Paint Me Dead in a Gutter

So there I was, absoLUTely minding my own business, and this guy, probably 40's drifts over and we strike up a conversation. He asks me about possible good places to go at night, and I tell him one that I thought he might like, after my assessment of him, incidentally MY favorite place.

Tip from Redgirl #1

Never, and I mean never give out the name of your place to go out the same night as you might want to go out. Otherwise you might (a) meet them there unintentionally or (b) if you tell them you aren't going out and you go, they might see you (awk--ward)

So we're chatting, and he makes a comment about me looking tired, and I throw out my crazy schedule (getting up at 7am, working straight 'till 11pm, home around 12/1ish). I add in the comment about always having to go straight home to get the most sleep possible. Then I say

"So what are YOUR plans for the evening?"

(him) "Well, none...since you're not out"

Then, he notices the book I was reading and we start to talk about different literary authors. I had seen where he was heading with that, but I was infinity curious to see where the conversation would go.

Tip from Redgirl #2

Rather, advice from my co-worker that I shall now pass on to you. "Redgirl, you've got to stop extending the conversation. One day, it's going to get you in trouble" This is true. Sometimes, you've got to know when to stop--don't let curiousity get the better of you...unless, that is, you're ME, chasing a possible juicy story :>)

Finally, he says "Have you ever been a model?"

Me : (very matter-of-factly) "Nope, though my mother and I took a drawing class together, where everyone sketched the class. I enjoyed drawing hands" (ha...and may hap we've nipped THAT in the keester!)

Him: "I'm surprised...you have the qualities in a figure that artists like to draw" (.....or not)

Me: "Hmm...that's interesting" (in a creepy sort of way!)

Him: "I was wondering...well, I don't know if you're allowed..." (insert about minute long nattering about the basic sum-up of: "Would you be able to pose for me?"

Me: (urp??) "You're right, the hotel wouldn't like it...sorry"

Tip From Redgirl #3

When dashing a creepo's (or any one's for that matter) hopes and dreams, find a way to agree with part of a statement they made to cite in your refusal. It makes it easier when they stab themselves in the foot like our friend here.

Him: "Or, just a quick portrait, like only 10 minutes...we wouldn't have to do it in my room if that's the problem"

Now imagine about 5 more minutes of him trying to convince me. During this time, *I* am inserting comments like "I don't think that would work", "Yeah, they wouldn't like that", and "uh huh, it's too bad". Just like when people are talking to you and you really aren't listening, so you use fillers like "uh huh...mmm....really?....aah.....you don't say!" and etc.

Tip from Redgirl #4

Don't go with strange men who promise they can make you famous if you just come for a little photo shoot in their "studio". I know my dude was an artist, but I'm going to extrapolate. He didn't really have the "sleazy photographer vibe", but the "draw you" line? Plz.

So...he kinda wound down, gave me his website to check, wedding ring flashing in our chandelier lighting, wishing that he would be staying longer than one day. (he would have to do all the wishing on that one). The website was....interesting...to say the least. Yes, of course I went! You should know me by now...

I'm sure there are thousands of women who are made lucratively famous by grease-slicked agents they meet in train stations fresh from the farm, but we only ever hear about the ones that end up raped and bleeding their jugular vein into a grimy gutter. Why take the chance?

Tidbits

Ok. So I have been a bad (red)girl and not written in a while.

First off: I have discovered some great blogs written by some truly talented comedy writers. I read so intently that I hit a bit of a timing crunch at work at clock-out. Check out:

http://wendiaarons.com/

Awful Library Books

And of course, the blogs in my side list are always good :)

Now, a few more story continuances.

Spoon Man has been back a few times since our little *incident*. My heart always droops a bit to see him check in, because it severely limits the bars I can hit if going out that night to: ONE. Ah well, sacrifices to maintain the honor of cutlery.

I hope you will all remember our friend from the Cursed Room...from Iraq? Click here to refresh your memory. Well. Things have been going swimmingly--meaning I talk to him as little as possible, and he has these long pontificous conversations seemingly with himself. I have knocked my facial expressions down from the naive smile of my yester-years to the wide-eyed questioning expression. To achieve this look, the eyes must be opened wide, lips slightly pouted out to enhance the cheekbones. You can tilt your head a tad to one side, and furrow your brows just a tiny bit.

