of African decent with his pants nearly around his ankles. This is done by manufacturers in return for a payoff from women who have a hard time catching men unless movement can be impeded. A little known fact: Police Departments also subsidize the "low and baggy" clothing trend as it makes criminals easier to catch.

The sculpting job on that hair makes his head look like a badly trimmed topiary.

He's going to sit in front of you so you can examine the hair more closely.

uuh...thank you?

If he trimmed it himself, he would appear to be right-handed, as the left side of his 'do looks more misshapen. Now, turn your attention to the woman getting on now.

Why? Hey! she passed a perfectly good empty seat and now she's trying to sit down on my briefcase! Geeze lady, I'm moving it already...

She just violated the "empty buss seat rule". Notice how she passes whole empty seat units. There are several rules like this. If you'll crack on earphone, you'll now get to hear another one in the process of being broken.

There are now 2 girls sitting behind me....my stars, they're trying to sing! Egad, my ears!

Head phones are acceptable, but some folk take a private experience and turn it into a public one. While "I Love the Way You Lie" is one such example, sometimes songs can be explicit. When this happens, make sure you've packed your duct tape to perform damage control. The couple boarding the bus now do it the right way, albeit peculiarly.

I've never seen a bosom that covered someone's entire torso before. Jus' sayin'

Notice that the female of this species seems to be in charge. She yanks on his arm as he tries to sit in a seat not of her liking.

Why is he carrying a radio--especially the size of a philandering businessman's briefcase?

You may notice he is carrying a radio. Watch as he sits with his wife and--in the middle of her diatribe--plugs his headphones into it and proceeds to ignore her with his monolithic Walkman. She either does not appear to notice, or this is a regular occurrence, because she blathers on without a hitch.

To be continued in hopefully a few hours....

Supermarket of Loooooove

2010-08-18T15:28:00.001-07:00

Chatting with school chums the other day (chums!! that word is so Hardy Boys) about a theory my professor went over in Psychology, and they wanted me to post it.

And you, gentle reader must know from reading other such entries one truism:

Rarely does a simple theory stay so after I get my hands on it.

So without ado, here is The Supermarket Theory

We all subconciously know the laws of attraction. We assign other people with quotients; the quotient is obtained by combining the number of attractiveness with any percieved flaws. A woman who is very attractive might have bad body odor, so her quotient, which might have been an 8, drops to a 6 (or lower depending on how bad the smell is lol). The quotient is also known as the price.

So there you are. In the market for love. Where do you go?

You go to the supermarket of love, down on 3rd and K.

Inside the supermarket, there are aisles. Above each of the aisles is a number, one through ten all in order. You evaluate yourself. "I'm a 7...7.5" you think. That means you have 7 points to spend.

So.

Do you start in Aisle 1?

Of course not!

You want to shoot for the 7 aisle, but you may take a glance down the 5/6 aisle. Sometimes items are miss-marked or miss-filed, and you might find a real deal. But remember, you want the most you can get for your money.

So lets give those aisles a quick glance and move on to what's in our price range.

Hmmm..the shelves are pretty bare here. Not only that, but there are other shoppers looking for the same thing we are. Slim pickings though. Lets take a peek at Aisle 8. There might be a discount.

Note: Discounts can occur if the man (or woman) is feeling especially vulnerable, on a rebound, or drunk

You don't see anything right away, and, since you're over here, you might as well do a little window shopping.

There's really no hope of being able to afford something in the 9/10 aisles. They're just too expensive for our purse except with the most stringent discount, which can be scary. Liiiike....he's a stunner in the looks department, and he's really a nice guy....who was just released from prison playing baseball with robins. (caveat emptor, people)

Then why are we going, you ask? We're going to do a little window shopping...admire some very nice products. (and maybe meet a nice plastic surgeon *snoink*)

But back to business.

We go back to Aisle 7 to see if it's been restocked yet. It was...but another shopper has already laid claim. Drat.

We now have two choices. We can shop down, and hope that we don't have to go too low to find something in the range of acceptability. Or we can put ourselves on display and hope that someone else is shopping down. And remember, the longer we are in the supermarket, the greater our considered eligibility pool grows.

Let's say that you've found what you are looking for. WAIT. Don't buy yet. Carry him/her around for a few minutes and decide if you want to keep them. If you don't, put them back. (There are dangers to this, however. These will be addressed in the "notes" section at the end.)

When you've finally made your decision, head to the checkout stand. The only question you have now is when the bagger asks "gold, white gold, or platinum?" (If you leave without checking out, that's shoplifting)

Ta Da!

NOTES

If you're always taking items, but you can never make up your mind, you'll get a reputation for a permanent browser; like one of those people antique shop owners hate because they come in, mess everything up, and leave without buying.

There ARE people who may want/need to return their initial choice. Most stores will accept returns. Just don't do it too often. A) You'll get that reputation and B) People may think that you were the one returned, instead of doing the returning.

If you're in the store too long because you're picky or you can't find anything in your price range, you A) Begin to become one with the furnishings and trust me; you don't go to the produce section to buy bins that can hold apples, you go to buy apples. B) Get that harrowed, desperate look, and that drops you points. In fact, you may end up in the:

Bargain racks are places where you need to be careful. Here is where you find the most heavily discounted items, as well as those near their expiration date. These can serve their uses though. Maybe you don't need it for very long, so the fact that it's close to the expiration date doesn't mean anything. Or....maybe there's one that is visually appealing and was discounted for an internal thing. Carrying around this item may make someone else think you have more points than you do. Just don't carry them around too long, because their points will have a negative effect on yours.

And finally, be wary of the "pre-prepared." They have a higher likelihood of germs.

If you find yourself confused by any of my metaphors let me know :P

Color Coordination

2010-08-16T09:29:00.001-07:00

Some things in life are set in stone. Not only are they the way they SHOULD be...that is the way they ARE. A citrus/lime (w/e) soda comes in a clear or green bottle, with similar labeling. Generic cola is red. When you invert colors and add lots of white, you are selling a diet drink.

Tonic water is yellow, ginger ale is green, and, no matter what they call it (*ahem* seltzer water), blue is club soda.

So when I bought a package of green gum by Eclipse last week, naturally I expected it to be spearmint.

Amiright?

And when you want spearmint, when you need spearmint, when you expect spearmint. it is horribly cruel and unfair to realize you're chewing on a square of lime/melon gum.

I almost cried in public.

Bus Drama

2010-08-12T14:28:00.001-07:00

I really didn't think it would take this long to have some juicy bus stories to share with y'all. I suppose patience is a virtue (along with having over 4 hours of potential witnessing opportunities every day). It was bound to happen!

And so, brought to you by virtue of my combined monthly bus pass sponsored by the Redgirl household....

I give you two short productions.

We'll start with "Black Market on a Blue Bus," then progress onward to "Accidental Encounters of the Worst Kind"

Sit back and pull off those headphones for a little people watching (and listening!) expedition!

Black Market on a Blue Bus

Jim skulked in his blue fuzzy bus bench with the scooped out plastic seat. The places you have to go for shady business, he thought. But he was here. And already 20 minutes had passed without anyone approaching him. Jim checked to make sure the signal was in place: left shirt tail untucked with a small red dot sticker on it. It was also possible that with the bus so close to empty, it would look strange if anyone sat next to him. (y'all know how that works...I'll have to do a post on the unwritten rules of bus riding later...)

There was a stop ahead that looked pretty full. Maybe things would look up.

He glanced over as the students and commuters filed on. One woman flashing her single day bus pass caught his eye, and he glanced down to his shirt tail. Her eyes followed his down to the signal, and she gave a small smile sat down next to him. She set her pass on her knee, fully visible to Jim. It was in good condition with a slight crease on the upper right hand corner.

She kept her voice low, "Interested?"

Jim opened his mouth, but unfortunately forgot to use his inside voice. Or he would have forgotten if he had had an inside voice to use at all. "How much?" He asked at a level approximating a low yell.

"I paid six, but I'll give it to you for three." she said. "Don't have no use for it now. I'd still have time to buy 3 bottles of wine at the 99 Cent Store."

"Three dollars it is!" Jim near shouted and the exchange was completed. The woman had traded her creased pass for 3 slightly damp and crumpled, but still spend-able tokens of US currency.

Almost immediately, the bus slammed to a halt at the bus stop on Broadway and Riverside.

"Ma'am, your stop!" the portly bus driver with a mustache not appropriate for her gender.

"No it's not..." the woman said.