This will communicate the general appearance of "But sir, I don't understand!" (now, with this picture, just age it 2 decades and make the hair red...that would be me)

So far, it seems to be working, although he talks more. Here's where things get good. After our last little such discussion, he ended with what I shall summarize as "...and yo, so when we get back to Iraq and all, we can just phone y'all up and chat, rehash the good times"



WHAT.



I have been circling the date in my calendar that they will no longer be in my life. I check the computer every day to see if they've moved the date up. I have swapped shifts with unsuspecting co-workers based on if it's a day or two when they're gone staying in SF. (Because yes, I--as their especial friend--get the privilege of knowing all their plans) I have wept, sobbed, beat my breast screaming "WHY GOD???!!!" into the empty storming, night...

You get the picture.

Not a snowball's chance in hell, even if I have to crawl down there and eat it myself.

How Suite it IZ to be Loved by U!

Have you ever noticed how amusing people can be who are not in full control of their faculties? The girl at the nightclub who tries to hit on the manager (like that's never happened to him before) and then proceeds to give her (female) friend an extremely unenticing lap dance to, perhaps, show him what was on the market. Oh, and did I mention she was roughly 3.57 sizes to big for her dress? Hmm, I guess I just did.

Then there's the the tall 50-something construction worker who, after asking "where do the girls go?" and taking my hand say earnestly "If I don't remember this night.....thank you." He didn't.

We have "Spoon Man" who asked me in succession if:

A) I wanted to come up and hang out after my shift

B) We could sleep together

C) "Or we could spoon"

When he came back to apologize, I neglected to mention that the story had sustained the entire hotel management staff with laughter for over a week after refusing to have him banned because he was "too amusing". It was just the topping on the cake that when he came back to apologize I got this from my 63 year old swain:

"Alcohol was involved...you probably realized....but you're such an attractive person, I really couldn't help myself!" Um. Apology entirely negated now...

Now. On to current dude. Current dude is a gin-and-tonic kind of guy. How do I know? Well, he ordered no less than one every fifteen minutes for two hours in the bar. (for you non-math majors out there, that makes 8 gently mixed alcoholic beverages) G&T man and his friend came to the front desk to chat. The friend needed to check on something in a local business where he worked, but G&T man said he would follow him in a few. I was asked by friend if I didn't want him to take G&T man with him.

Me: Nah, you can leave him...he's amusing

G&T: She thinks I'm cute!

Me: *smiles shark grin and thinks "you poor drunk boy"*

So, after being asked if I would like to participate in a variety of activities that would no doubt get me fired, let alone excommunicated from my church, I tested my eel-like abilities to slither away from anything specific. In example:

G&T: We could ***********. I would love to take you and ************ and then we could **********.

Me: That's not possible. I'm not available for that.

G&T: But **********************!

Me: I'm sorry...that's not going to happen. (making conversation) Do you work?

G&T: Do you want me to work? 'cause I can work......

Me: INteresting.....

G&T: You should call me (gives me his number)

The friend eventually comes back and tows him away. As I'm checking a lady in, he plasters himself against the glass wall and shouts "I LOVE YOU!" in the drawl of the indisputably inebriated, the dreamily drunk.

As for points? Does it still count if the professor of love was tipsy? Who cares????

I am LOOOOOVVVVEEED!!!!!!!!

**cough**

**smirk**

**helpless giggles on floor of back room**

Those Demons, Those Pesky Demons

To start with, I'd like to direct your attention to the following link. Some guests stayed for a bit, we got talking, this was his response to the question "What other sorts of hotels have you stayed in?" He was quick to point out his trump card was not a hotel. It was, in fact, a MOtel; something that I was to find was different. Maybe it's an alphabetical thing...the Hotel is best, then an Inn, then a Lodge, and finally a Motel. But where does that leave the Suites and Resorts? I'd love to hear of any one's perspective on the proper line-up....

The demon of cleanliness got into my body somehow earlier this week. I originally decided that as my birthday present, I would "gift myself" with a clean room. Clothes had piled up...important papers had disappeared, my favorite ink cartridge drawing pen was missing and any desk activities had taken up a permanent residence on the dining room table.
Now. I'm not saying my room was MESSY, just that it needed tidying.
Problem is, once you start, it's hard to stop. The clean demon doesn't just help you toss clothes in the laundry basket and sweep the desktop clear. It declares that the papers you have now put into a nice, orderly pile must be FILED away neatly. "Oh?" says the demon, "You don't have a current filing system? Well halt it all! Let's make one NOW!"
Five hours later, you find your self cross-legged on the floor with piles of papers around you, a ring of clothes around the files with a plastic tub between your knees. You find yourself upset that you don't carry a good stock of hanging folders in various colors. Creativity now equals being able to come up with as many different categories for the various scraps as you can think of, because the more folders you have, the more organized you are.
I am now very organized.
When I finally looked up and realized that the sky was dark outside, I noticed that A) my room looked worse than it had to begin with, B) I wasn't sure I had storage space for all the new organization I had accomplished, and C) It looked like I was performing some Dresden-like ritual, where instead of circling myself with physical and spiritual circles, I was using clothing and paper circles. (To ward off what? I was already possessed by the clean demon. Maybe the clean demon was trying to protect itself from eviction by the demons of unfastidiousness)
ANYway, so as I was sitting there, I found myself falling into thought. People that are so clean in public ("I always arrange my desk just so!")....are they really slovenly at home? Is that a control issue?
Then there are the "Don't clean it! Right now I know where everything is!" people. What do their houses/rooms look like? And would I now (after deciding to turn over a "new leaf" as I have....ha. ha.) find it necessary to be more unkempt in my workspace after spending all my cleaning energies at home? Maybe in order to present the outward appearance of tidiness, I shall find it necessary to have a messy living area!!
Maybe.....

The Cursed Room

So, last time I shared about the occupant of Room "A", or as we now refer to it "The Cursed Room". I dearly wanted to break the curse. It is the goal of all front desk staff to do what we can in this endeavor. The other night, I gave it a shot.
And I failed. Miserably.
This blond lady checks in, and she looks reasonably with it, so I put her in the Cursed Room thinking I might get lucky. (me, lucky??? huh...) Later on, a man whom she identifies as her husband comes by to let me know "because he doesn't want to hide anything" that his puppy is in the car, and will be staying there, is that all right?
So...you snuck in the hotel through devious means to get your dog in, and NOW you want to know if it's all right? And oh, do we have pet rooms?
We don't have pet rooms, so I call my manager and he oks it. (NOT normal procedure...but he kind of snuck in...)
Fast forward to that evening.
I'm off, but chatting with the next guy, who gets a call from an outside line. "Her husband walked in on her and her lover, call 911! He's really pissed!!" *click*
Huh?!?!
We see husband come out, followed soon by blond lady and another man. they all go out the the car park and as I am leaving, I hear the husband say that he is so pissed he just wants to "stab you [illicit lover] with a knife".
What else is there??? A tire iron? those things don't slide in well...trust me on this....
So when I came back in, I urged Security to "keep an eye on things", ie, find a good spot to listen in. Was I concerned about the potential stabbing in our car park? Well, maybe a little. It wouldn't do a thing for our hotel to be a hot spot for emergency assistance vehicles....but any publicity is good publicity, right?? Right? RIGHT???
Yeah. That's what *I* thought.
Eventually they all left in the lover's car, the first caller having never been identified.
Fun. Really fun.

Gibson Ranch After Action Report

Quick Note:
I do Civil War Reenacting. (if you don't know what that is, shoot me an email at redgirl0990@gmail.com) I dress as a male cannonner "Red" with the 3rd US Mounted Artillery. The following is the "After Action Report" I wrote for the club newsletter. For more information, visit warhorse.org

Gibson After Action Report

After a relaxing leave, I received a call to arms paired with a strong suggestion that I appear in light of the numbers attending. I set out for the rendezvous, encountering Madame A also on trek for the front having heard rumors of her son being sighted in that area. Madame's carriage being faster than my feet, I hitched a ride. Twas almost a pain in my heart and a tear in my eye to see all my fellow comrades in arms after such a long absence--reunited at last! One I did not recognize was the new Cookie, though there are elements of familiarity with that face...with the food. It will come to me in time, I am sure. After all, as one in the Secret Fraternity of Clerkhood, information is MY bread and butter.