The bus driver sighed. "You used a day pass as your fare. You no longer retain that pass. Therefore, you are no longer entitled to be riding the bus." She decided to give a little advice to prevent future faux pas' that she would have to get involved in. "If you had just waited to sell it until your stop, you would have been better off. As it is, there could be an inspector aboard this bus right now. I couldn't help but hear the little transaction right under my nose."

The woman gave Jim a dirty look and made him trade back.

Jim was hurt; damn that woman and her infernal timing!

Accidental Encounters of the Worst Kind

Redgirl was riding her bus, rockin' out to a little nostalgic Creed when she heard raised voices from behind her shortly after a stop. It sounded interesting, so she figured the music could wait. Casually, she reached up and popped her right ear bud out to let in the unsavory sounds of the city and the delectable sounds of an argument she was not involved with in.

After listening for a few expletive-filled minutes, she pieced together a bit of back story.

A young man had been riding the bus. A young woman, with rather dubious looking tattoos got on the bus and made her way to the back. Upon recognizing the young man, she sat next to him, hemming him in the corner, to have it out.

To have what out?

The truth. And her feelings. With a few printable words sprinkled in between.

We'll call them Molly and Charles.

Molly: You! I fed you! I let you sleep in my f***ing house! I treated you like a G**d***ed brother! And you f***ing STOLE from me??!! You go into my f***ing wallet and you f***ing STEAL a hundred dollars??!!

Charles: I--

Molly: No! F*** you! You f***ing listen to ME! I (repeat previous) and you run out with my f***ing money! You better hope that Trevor still lets you come 'round, 'cause if he don't, you're going to be the loneliest f***er around. I hope you're lonely! I hope you're the loneliest g**d*** motherf***er ever you piece of s***.

Charles: Look, I'm sorry...I've got forty dollars right here--

Molly: I don't want your f***ing money you piece of s***! I don't want anything until you walk up to my door with a hundred dollars in your hands and you give it ALL back. I (repeat line one...again)

(sound of a slap)

Charles: I'm trying to give you the money...take the forty dollars--

Molly: Keep your f***in' money away from me. F*** you!

This continued for some time. Redgirl, previously having hoped that she would learn NEW words, morosely discovered that some people, when they get hold of one or two words in the base vernacular, don't seek to expand their vocabulary arsenals. What a sad fact, she pondered.

Note:

It was all I could do not to write Molly's "you're"s as "your"s. Because, you see, that's how she probably thought them in her mind :P

Ah, mass transportation stories! How I do love thee....and thee and thee...

I know you've all got them too! Comment with your worst (or weirdest) encounter for general (and specific) amusement! (mine)

Letter to Whomever Invented the English Language

2010-08-10T15:35:00.001-07:00

Dear Sir or Ma'am,

I'd like to start by saying I appreciate the hard work you did in standardizing the written word. I know that it can't have been easy..with all those sound-alike words and look-alike words that sound differently. You even invented names for those contingencies! What I have to say to you may seem acerbic, but please understand that only now (being in school for court reporting) am I beginning to have an issue with some of your spelling choices.

I present (have) read and (to) read. There is a perfectly serviceable word out there spelled "reed" that is a noun. Think of it! There would be no confusion!

Or how you decided that having only one combination to make the "f" sound. I do admit that ph together make an aesthetically pleasing combination, but I can't help but feel that were were trying to achieve something dastardly. Was it your plan when little
Victor is trying to spell the word "knife" that the teacher says "look it up!" that he spends the next 3 hours combing the "n" section?

But those are not the biggest flaws.

As a court reporting student, I care not for the spellings. It is the sounds that concern me. If one (such as yourself) is to decide that "loose" should be spelled such, and "lose" so, it seems natural to follow this law to its conclusion. However, you failed to do this. You failed MISERABLY. (and yes, I just threw caps at you)

Why would you think, then, that "choose" and "chose" should be spelled the way you did? And these are not isolated examples. It might have been forgivable had that been the case, but no. We have "noose" and "nose" as well.

Even more so do you lose points on the "auw" words. "Caught" and "naught," but then "thought," "bought," and "cough." Really, what were you smoking?

There are a lot of other things as well, but to go into them now would be nit picking.

I just hope that next time, you take more care.

Thank you,

Redgirl

Note to readers: What annoys YOU most about the English language? Also, I am now mostly posting from a server that blocks blogger (grrr) so if you've noticed a lack of commenting on my part, that's why.

In Which I Observe My Commute

2010-08-09T09:07:00.001-07:00

Living north of Marysville and schooling in Sacto means I have a commute of roughly 2 hours each way on the bus. After a while, I have begun to notice:

Number of auto related businesses: 35

Number just selling parts: 14

Number just selling tires: 17

Number selling Firestone tires (snicker): 1

Number of random murals: 8

Number that might possibly actually be classy graffiti: 1

Graveyards/Cemeteries: 5

Tombstone (ahem) "Monument" outlets: 1

Number of Monument outlets located across the street from prospective customers: 1

Chase banks: 6

Number of business that I honestly thought were single-location stores in my last town of residence and apparently are not: 7

Liquor stores: 10

Adult book stores: 4

Percentage of houses with fences: 81%

Percentage of those (with fences) that *must* be protecting diamond mines because they could withstand a tank while the house inside collapses from the mere ground tremors from its approach: 97.3

(Hey, if I lived on Broadway and Stockton, I'd not only have fence, but a moat filled with starving piranhas)

Number of restaurants with the word "dragon" in the title: 6

Number of restaurants that probably have "dragon" in the title but I can't read them because of the language: 17

Number of DMV employees that ride my morning bus: 6

Number of said employees that asked me (on observance of my...style? smashing demeanor?...Briefcase?) if I worked for DMV as well: 2

Number of SMUD billboards featuring a girl that looks like she doesn't have a financial care the world (let alone over 15 years old) giving us financial advice: 3

Average sizes (too big) of the males' clothing: +3

Average sizes (too small) of the females' clothing: -2

3-2=+1 <--- Average ill-fitting-ness of clothing

Number of women this week I have mistaken for men longer than 15 minutes: 5

Number of suspected meth users spotted today: 1

Color of her lipstick: indescribable

Points of difference on the aroma scale between the Regional Transit bus and the commuter bus: 7.5

Time spent on said buses in relation to aroma score received: None Proportional

Overall conclusion of the bus situation if this persists: Not Good

Number of hair pins lost sometime today: 10

Number of them that are probably still in my hair but I just can't find them: 5

Number of people that I spied on in their cars while looking down from my bus so they couldn't see me: A Lot

Number of questionable activities seen: 1

Number of cars I looked in after I saw that which I wish I had not seen: 0

Cups of coffee consumed today: Too Many

Hours of sleep attained: Not Enough

Note:

For those of you who haven't picked it up, I have quit my job at the Happy Hotel so that I can go to school full-time as a court reporting student. This is not to say there won't be hotel stories...I have notes that have yet to be written up. The observations flavored with snark are all the same, only the venue has changed.

Under New Management

2010-08-05T10:26:00.001-07:00

I love this sign...

So many implications!

When you see this, the subtext screams:

Under NEW management. Not that there was anything wrong with the old management...well...yes there was. Because you see, the fact that there is now NEW management will make all the difference. Like....people--such as yourselves--might actually try visiting again.

Like you, Mrs. Cole. We truly regret that the last manager, Mr Swinksy, made the "loser" sign at you because he thought you were blind and couldn't see what he was doing. You do have to admit, though, those big black wrap-arounds are a little extreme for the average sun-sensitive elderly woman. I suppose the universal gesture for craziness when you tried to use a coupon didn't help. But yeah, we're really sorry about that.

Mr. Frost, we here at the "Happy Shack" want to extend an apology--from all of us--about your last visit. Ouda (our chef) sometimes mixes up cuisines from here and where he moved from. He had a late night and lost his bearings a bit. In other countries, locusts are considered quite the delicacy, and cooking them can be tricky. Maybe it was too rare? Oh...you hadn't ordered locust. Hmm. Well, we CAN tell you that Ouda doesn't work here anymore. Yup. We've replaced him with his twin brother Oudal. Luckily, Oudal knows the menu very well, as well as fitting his brother's chef's gear. (savings that we pass on to you, the customer!)