The Colonel, being an officer with a head high above the clouds, no doubt did not notice that the battle for the green hills of Gibson Valley took place under a sweltering sun. We below did our best to provide subtle hints, such as perspiring copiously, panting loudly, and falling stricken to the ground before rounds even left gun chambers. I confess, the only reason our gun seemed to be safe was the ever-present haze of sulphurous canon smoke that hung over our knoll. Some chose to attribute this to First Sgt. F's generous firing drill; others to the serendipity of having Pvt. M. "Reverend" W. on our crew, though that could also be attributed to the crafty First Sergeant. All this soldier knows is that there was shade.

The Gray Cavalry saw a gun that apPEARED to be alone and defenseless. This was, however a cunning trap set by our dashing, cool-headed commander (he was parked under the leafiest tree on the north bank of the river). Charging down the hill, pistol blasting, he shamed the Lieutenant into bravery as well. The Lieutenant always did have a rather high self preservation streak that needs to be removed. The Cavalry, perhaps with the misguided notion that the raging artillery team would be close behind, kicked up their heels and scurried back across the river. Their mounts then followed.

Our valour in the face of the insurgents and the heat must have touched a heart string somewhere, for a breeze struck up during our much-earned siesta. Upon returning to the gun, we were joined by a new cannoneer. Having not run the transfer paperwork myself, I was naturally curious as to his identity. I put all my natural subtlety as clerk in to action. "Who are you, where have you come from, and in God's name why are you HERE?" I received a completely unsolicited "Bug off, stripey". This did not fill me with joy and goodwill. Many of you will remember a certain Cpl. F that joined Our Lord some years back, leaving the lovely Widow F. Then, a brother appeared from nowhere to take his place not only in her affections, but in the saddle as well. This Cpl has been absent all while a similar-visaged man has been sauntering around in Lieutenant bars. And now another brother F appearing as a cannoneer? I submit that something officially fishy is taking place; therefore, I will investigate with all the resources at my disposal and inform the commandment of my findings. That said, I do feel the Corporal has a firm understanding now of the proper procedure with which to present rounds to be loaded. Taking such a duty so lightly as to include skipping is not to be tolerated.

We returned from a successful skirmish to find Pvt R in a flurry of food. I found much to my dismay that the 3rd US Artillery, Schnieder's Battery was to host a diplomatic envoy from our South-most counterparts, James River Artillery. And they were bringing their womenfolk with them. No half-measures there! Pvt. Mel volunteered to fetch the envoy in the ambulance, and with our only other option the limber and cassion, we agreed. We hoped the obvious signals would be correctly misinterpreted. A well-placed bribe lured the Fort Point Garrison Brass Band to our camp, who proceeded to serenade the southern sailors. Such was the call of the sirens, that our very own unit was drawn to listen. Pvt.s T and L held out long enough to bring wash water, but then they too were lost.

Much like any glimpse of something Divine, details of the evening are hazy, save two key points. I'm not sure where Pvt R came by those six apple pies, but as long as they keep coming, I don't think anyone cares. The company was so pleasant, the conversation so delectable that the future course of the war does not concern me as much as whether such a gathering can be had again.

Morning brought to the forefront such important issues as: would there be enough eggs? (there would) who shot Big Guy? (a horse did...one of the black ones) and was the state of the Captain's soul such that it would behoove him to attend Church Call? (it was, so it would) I also realized at this time that, somewhat to my clerk-y surprise, there was no one left to hunt down for ration money. I would like to send my gratitude to all those attending for stepping up to the plate and not making me chase you in that heat.

Captain G conspired with First Sergeant F to provide a demonstration of our military prowess by fielding a gun with full crew and shooting at nothing. After a consultation between corporals past, present, and possibly future, Cpl A angled the gun towards some shifty looking barn-like structures in the far distance. They weren't moving at the moment, but hell, have we ever taken chances? Our first shot was a sighting shot. We decided this after me made it. We shifted left, then fired again...or rather tried to. We tried to fire roughly 4 more times. By the time our primer-impaired cannon actually went off, we were of the opinion that distant metal barns held no threat, as they hadn't moved at all from our barrage.