We understand that during those renovations we had (you know, the ones where we didn't really do anything except paint a few walls to give it the feeling of newness) there were a few issues. As a guest, you have the right to expect that the bathrooms will work, that the doors and locks are fully functioning. Under the old management, we had a few problems, namely patrons being locked in the bathrooms overnight. We know that paint fumes can be strong, and, well, coupled with that medical condition....And it wasn't that Management ignored your screams! Oh no! Our bathroom doors are very solid, we're proud to say. In fact, that very bathroom doubles as a bomb shelter, purely for the safety of patrons such as yourself in case of that contingency!

However.

We do acknowledge that Mr. Swinsky's discovery of you after you dug through the drywall and were found collapsed in the lobby scrabbling at the front door for escape and subsequent words of "get out you filthy bum!" and assistance with his foot to help you out the door was an overreaction.

We're only telling you this so you know how much BETTER we're going to be!

We're not just better...we're AWESOME now! Our staff is so friendly, our NEW management so competent that a permanent metaphysical RAINBOW spans our roof! Our food tastes of heaven! Our drinks, ambrosia! Renovated interior! Better quality cutlery! Improved atmosphere!

So yeah. You should totally stop by.....

100th Post: Caffeine!!

2010-05-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

Greetings Friends!!

As the astute among you might have noticed (or inferred from my clever and subtle title), this is my hundredth blog post since I started back in January 2009. I could spend this entire post waxing on how much I've learned, what exactly it is that I have learned, and the profound impact on my life.

But you're not here to read about that.

And honestly, I don't think I could suppress giggles and feeling of hoity-toityness to get it done.

Instead, I will highlight that which has been my close companion this year and a half.

And what has often brought you late night blog posts.

So without further ado:

Caffeine!!

Saturday nights/Sunday mornings are usually pretty rough. Often, I get out of work pretty late, and then have to turn around and get up for church which starts at nine. Lately, it's hit or miss on if I make it.

This last weekend, I decided enough was enough. Was I going to church or wasn't I?

I was.

For those of you who say "If you ask God for the strength to stay awake, it will be granted. You have no excuse!" I say...you are correct. I have done that. But that is not to say that He does not also provide tools for us to use if we are willing to pay the price.

The night drug on further than I would have liked and when I finally bunked down and looked at the clock, I would have to be up in less that 2 hours. More like an hour and 15 minutes. What was the point of sleep now?

Kick in the overdrive.

Since my coffee pot died, I've been having a morning cup of espresso instead of my morning pot. I really do like lingering over several cups, but there is something about getting your entire pot's worth in one cup.

And it is very revitalizing.

So. Take a look at this:

It may look like an innocent hot chocolate container given to me by a friend at Christmas, but it also doubles nicely as a water-tight espresso thermos. You see, I knew I could drink all I wanted before church, but I really need that extra jolt between the two sessions.

So I made one batch, and poured it off to cool. I waited a bit, then thought I needed to get the second batch done. Anyone who has used an espresso machine knows that you leave them to cool off because of the pressure and remnants of steam.

I gave it what I thought was sufficient time, grabbed a potholder and attempted to loosen the lid. It was on tight. So I figured I would get the coffee part out of the way. I reached up and loosened that little coffee thingy.

->)BAM(<-

Coffee exploded everywhere. All over me, the counter, and the machine.

Brilliant.

Of course that meant that the top would come off because there wasn't a head of steam anymore. My thumb only got a little red from the steam the dried out the coffee grounds instantly as it flung them around like powder. The time I spent cleaning up THAT mess would have been ample time to allow it to cool down. Ah well.

By the time I was done, I had my cup and a half of espresso (equivalent to roughly 5 shots) and had the other 3 encapsulated in my little container. I jumped on my bike and twiddled off to church.

When the break came, I went back into the narthex. Time to down my elixir of life. But somehow, it didn't seem right to just bust it out and knock it back in the light of day. It felt too much like shooting up drugs during the family dinner at the table. With the Pastor over. (not that I would know what that feels like...honestly!)

So I went into the bathroom. And felt even more illicit when I knocked it back. I could feel the caffeine hit my blood...wheee!

I put my twitchy hands under the faucet to further the illusion that I had been in the stall for the intended purpose.

I had slight problems paying attention. My stomach felt a little funny. My eyes were very shifty and my writing was not the elegant scrawl it normally is. (I normally have very nice handwriting). But no matter, I would go home and have a nap before work at 3.

Except that after church, some good friends wanted to go out to lunch to catch up. Couldn't pass that one up, could I?

My stomach is increasingly feeling queasy, but I'm allotting that to the amount of espresso. I end up getting a soup for lunch...not something I normally do...and feel increasingly ill.

I go home and fall into bed for a half hour, hoping I will feel better when I get up.

Nu-uh. Doesn't happen. In fact,when I wake up at 2:30, I feel worse. I call in to work...there's no one who could cover for me because Graygirl and Greengirl were doing an overlap. Graygirl has left, but Greengirl doesn't mind staying for another hour or so. I go back to sleep.

When I finally get to work and have a chance to just sit, I recognize the signs of food poisoning. (I've had to go to the doctor once for a bad case)

So all that angst about it being ME that had brought that horrible condition on myself through over consumption of caffeine, it was something else all along. So it really serves me right for breaking the unspoken rule about what you're allowed to expect from your body.

I would like to think I've learned my lesson.

No One is There. And We Do Not Have Your Stuff.

2010-05-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

Our nicest suite, which I will henceforth dub "The Bridal Suite" was the center of all *sorts* of excitement yesterday.

Our journey begins with the reservation. The guest staying the night was upgraded at no charge per Lindsay (GM). Let's call this guest Maggie.

Ok...no problem. Our online reservations had kind of overextended us on our Single King rooms. So right and left, I was upgrading my favorite guests to various suites. Looks like Lindsay had beaten me to it.

Shucks.

I just get on shift at 3 when the phone rings. It's a woman with child/kitchen noises in the background wanting Room 888 (Bridal Suite, for our current purposes).

"One moment please." I mean, she could have checked in early.

Hour and half later:

*brriing*

Her: Room 888 please.

Me: One moment.

I start to think. Did she check in? Hmmm....

She hadn't.

Interesting.

Hour later:

*brriing*

Her: Room 888 please.

Me: I can transfer you, but I thought I'd let you know that they haven't checked in yet.

Her: What??!! They were supposed to be there hours ago!

Me: Who exactly are you trying to reach?

Her: The Huxleys.

Me: (searches) The Huxleys aren't staying in that room....In fact, I have no record of Huxleys staying here currently or coming in at any time.

Her: (goes through the classic stages of mourning, Kübler-Ross style. let's start with denial!) That can't be true!

Me: I'm afraid it is. (I go through first names too...)

Her: (loses it. of course we made the mistake. she says belligerently...) This IS the Snappy Hotel is it not??!!

(anyone?? that's right. Anger....grrrr)

Me: Ahh, no, this is the Happy Hotel.

Her: The Happy Hotel. That can't be right. (we argue back and forth for a few minutes. though how that will change the name of our location...oh yeah. that would be bargaining rearing its ugly head)

Her: This is horrible! They were supposed to be here! How am I going to find them? What am I to doooooo?? (ok, I emphasized a tad, but that's what the caterwauling felt like. starring: depression)

Her: Do you have any Snappy Hotels in the area? Do you know their numbers? Can you get those for me? (finally. acceptance. except now she won't stop trying to get me to help her. I don't know where a Snappy Hotel is. dang it.)

Finally, she hangs up

*Whew*

The joys of Room 888 are not over, however.

A woman comes into my lobby. She's stayed here last week. She left a pair of glasses in the bedside drawer she says.

"I'll call housekeeping to check their archives" I say.

But this will not do.

Ms. Botheru says "is anyone in the room now?"

Me: Someone is in it for tonight...

Ms. Botheru: But are they in the room now?

Waaait...are you really asking what I think you're asking?

Ms. Botheru: Because they probably missed them when they were cleaning. Do they even check the drawers? I could just run up and check-"

Ah. You are. Very well then. War!!

Me: I'm very sorry, but the room is occupied. (remember, I've been getting calls, and at this point I assume the room is occupied) I can't let you enter.

And why you would think that would be OK is beyond me.

I call housekeeping and they check their lost and found. Nothing. I check the room and *shock* no one was in it yet! I asked Ms. Botheru where exactly she is so sure she left it, then send housekeeping up.

Nada.

Ms Botheru: Are you sure I couldn't just...

Me: Yes.

(she leaves)

*brriing*

And guess who it was?

It was Maggie. Cancelling her first night in Room 888

Enough already! Troublesome room....

Lost: One set of Huxleys and eyeglasses

In Which I Encounter a Dog...figuratively speaking

2010-05-22T18:12:00.000-07:00

A "Ms. Nord" checks in with her guide dog. We've put her in one of our pet friendly rooms.

When she starts asking questions though, I begin to realize that my subconscious desire to install her in the East Wing was right on the money.

She's on her way out the door and shoots back a parting question. You know, those questions in which something is asked casually that really should not be. They use their tone of voice to trick you into a lulled sense of security. You'll answer "yes!" and they will be out the door by the time you've had a chance to truly process the question.

Then you will be horrified that you inadvertently gave permission for a goat sacrifice in your bridal suite.

Poor goat.

Ms. Nord: Oh! One other thing: it's ok if the guide dog swims in the pool, right?

Now, notice how she phrases this question. The assumed positive. Think how I will sound trying to say (even nicely) "No, that's not alright." Exactly. Like a dragon.

Rarrr

Me: Actually, I don't think so....

Ms. Nord: (rushes to fill in my ellipses) It's part of the training process! He has to learn!

First off, what does that have to do with a dog in my pool? Second, did you really bring him to a hotel in order to teach him how to swim? Come ON!

Me: Well, I would have to check with my manager, that's not something that I personally can authorize. (I reach over to pick up the phone)

Ms. Nord: He's very well brushed! Very clean!

Great, so you weren't planning on a bath. Still...Dog. In. Pool.

Me: If you'll just let me call my manager and ask-- (please shut up, I told you, I'm calling my manager...see the hand gripping the indestructible black plastic of the phone receiver? I'm not just telling you I'm going to call him, then not call him just so I can say NO to you...I actually want to. If just to hear his reaction. lol)

Ms Nord: (ignores phone hand) And he'll wear his guide dog training vest at ALL times!

Aaaack! DOG IN POOL!!! Seriously woman. Stop talking. Let me call my manager. Whether or not he wears this nifty training vest has nothing to do with the issue at hand. Go away.

Me: Like I said Ma'am, I'll just need to call my manager. (shoo!)

Finally, she leaves. I call Boss. Conversation goes like this:

Me: That lady with the guide dog? She wants to know if she can take the dog swimming tomorrow. In the pool.

Boss: Swimming?

Me: Yes. She has informed me the dog is well groomed and will wear his training vest the entire time she is teaching him to swim.

Boss: Teaching him? In our pool?

Me: Yes....

(Pause--hahahahaha...I love the calls he has to make)

Boss: Ok. She can do it.

Me: Thanks Boss :P

It's interesting how so many people can't seem to identify the root issue of the problem. With Ms. Nord, she didn't see the ground zero issue. Dog IN POOL. Instead, she tried to distract me other other non issues.

I'd love to hear of any similar experiences any of YOU all might have had...

please don't make me go in the water....??

I Won!!!

2010-05-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

Extreme excitement here at the Happy Hotel. Redgirl has been seen to be grinning in a slightly disturbing manner.

"I'm so happy, thrilled in fact!" she has been reported as saying. "Now I get my very own sun at night!"

Although unsure exactly what she is referring too (concentration minimal, eyes glazed every time a question was put to her), we congratulate her and enclose her entry into the contest.

We present....The Golden Manatee Award

Check out lifeshighwaygame for details :)

Miz Bee Comes to Stay

2010-05-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

Miz B checks in and I give her keys for a room on the second floor.

10 minutes later, she comes down.

Miz B: There is a buzzing sound in my room! It's probably a light or something, but you people need to fix it! (you people should be another character on my sidebar...as soon as I figure out who they are...)

(I think I hear something buzzing!!!)

Me: Ma'am, would you mind if someone went up now?

Miz B: Sure, it had better be fixed by the time I go to bed!

I spot Juan entering the lobby. "Juan," I say, "please escort Miz B up to her room, and see if you can locate the cause of the buzzing."

Off they go.

I get a call later from Juan. He's on the third floor checking to see if the room over hers was the source. No go.

I'm starting to think I'm going to have to change her room. Which I really don't want to do, considering the behavior I can see lurking below the surface of her casually draped scarf and coiffed silver hair.

A little later, I see Juan. I remember that I never heard if we will have to move her.

Me: Juan, what ever happened with Miz B?

Juan: (starts smiling) She'll be fine.

Me: What was the buzzing?

Juan: (starts laughing) I took apart the light, she was running around saying "Move this! You'd better find where that's coming from...don't make me move!" and generally being upset. I picked up her suitcase to move it and I said "Ma'am, your suitcase is buzzing." She grabbed it from me. Her face was all red and she tried to make me go out of the room, but I had to hook up the fridge and microwave again. She said it was her electric razor. She kept saying she was sorry.

Me: ??? (I didn't think women USED electric razors....anyone? I have my thoughts on what else it could have been, if you know what I mean....lol)

Juan: Yeah, and then she gets even redder and says "don't tell the lady at the front desk."

Me: (snicker) How could she think you wouldn't tell me?

Hahahaha...I mean really. Too funny. She'll probably try to avoid me for the rest of her stay, which will be difficult considering I'm on for the entirety :D

Those Pearly Whites

2010-05-20T20:04:00.000-07:00

The other evening in Salsa dancing, Val complained that everything tasted funny because she had brushed her teeth.

Thus, her margarita was less than satisfactory.

Em says: "You should have brushed your teeth with a bottle of Jack"

Thank you, Ke$ha, for such real world advice on personal hygene and dental tips.

Salsa Night!

2010-05-19T18:40:00.000-07:00

Gather 'round, listeners! Such a tale I have for your virgin ears.

A tale of shimmying. Of shaking. Of tanned legs and short skirts.

Of Salsa Night.

A local bar/restaurant has a different dance nights: Salsa Night, Line Dancing, etc. Roomies and I decided to go for the Salsa one. Tuesday being the only night we had free might have been part of that.

We did not go for the dancing in the strictest sense. You see, we came to watch.

And comment.

We walk in the door in our heels and skirts, hair pinned. While waiting to secure our first drink, Em is approached by German Man. Lets call him Mike. Mike is tall, and wearing jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled casually. He recognizes her from a dance class.

And he wants to show her his moves.

She declines.

Someone else (who apparently didn't see that little exchange) walks by, screeches to a halt and asks her.

She declines.

Me, who like any intelligent people watcher, had packed a little pad of blue post-its in my purse, decided to keep count. Especially after the next man remembered her from one of her other jobs.

I was fascinated. Is this how the other half lives? Being constantly asked to the floor? All fine and good if you actually know how to salsa, I guess. Waltzing is more my thing.

We find a table against the wall, and the only chair left for me is the one with the back to the dance floor. Not Good. I swap, and immediately, Em is beset with her male swains. She was the prow of our metaphorical ship, and she got noticed first. Then Val, and, if they were desperate, me. After 5 more invitations, Em figured out what was happening and made me swap back. But by then, we'd already gone through everyone that was going to ask. (score!!)

I guess they figured that if the other two of the party said no, I wasn't going to satisfy them with a yes.

Then a girl walked by. You know the type. Tall, thin, white top, jean skirt. And tan. That tan that approaches, no, IS a kind of light burnt umber. Her salsa seemed to consist solely of wiggling her hips.

Which, I will admit, she did well.

Could put a hula dancer to shame.

Then came "Bored Girl in Black Dress". Every time she whirled by, I was fascinated by the lack of anything constituting her legs except for (apparently) bone. And the dress was short. I was in fear of a side show. Then Em points out that it is her lack of butt. In my diagram below, you can see that this is indeed the case.

Another couple twirled by. And I do mean twirled, because that was all he was doing with her. The Redgirl Household knows enough about dancing to know when someone has no clue, and Mr. White T-shirt had a great partner and didn't know what to do with her. From the look on her face, she was fed up and getting dizzy.

Smart move, my man. But as good as playing dead is, even dogs learn new tricks.

Now we have the black-shirted men. There are two of them. Since one is taller, we will refer to them as SBSM and TBSM. (Hmm...I'm not sure about these acronyms. They look a little...restrained. Ah well)

TBSM has a clueless partner, but he's a good enough dancer to pull it off. Problem is, she's acting a little listless. SBSM has a very enthusiastic partner. He's not quite as good as TBSM, but he looks like he's having more fun.

Enter Mike. Mike is dancing with a tall girl in white shorts. And it quickly becomes apparent that he's Not Happy. Em says: "He can dance a heck of a lot better than that. He's less than enthusiastic about his partner." Val: "She's also not very good." Me: "Amen sister."