We were told that Sunday was cooler. They say if you tell anybody something often enough they will believe it, and Command was certainly doing its damnedest to test that theory. Being a student of human nature myself, I don't entirely agree with the control group they used, but it did get the rest of the soldiers semi mobile. This was just dandy because it gave the Rebels something to shoot at other than myself--a mobile shield against pesky confederate lead. This appeared to be working rather well....until halfway through the first skirmish. Upon the clear front, I swept my eyes around the knoll, and spied movement where there shouldn't be. After discharging, I made pointing motions, and a sound similar to "ooga ooga! the enemy!!" Ignored by the rest of the crew, I concentrated my efforts on Cpl. F, who heard the certain girlish tone to my voice when I become frantic. After alerting command, the Captain again plunged down the hill into the melee. Even with no trusty Lieutenant to guard his back this time, he emerged victorious and unscathed...the gun was saved!!

I end my report of the Battles of Gibson Ranch, Gibson River, and Gibson Hills with a hearty Hoorah!! No casualties were taken from the elite 3rd--either from enemy fire, the heat, or friendly fire. Our men -- skilled. Our Commander -- fearless. Our horses -- fast, and our our food -- hearty! I look forward to our next engagement and hope to see many more uniforms, with strong soldiers to fill them.

One Unwanted Guest With a Side of Sliminess, Please?

I am not a prejudiced person.

In fact, I rarely have a problem with anyone on a basic level. That is, of course until I met the guest of room "A".

To put things in perspective, my hotel gets a number of world travels for whom English is more like the third or fourth language. Social norms may be different, leading perhaps to the following instances:

An Afghani, traveling with a group of other Afghanis would approach strange women in the bar and the following would take place.

Him: You are my seester. You come to my room. Room 999.

Her: I'm not your sister, and I'm not going to your room!

Him: (insistent) You are my SEESter. You come to my room! Room 999. (and so on)

A Macedonian Group came to stay. I was offered fervently on multiple occasions the chance to get in on some feet lickin' action. Yup, one of the *gentlemen* made it clear to me 5 or 6 times that he would be happy to perform the service. Now, I googled this...didn't get too far....and then figured I probably didn't want to know.

Current man is part of a group from Iraq. At first he seemed nice, but....began asking such scintillating questions as "How old are you? Are you married? How is your education? You eat much?" I chose not to hear the last question, and tossed it off. Discussing the matter later with a co-worker, I found that he had been, if possible, worse; calling her ignorant--among other things. (probably b/c she wouldn't go along with his conversation)

So there we are, sitting there, having just both mentioned that we don't like him. He comes up and says "You both eat lots together?". I choose to misinterpret: "Yes, we work together". Him: No! No. You both eat lots..get big, BIG! Big is goooood" (now picture accompanying arm gestures) Me: (mouth agape) I'm not comfortable discussing this with you. Him: You eat lots? You get big? Me: I don't want to talk about this with you. Him: (starts to ask AGAIN) Coworker: (breaks in) She doesn't want to talk about it. Don't ask her again.

He was subsequently warned from speaking to anybody on anything other than pertinent business...especially after he tried the deal out on one of the managers. Problem. He's going to be here for awhile, and thinks that just because I'm not actively frowning at him and have to respond to his "hello-how-are-you" greetings (part of my job) that we are all happy friends. Thus, he is entitled to ask me for help on his personals site he has just signed up for and now spends hours on (no kidding, current clocked time is 3 hours). He is also entitled to ask me for help on the laptop he's borrowing that has a virus scanner program that won't. go. away.

I wonder why no one else in his group wants to help him? Oh wait. No I don't. I think I know perfectly well.

When Logic Doesn't Work, Try Yelling

So, there I was, minding my own business, and this woman comes up.
We'll call her "Natalie", and her husband "James".






Natalie: My room is a little close to the lobby...do you have anything else?



Me: no...I'm sorry, we're booked for this evening so I have nowhere else to move you.



Natalie: Ok (leaves)







Not FIVE minutes later....







Man comes up, tallish with halo of white hair surrounding thick features, and what I was soon to find was an unpleasant and stubborn face. No one else is in the lobby at this time, except for the previous occupant of *A* who is using the computer. More on him later.