Very astute, Em. "But," I say, "SBSM has an inexperienced partner, and they're doing fine, having fun. What's the difference?"

We all watch carefully.

Ah HA!

Two things: Contact and Enthusiasm.

If you dance in a listless fashion, even the best dance partner can't do anything with nothing. Can't direct the flow of water if there's nothing to direct.

Contact is very important. Goes back to your frame. If you have the right frame (which involves touching the other person; Egads!), then the right action by the male will end up with at least something happening. See the diagram below for clarification:

Her hands were in the position B.

As the song appears to be wrapping up, Mike is trying to leave white shorts girl. She's not getting the hint. He's done, but she doesn't know it. Later, he comes over to chat, and confirms everything, to our immense satisfaction and glee.

An Asian man in his late 40's appears to have forgotten that he already asked us to dance, and comes back to be rebuffed (politely) again. Then we see him on the dance floor.

It's always interesting to see a person who asked you to dance dancing with someone else. Lets you know what experience you might have been in for.

Lemme put it this way. For a social dance, he was remarkably unsocial about the whole dancing thing.

The African guy with the good frame and no technique was fun to watch, but that's not the cherry on the mountain top.

While taking a genteel sip of my Manhattan, something caught my eye.

This couple:

...was trying to do the bump and grind. But they had to do it to a salsa beat, because that was what was on.

It was entertaining.

Oh, and final score?

Em: 2 people she knew, 2 people she kinda knew, and 7 random people.

Val: 6 people

Me: 3 people

Oi! Forgive the drawings. I'm at work, but they had to be made!

..or not

2010-05-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm checking a guy in who is part of the set up crew for a bike function.

I get asked the usual "Are you a student?"

Me: Not right now!

Him: You should finish college...

Me: Oh, I'm going back to school in July. Court reporting...Maybe I'll see you there LOL

Him: Nope, I'm done with that. (completely serious) 27 times. Convictions, that is. I'm out of that now.

And then the convo continues to what exactly he was in for (violence related stuff, marijuana use) and when his first big C was...14...and on from there.

This now gives him the permission to call me "sweetie" whenever asking for anything else. Example: "Hey sweetie, can I get a book of matches?" (sure honey! and did you want your slippers warmed too?)

Because, you see, we've shared a moment.

Update: And then, as he's leaving to go to his room for the night....

"Thanks for everything..."

Um..for what? Those matches?

Definitions

2010-05-14T00:33:00.000-07:00

Definitions to help with day-to-day living:

Mockingbird:

Bird that won't shut up no matter what you throw at it

Sewer Monster:

The raccoon butt you see disappearing into the drain system outside your apartment. Now you know what lurks beneath.

Carret:

A cat/ferret mix, of which the only known living example is named Mugwai who lives with me. Not for much longer if she keeps on the way she has been.

Leaf Blower People:

Modern day torturers. They start far too early and even double paned glass doesn't keep them away.

Please submit your own definitions in the comments...

Say What??

2010-05-09T18:07:00.000-07:00

You know when someone says something, and you don't quite understand it? But you kind of want them to think you did so they will leave more quickly?

Yeah.

So I had just finished helping a man. I laughed at something he said (not that funny, but, you know, I have this job where I *get* to be nice to people). He turns back and says:

"If you were any cuter, I'd go on a search for the fountain of youth!"

I made some inane comment, b/c my brain hadn't quite processed it. He steps around the corner and says to his wife in a low voice "isn't she cute?" and then off they go.

I file it away. Then later, pulling it back up, I realized what he had meant.

Even at his advanced age, I think it would take more than the entirety of such a fountain to make it work...

Cougar Shenanigans

2010-05-07T19:20:00.000-07:00

So, resident cougar checked in just now (just now!) and Greengirl and I are holding a commentary behind the desk.

Cougar: God, I need a drink

Greengirl: Hahaha...the bar is there!

Cougar goes over and parks her luggage against the wall, goes into bar and stands at corner behind the bar. Bartender ("Jack") kind of ignores her. She is the thorn in his side. She showers her affections on him, and he tries to escape.

It's kind of funny.

Cougar decides she doesn't want to stand, she wants to camp. Grabs a chair and cozies up. Jack still is busy pouring drinks for the people that got there first. I'm not sure if he's seen her.

With the chance to taunt a co-worker lingering in my mind, what happens next is just one of those things you can't control. After all, our previous conversation included his thoughts on her possible breast implants, and, to be delicate, if it had been cold, the results of the obvious sheerness of her shirt might have been excused.

Or probably not.

A woman came up to get change for the bar.

Her: A ten, five and five ones please

Me: Ok (counts) If I give you a little note for the bartender, could you give it to him?

Her: (leers) Got a little crush on him?

Me: (aaaaahnononono) HahahaNO. More like a friendly taunt...

Her: Ok.

She delivers it. He takes it. Looks over at us. (We are standing watching him) Opens it. Reads my "Hahahahaha. She's here!!"

He bursts into laughter, and the entire bar does as well. The kind of laughter that says they aren't really sure what they're laughing at, but that it must be funny. Reeeel funny.

He finally pays attention to her, she grabs two white wines. Starts to leave the bar, and realizes something. Something like...with both hands full of alky, she won't be able to do anything with her luggage.

Greengirl and I agree.

Cougar slurps one down and then wrestles her luggage one armed to her room. Returns shortly with JUST the white skimpy top on (no hot pink jacket, *problem* with top still apparent) and removes 2 RED wines from the bar. I guess she got quite a few, and then hid the extra glasses until she could claim them.

Hmm...

Jack came up later and said that when she had asked for 4, she said "Can't you just give me a bottle?" LOL.

Can't you just see it? "Thank you for staying at the Happy Hotel, here's your complimentary bottle of wine. Chardonnay, Syrah, or Rose?"

Please.

More Smoke

2010-05-06T18:25:00.000-07:00

We had sooo many instances with smoke (this is from the last weekend).

Case in point:

Juan let me know (ever so nicely) that someone on the upper floor of our East Wing had removed the screen on their window and was frolicking and smoking on the balcony belonging exclusively to a suite.

I'm not sure if they were frolicking, but it makes me both happy and appalled (for the suite people), but still happy.

Anyway.

This could not go on, of course, so I called the room.

Man: Hello?

Me: Hi, it's Redgirl, from the front desk. I've had a report that someone removed the screen from your room and is smoking on the balcony.

Man: I didn't-wait a sec (I hear sounds that sound like....) My friend's throwing up, can I call you back?

Me: Oh yes, of course. (clicks phone down. looks up at window of room and gives a repulsed shudder)

Eeeew

A Theory on the Art of Creepiness

2010-05-03T08:04:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite passtimes is to start with a premise, and work out a theory that, to all MY knowledge seems proper and correct.

Creepiness comes in 2 flavors. One is either creepy or a creeper. Being creepy is something you do. A creeper is something you are.

Let me expand.

Let's say you're sitting on a subway, hurtling through the bowels of some big city. (I've never been on a Subway, aside from eating their sandwiches and riding buses. That along with reading about subways makes me pretty near an expert, don't you agree? That's what I thought...)

You're standing by one of those post thingies, holding on for dear life because there aren't any seats available. All of the sudden, a hand that can only belong to the man behind you cops a feel through your gray tailored suit.

Ooowee!! That was creepy! We can therefore say that, in preforming a creepy act, that our man is creepy.

A creeper is different.

Same scenario: You're on the subway, seated this time, and you get a funny feeling. You look over to your left and see a man in a black coat and black felt hat. There's something off about him, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

Maybe later you find out that he is a peeping tom, or that he steals and strokes ladies'....underthings....

But that is not why he's a creeper. Being a creeper is full time. A creeper is necessarily one who performs creepy acts. They can't help it. And it's not the act that tipped you off. You knew instinctively. (If your creep-o-meter isn't malfunctioning...check those batteries folks!)

More extremely rational theories later...

Guest Blog: A Dear John Letter

2010-05-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

A guest post from my sister Mel. She has a great horsey blog, and she's slowly learning how to be humorous (on purpose)! Give her encouragement by taking a look. And now:

Unlike my sister, Redgirl, who finds amusement in taking uncomfortable situations as far as they will go, I’m just annoyed and uncomfortable, which invariable leaves me feeling a bit angry (and did I mention annoyed?).

An an effort to show Redgirl how normal people react to inappropriate comeons I provide the following situation:

A couple of weeks ago, an unknown production employee left a note/letter in my office door expressing his wish to get to know me better, based on how beautiful he found my picture (I’m a member of management) that is posted in the break room.

Redgirl’s reaction:

Ohhhhh…..how interesting. Where’s my cell phone, I’m calling the number in this letter right now. Bonus points if I can get him to propose, offer to lick my feet, or offer to instruct me in the finer points of spooning in the first 15 minutes! I hope he’s an honest to goodness psychopath – better blog material!

Mel’s reaction

It really pissed me off. Who thinks this is appropriate!!!!!????? Seriously. My first reaction was to send off a scathing “Dear John” letter (but of course I didn’t). Here’s how it would have read:

Dear John (not a real name!),

This is in response to the letter you left in my office door – although my boyfriend admires your courage in reaching out to an unknown member of management, I’m not as appreciative.

Pining after my image as published in the management picture, posted in the employee break room is not endearing – in fact it is kind of creepy. Is this how celebrities feel when a fan professes their love for them? Now, I may be overly sensitive as I have had 2 stalkers in the last 4 years, but I’m DONE with it.

I’m a bit angry that you thought that this was even appropriate. Just because I look 16 and chose to wear a cocktail dress at that particular management xmas party and smiled at the camera doesn’t mean I’m available, interested, intrigued, or even interested in an inappropriate management/hourly union employee relationship. I’m not even considering the employee relations, HR NIGHTMARES that comes of an exempt management employee dating a union hourly employee in the same facility.

I’m sure if you use some common sense and you will probably have better luck in your future romantic endeavors.

Sincerely.

Does anyone else have this problem?????? This is the 4th time in 4 years I’ve gotten solicitations that I consider inappropriate – maybe I’m just old fashioned? Maybe I’m being a bit harsh, but I come to work to work, not fend off suitors. How could people even think this is appropriate???????? I’m much more tolerant of people who approach me verbally. A smile, and a simple no usually suffices and no one gets their feelings hurt. The letter for some reason really raises my hackles.

From Redgirl:

First off, remember that I never chase after these ppl like you say I do! The entire point is that I'm minding my own business, remember? Also, they're not uncomfortable. Remember artist man? And just imagine, *John* sitting in the breakfast room, gazing up at your picture, imagining you munching on twin stale breakfast burritos....

Ha ha ha

..It's Like a Magnet or Something

2010-05-02T16:20:00.000-07:00

Lots of crazy people in this weekend....artsy people. We stuck one couple in a room that's kind of off by itself at the end of a long hall and through a door that opens into another hall.

The lonesome pine of hotel rooms.

Security Sam comes to the desk and says he smells smoke in the area through that first door. That means that literally the smoke can only be coming from that one room. He wants a second opinion, so I send Nightgirl, the newest member of our staff. (She's the Night Auditor...get it? get it?) After all, with my allergies, a skunk could be patrolling the halls and I would just get all excited about the smell of fresh ground french roast...

But that's another story.

They return with a story.

Sam: (knocks, hears furtive whispering and clinking of bottles. Beer anyone?) Hello? This is security. I just need to let you know that there is no smoking in the rooms. (No response) If you smoke in the room, there is a $400 cleaning fee.

Room: (giggle, clinking bottles) Ok!

Now. The fee they signed for is really only $200, but Sam was just throwing a number out there to get the point across.

Upon checkout: They were informed of the fee, which Greygirl only put $250 on.

Room: We didn't smoke in the room! Have housekeeping check!

Greygirl: We received a report from security that was confirmed by another witness that there was smoking in the room the night before last.

Room: Well..we had the window open, and people were smoking out there. It must have gotten into the room. (and been strong enough to go through your room, under your door, and out into the hall? Please.)

Greygirl: I'm sorry, but you'd have to speak to my manager.

Room: Wait, no, it was the emergency exit door! It was open, so that's how the smoke must have gotten into the hall.

Greygirl: The emergency door is always closed. (That's why it's an Emergency door...)

Room: (Skitters away with manager's card looking petulant)

Myself, Greengirl and Greygirl were rehashing the weekend when someone else checked in. We informed them that, while they did have a balcony, they were not to smoke on them. After they left:

Greengirl: Because the smoke would get into the room and then make its way down to Lone Pine Room.

Redgirl: Because that's where all the smoke in the hotel goes. It's like a smoke magnet.

So: Smoke Magnet Room (or The Smoke Magnet) or Lone Pine Room (or The Pine)?

We need to label this room, and "The Cursed Room" is already taken (as well as not being applicable anywayz.)

Wait...What??

2010-05-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

Woman comes up to the front desk, wants directions to one of our meeting rooms that's being used for an art exhibit.

Me: Over there, on the second floor

Her: Are there stairs?

???
Fire regulations clearly state, Ma'am, that stairs are a necessary part of any structure over one story...

Woman takes out one of our bikes and helmet. She returns the bike, but not the helmet. We can't get hold of her. Finally, the next day, she comes to the front desk to take the bike out again.

Graygirl: Do you need a helmet Ma'am?

Ms. Doink: Oh no, I already have one

Graygirl: But you borrowed one last time...

Ms. Doink: Yes, I still have it. I knew I was taking the bike out again today.

Graygirl: We needed to have that for the people who used the bike after you...last night...

Ms. Doink: ...Oh!

More Life Lessons

2010-04-23T17:30:00.000-07:00

The following should quench some thirst until I get my Big Party Weekend notes A) Found and B) Organized:

We'll start off with a few more life lessons with Redgirl. Since I know that all you are running to get pencil and paper for notes, I'll pause for a moment to allow for scurrying.

Ok.

Gather 'round...

First off:

Ginger, while the same color and beginning with the same letter as Garlic, does not taste the same. In fact, no matter how much you add, it still won't taste the same. Instead of having Savory Lamb with Basil Mushrooms, you will have Funky Tasting Lamb with Ruined Mushrooms. And it will be served with a side of Disappointed Taste Buds.

Next Lesson:

If you put a hood on it and it looks like Ted Kaczynski, don't let it in. Furthermore, green plastic bags should not be opened and rifled with unless the rifler is willing to deal with unsavory content.

Let me explain.

Weird old man with thick glasses and big bushy beard was a "walk in" on Sunday. He seemed agreeable, if odd and a bit verbose. I gave him a room. (Which wisely was NOT the Cursed Room...he didn't look harmless enough to take that chance) A few hours later, my maintenance guy (we'll call him "Juan") found a white plastic bag just inside our street entrance door. He brought it up and we both looked at it.

Similar to how you examine a purse for an ID, I felt we should examine the bag. (...and I'm reeelly nosey. This you know) Contents were:

Large bottle of unopened green antiseptic mouthwash

5 Energizer D Batteries (with no devisable thing to use them in)

Full roll of toilet paper, quilted

Green plastic bag with *literature* of some kind in it

A pea green towel (I don't know if it was clean, I wasn't about to sniff it...not THAT curious, folks)

Mystery remained though.

The Green Bag.

As you've probably guessed, it contained things of an adult nature, with an emphasis on young, ethnic, and pierced.

But moving on.

I caught a glimpse that will be seared in my brain for some time, and then Juan and I tied that entire thing up tight. Then we pulled out the hand sanitizer. Then the Lysol wipes for the counter.

I told Juan "I think I know whose it is, I expect him within the hour."

Sure enough, like leopard returning to drag its half eaten bushbuck to a better location, he came back. "I...uh...left a bag by that door over there..." Me: "One moment sir!"

At least, I consoled myself, he was only staying for one night.

Or so I thought.

This all happened Sunday. When I came in for work on Wednesday, I was met by my boss. The first words out of his mouth "Why did you let crazy people in??" followed by "Everyone here hates you right now" and "We thought he was your uncle, because that's the only way we figured you let him in" as well as other things I don't think I'll repeat.

Apparently, he approached everyone and asked if they were a guest or they worked here. (EVERYone) He inquired about the glasses in the room, a la Pen Girl. He terrorized our poor omelet maker so that she couldn't stay at her station. He repeatedly turned up radios and tvs to the point where someone had to go to his room and knock on his door. He proceeded to yell every vulgar and obscene thing in the book through the door. (and the guy who reported that part is probably listed as a contributing author on that book, so he would know)

My response was that maybe I had let him in, but they didn't have to let him stay. (for three days! Three days people!)

Then my boss gifted me with the Ted Kaczynski blurb, which I will keep in my repertoire and use in any situation that remotely calls for it.

Lesson Three:

If a guest reports to you in a jittery and twitchy manner that he's 46 days (exactly) clean from a drug that "makes lines of coke look like sissy stuff", try to avoid prolonged conversation with them. Especially if upon receiving Advil, they tell you they can't swallow pills and find an area to bend over backwards far enough that the pill can drop down their gullet with no help of a swallowing mechanism.

Lesson Four:

If you're a narcissistic boor with the hotel staff, don't expect any real consolation or sympathy when you lose not only your room key, but your government issued phone. If you see a concerned expression, they are probably laughing themselves silly inside. (They also can't wait to tell the rest of the staff)

Lesson Five:

Always make the reservation beFORE you play the squeaky wheel game. Example: I received an email from a woman who could only find Standard King rates online, but no upgraded ones. She also wanted to know special rates for "June Pride Month" (?). Upon inspection of our schedule, I saw we were completely booked for something unrelated. I checked with my boss, and he hopped online and closed the dates out.

Him: Now you can tell her...whatever you want really"

Me: *Evil laughter*

So I email her that she is welcome to make the reservation (knowing full well she can't), and to feel free to call or email that she wants the upgraded room and I would do it...for no cost!

The first part is understandable...to explain that even though there were rooms last time she checked..but there won't be any now is a big difficult, but the latter half was probably a tad gleeful. But see! I was willing to upgrade her! That should make her happy...

Lesson Six:

If you're planning to attend a large event, such as a four year college's graduation, don't call at the last minute and expect to get reservations. I can feel for the people that didn't know there was even a college in town, but the people that are actually coming for the graduation make me a little agog.

Really. Think about the number of people graduating. Their families will have to stay somewhere. Calling anything less than five months ahead means your chance of getting a hotel in a 15 mile radius is less than your spawns chances of getting into the university in the first place. Yeah, so good luck with that.

I've rambled on enough. Mrs. Chatterbox should probably have her own post...

Information Overload Syndrome

2010-04-15T12:07:00.000-07:00

Funny clip :)

Hopefully a post this evening when I get to work...

A Helpful Note for Friends, Family, and Flatmates Current and Future

2010-04-13T01:56:00.000-07:00

The Redgirl Sleep Phenomenon
or, as Em calls it, "Lies, Lies, All Lies!"

Some of you may know what happens when you need to wake me up for some reason. Probably because you have learned through trial and error. Below is a simple (and useful!) how-to guide to avoid confusion, frustration, and missed appointments to do fun things. Also included or things not to do and their possible results.

1.

When attempting to wake the Redgirl, begin the process before you actually NEED her to be awake. Start with a half an hour.

2.

You can start by saying "Redgirl!" By hearing her name, she will rouse, be beware: what you hear is not necessarily what you get. (this part is what Em calls "lies". I simply call it "perseverance needed") Redgirl does talk in her sleep, and this is not much different. She has been known to have entire conversations with people on the subject of getting up and not remember them.

When she was young and her mother had to get her up for school, Redgirl became very good at yelling "Yes? Of course I'm up!" while being asleep. This allowed her to gain precious minutes of slumber.

If you hear phrases like "just one moment!", "I'm getting up!", "I'll be right out!", or anything similar, Redgirl is probably not awake. Ignore anything she says at this time.
Another thing to avoid is, if there is something planned, to believe her when she says "I've decided not to" or "go on without me". She does not mean it. She will be angry with you when she gets up and will not listen to you excuses.

3.

At this point, you may be ready for confrontation. You might even want to try the old "rip off the covers to shock her into alertness" approach. This is Not a Good Idea. As one particular roommate has discovered, this makes Redgirl mean. Redgirlis not usually mean, but if something were to do it, this would be it.

4.

You now have two options. For these, you need tools. Option one is to call her phone. Redgirl sleeps with her phone next to her ear. She uses the phone as an alarm, but when someone calls, she will answer. And when she answers, she can be reasoned with. Even if you're in the next room, try calling.

5.

If you don't have a phone handy or are unable to use the above method, try the following. Be warned, this is a Last Resort. Invest in a squirt bottle. Fill bottle with cold or icy water. Squirt exposed areas.

This will get results.

You can warn first, if you like. If you have to use this method enough, the barest mention will induce an effect similar to Pavlov's dogs.

Her mother only had to use it once. After that, Redgirl knew she would do it and reacted accordingly.

Insane Night. Not Even Kidding.

2010-04-10T05:20:00.000-07:00

I sit here cooling my heels...lukewarm decaffeinated coffee in one hand, brandi-new Dresden novel in the other.

A lazy evening at best.

My faithful readers might notice that I've connected my site to my Google Buzz thingy. This is to spread my domination. I also very much appreciate all of my followers.

Being a follower is easy! It makes me happy too...gives me warm glow-ee feelings. The result of this is that I tend to post more. So if you're reading, comment! Follow! Subscribe! Show the love!

These complacent fuzzy thoughts were interrupted by some rude people. People who had the nerve to check out at 3:40am instead of waiting for 7 when I got off.

Enter:

One obese bespeckeled man with propensity for inane jokes and obnoxious chatter. Really. As much as I admire your ability to sustain asinine conversation with your coworkers, you need not ply your trade with me.

Three woman of dubious awareness, evidenced by participating in the first man's conversation and not knowing the room numbers of where they've been staying the past 5 nights. Presumably they slept in their rooms every night, but I am not one to ask questions. (oh, wait. yes I am...)

One nervous Asian woman who for all my body language cajolings, kept herself planted at the handicapped counter area, which sits behind several picture frames. Any time I needed her to sign something, I had to walk over and hand it to her. She then spent time looking for bare surfaces to sign the document instead of plodding 2 feet over to where she should have been standing.

Two typical and redundant conversations of which the content was roughly "You been on all night? On a Friday? You poor, poor thing! You must want to be out socializing...hitting the clu-ubs, drinking the bo-oze. How do you stay awake?" Do I seriously look like the kind of person that would mind not being able to go out every night and attempt to drown my liver?

And then, Airporter Wars.

Shuttles were coming about every 15 minutes due to the large volume of check outs. The first shuttle had to leave some people behind because obese man forgot to let them know he required 2-3 seats. When the second shuttle left, Asian woman blathered for an excess time that "those peoples flights are later than ours." She pointedly did not voice her conclusion of "so you should take me first". The driver (after she made her statement about four times to nobody in particular) made the casual statement that "We're picking people up in the order of the times that they wanted to be at the airport. You wanted to be there at...5am, so you're fine."

Ha. Take that.

Some random man walked in and gave a name. I pulled it up and began the check out process. Five minutes later (after not really understanding a word of what he was saying due to an extreme accent) I realized that he was not, in fact, Mr. Burrows. And as he was not Mr. Burrows, Mr. Burrows was not therefore checking out. Random man ("Giles")was from the competing shuttle service, Supershuttle there to pick up Mr. Burrows.

One of my pet peeves is when people come up to the desk and just say a name. Example:

"James"

I don't know if this is a first or a last name. I don't know if you want to talk to them. If you are them, are you checking out or in? Did you lose your key and want another one? Maybe you're checking to see if they checked in because you're supposed to meet them. In any case, there is a lesson here:

I cannot read your mind.

And honestly, I don't want to...

Giles took up the mantle of the unwanted lobby guest. Seeing as he arrived at the hotel a full 45 minutes before Mr. Burrows was scheduled to leave, he went ahead making himself at home; first asking if I would call up to his room. (Nooo...I can't even begin to tell you how discourteous that would be. He's probably not up at 5am if he doesn't have to leave until 5:40.) Then Giles wants coffee. (There's no coffee made...I have some decaff here in my pot, but it's tepid right now) Giles takes coffee anyway. Giles sits and tries to make small talk with me while I attempt to catch up on blog reading and happy book.

Another local airporter van comes. Mr. Donald isn't in the lobby, and he's scheduled to go. Mr. Donald isn't answering his room phone. Local Driver and Giles get into a conversation about whose company is better to work for. Local Driver keeps asserting that Supershuttle has a bad business plan because they make their drivers lease or buy their vans. Giles continues to try to convince her that she is wrong.

Upon hearing his convoluted explanation, Redgirl is inclined to believe Local Driver, though she is convinced they both have a few bats flapping about in their belfries.

Local Driver leaves because Mr. Donald isn't there, and won't answer his phone. He can catch the next shuttle. Giles attempts to tell me about the traffic, life as a shuttle driver, and his children who attend the local college. Giles then steals more of my coffee.

Next Local Airporter comes. Mr. Donald is still unresponsive. After 4 calls total, the end of one of them sounds like he tried to pick up but fumbled the phone. Redgirl holds conversation with Local Driver (diff than before) and guest about her responsibility in trying to get ahold of someone (who had from reports been "enjoying the local color" or in other words, liquored up). 2 calls later, Mr. Donald says he'll "be right down."

Team "Try to rouse sloshed man" all wonder what his definition of "be right down is." Helpful guest doesn't want to bet with Redgirl that it won't be under 7 minutes.

Mr. Donald comes down and checks out. Doesn't seem to notice that he is not asked for name or room number, as Redgirl trusts to her nose that it is him.

Giles takes more coffee.

Mr. Burrows shows and Giles leaves. Redgirl rejoices.

She also rejoices in 2 things that always cheers her up:

Asking bleary-eyed guests for their room numbers upon check out. Guest can barely remember their own name, much less a room number. Redgirl likes watching them blink and be confused. She waits to tell them she can use last, or even first name as well.

Telling people leaving the lobby "have a nice trip!" Guest's automatic reaction is to say "you too." This is not applicable, but by the time they realize, they are too far through the door to try to fix it. Redgirl can feel the awkwardness in the air.

And it smells good.

Bike Wars

2010-04-08T16:50:00.000-07:00

Not too many moons ago, the Happy Hotel decided to provide bicycles for its oh-so-happy-guests to borrow. The idea is as follows:

The guest decides they would like to ride a bike around our charming town. We tell them that we require a deposit to cover the bike in case they wreck it or don't bring it back (in a suitably charming manner, that is)

Guest decides (A) Ack! too much! or (B) Sure thing :)

I really need a flow chart to pull this off...

If (A), All is Good. If (B), guest fills out waiver (if I kill myself, my family won't sue you) and give their credit card. Guest sees bike. Guest says: (C) "Do I have to ride with those flags promoting your hotel sticking out of the back?" or (D) "Oh yay!! Flags! How exciting!"

If (C), the answer is "yes". Then, (E) guest declines bike, (F) guest accepts bike unhappily or (G) they beg to remove flag. If (E), all is good. If (F), it is good and bad. (how happy, knowing they feel so conspicuous! what revenge!). If (G), we grudgingly let them. After all, the entire point is to promote the hotel.

If (D), (F), or (G), they take the bike out. Then, either (H) they return on time or (I) they do not return, in which case we try their cell phones.

I'm going to stop now because I think you've gotten a feel for the process.

Two amusing anecdotes from today:

"Steve" doesn't seem to be from another country, a country where no one lies, steals or commits low level white collar embezzlement. His English is good with hardly an identifiable accent.

That's why, when I saw him bike off (with difficulty), it was a surprise to myself and the rest of the staff that after unlocking his bike from its u-lock with the key provided, he proceeded to bike off, having securely locked the u-lock....to the hand railing.

He took the key with him, so one presumes...well....one doesn't know what to presume. Maybe he didn't intend on stopping, or put more trust than I do in the local inhabitants.

***

"Brian" saw people merrily tromping around in helmets with happy grins on their faces. He just knew that soon those white shining teeth would be plastered with squashed gnats while traveling at speeds up to 15 mph on the local bike trails.

He wanted a piece of that action.

In his mid 60's and reasonably hale, he figured he could handle one of those wheeled broncos.

Brian: "I'd like to see about one of those bikes"

Me: "Ok. While they are complementary, we do ask for a $$$ deposit to cover the cost of the bike if you keep riding into the sunset *cheerful laugh*" (nicer way of saying "to cover your possible theft or if you end up wrecking b/c you have no earthly clue how to ride")

Brian: *tries to stare me down* "$$$!!! That's quite a bit...."

Me: *smiles* "It's just an authorization that will be released upon the bike's return."

Brian: *glares* "That's too much." *leaves*

(In the interim, 3 ladies came and wanted bikes. Out of my six, I had three left. I happily and gleefully gave them to them. I had a hunch that...)

Brian comes back up. "I'd like to go ahead and get a bike."

Me: *respectfully apologetic* "I'm so sorry sir, but the remaining 3 bikes were just taken out. They'll be back in two to four hours...?"

Brian: *gives unhappy snort and walks away*

Audit for the rest of the week!

And you know what that means....more odd posts that have nothing to do with reality :)

Onward Into the Fray

2010-04-03T20:10:00.000-07:00

Hotel full tonight with a combo of a Finnish Choir (try pronouncing anything it that language) and (I think) Ultimate Frisbee competitors.

"Ultimate" competitors rather. Frisbee got upset at the "copyright violation".

Last year, it was bad. Writhing masses of people screaming and yelling and getting drunk and falling into the pool and throwing up (and making lots of noise). This year? Better, in that all these things happened at about an 8 rather than a 10.

Point is; it's loud, but we keep an eye on it. When it gets to a certain time, or we feel it has gone out of control, we shoo them out. At that point, they're usually so drunk that they docilely respond like sheep and tromple off in a shambling herd to the streets in search of more booze, pizza, and booze.

This year, we did drink tickets. This altered the mood sufficiently that Miss. I Love Tequila Sunrises found her way to the bathroom beFORE fertilizing the potted palm.

Mr. I'm Not Staying At the Hotel came to buy drink tickets and attempted to chat me up.

Or rather, he did chat me up. The fact that I didn't buy into it did not mean that he did the deed.

It started with the clique:

Dude: "Redgirl? What a nice name..."

Me: (smiles)

Dude: (more inane stuff) "So...when do you get off?"

Me: "Eleven" (knows that by the time 11 hits, he'll be well on his way to being drunk and won't know Christopher Eccleston from David Tennant)

Dude: (knows this too, but still trying to be coy) "Aah, but the real question is, what are you doing for Easter?" (tomorrow)

Me: (sad, fake smile) "Working..."

What did he think I was going to say?

"Gosh golly! I'm off! We should, like, TOTally do something! What's your name, by the way? We could, you know, hunt eggs or something together *wink*"

(and I'm going to stop there, b/c you know I could take that too far for a reasonably PG-13 rated blog...)

Probably another post tonight; I just *know* this won't end quietly...

Having the Boys Over For, Well, Drunken Revelry!

2010-03-31T04:15:00.000-07:00

When I do the night audit at work, there generally comes a time in the evenings (mornings rather) that for all the TV shows I've watched, for all the books I've read and coffee consumed, I get restless.

I get the urge to shut down current activities and DO something. Create something.

Anything really.

The night in question produced a short picture story with the main character inspired by my coworker, who in the end we suspect is eaten by an alligator.

Seeing as how I've got another audit coming up, it behooves me to think of new adventures.

While in the booze section of the local Safeway, I decided to get my main character drunk. Bottle of Cabernet in hand (my spaghetti sauce secret ingredient), I was smacked to a halt by the gleaming bottles of 30 proof and above.

Bottles. Clear bottles, tinted bottles. Faceted bottles cut to impress...and lure you into spending more on looks rather than flavor. More alcohol than needed to give TEN woolly mammoths alcohol poisoning.

I needed to ed-u-ma-kate myself. "I shall have him drink whiskey" I murmured, "and he shall get drunk and possibly pass out in a decorative pond and drown."

This garnered me a fully deserved incredulous look and subsequent sidling away from the skinny Asian boy lugging his 2 liter bottle of Smirnoff melon flavored vodka. I hope he plans on getting help to finish that.

Of all the family names, the Whiskey clan is possibly one of the oldest and most respected of Moonshine County. The County of Tequila sometimes tries to best it in the local version of the Olympics, but it's hard for them to train. All they have to work with are deserts and cacti.

Like Jacob and his 12 sons, the four sons of whiskey are Jim, Jack, Johnny, and James(on). This leads me to believe that Whiskey's first name is James. Similar to the vikings, Jameson, as the eldest, took his name from his father. The triplet younger brothers, unable to have this honor, chose for themselves other names.

Jim Bean, Jack Daniels, and Johnny Walker. Mr. Walker was a great triathlete. Unfortunately, his liver went out on him before he got much older than 47. The others took heed of their brother's misfortune and only drank when they had Wild Turkey ;)

I took mental notes. I bought my wine and gently foaming antibacterial melon scented hand soap. All I need add to the mix now is 1)too little sleep, 2) copious amounts of coffee (diluted with half and half to satisfy my calcium/milk requirement), and 3) a certain twist of the mind that can only happen when I'm wearing my magic tie and vest.

Bring it on.