James: You just told my wife that you couldn't move us



Me: That's correct



James: But why did you give us that room? We didn't ASK for that room assignment.



Me: Well sir, I assigned rooms first depending on requests, and then filled the rest in



James: (voice getting louder) But there must be other rooms you assigned to people that THEY didn't ask for and aren't here yet. You could give me one of those.



Me: I'm sorry sir, the others of your room types all had requests, I don't have anywhere else to put you.



James: (yelling now...still no one else in the lobby)But I didn't ask for this room! You can't just arbitrarily make room assignments (ummm...yes...I CAN). I didn't ask for this room!!



Me: You actually have a very nice room...you're in the main building, you're not on a floor with the soccer teams going in and out (of which you are a part of), and you're not on the street side which can get noisy at night.



James: If you don't want to play "room shuffle" just say so, but don't say there aren't any rooms left.



**point** Another parent from his team came by at one point, put a hand on his shoulder saying in a cajoling voice "are you giving her a hard time? Come on James...." only to be completely ignored, so left



Me: I have no rooms left.



James: Look me in the eye and tell me that



Me: (duuuuh) I have no rooms left



James: You're lying.



Me: ExCUSE me??



James: You're lying, you just don't want to change the rooms



Me: I'm done talking about this because I don't think you're paying attention to what I'm saying







et. cet. er. a.







Ok. Reality check. Is yelling at someone and calling them a liar going to make them anymore inclined to help you? Show of hands here... And the fact that he said he would leave as long as I assured him there was (quote) nothing else, and then he left puzzles me. I said nothing different than I had been saying the entire previous conversation, but perhaps he decided that 13 was the magic number--if I was lying the 13th time, my ears would bleed, my hair would fall out and he would be able to tell without a doubt.



My Revenge:



Being argued with is not fun for anyone in customer service, but the yelling and name calling takes it one step too far. This means that aside from just being unwilling to help him, I now want to do what I can to make his stay miserable. Ie, note on his reservation and the complete story to all other clerks. We clerks stick together. Need I say more?







Three cheers for the Scarlet L....

Anatomy of a Phone Call: in which someone dies in the end

**names have been changed to protect identity of the murderer

*ringring*

Me: Happy Hotel in Danville, this is Bethany

Her: .....

Me: Happy Hotel in Danvill....this is Bethany

Her: Is this the Happy Hotel?

um

Me: Yes.

Her: In Danville?

aaaah

Me: Yes.

Her: Ok Stephanie, can I have reservations please?

die. just die.

Me: That would be me! What dates did you need?

Her: Oh, um....lemme check.....

dude...you're calling to make hotel reservations. maybe only the Happy Hotel asks for dates...how strange!

Her: Ok Stephanie, my name is Linda Brown, and I need it for the 13 of July, 2009

yeah, cause my finger might have slipped and hit the 2010 button by accident....wait. we don't HAVE one yet

Me: Are you coming in as part of a group or conference or by yourself?

see...these dates are familiar...there is a conference going on that people have been calling for

Her: By myself

Me: Are you sure? Not the USCJEGLS conference?

Her: Nope, all my myself

sing it! aaallll bye myyyyy seeelllllf....

Me: Ok. (inputs dates) That night is going for 145 plus tax...did you have AAA?

Her: Yes

Me: That drops it down to 132. Would you like to book now?

Her: Yes

Me: First name?

Her: Brown

o rly

Me: Brown is your first name?

Her: NO...it's Linda. Brown is my LAST name.

Me: Ah

die.

(get address.....email...telephone....)

Me: And a credit card to hold the room?

Her: Credit Card?

Me: yes, to hold the room.

Her: Oh, I don't have it WITH me, it's in the car

ok. earth to linda. this must be really hard for you...a hotel that not ONLY asks you to give DATES, but also to have a CREDIT CARD handy. I'm really sorry that we can't just take your word you'll show up, but there are bad people in the world...and we have been lied to **sniff**...our trust has been broken....in fact, we're seeking counseling. no. wait. I'm more sorry you even called our hotel.

YES we will ask for a credit card, please have it handy.

Me:.......

seriously? I'm not going to make you feel all right about this.

Her: I guess I'll go down and get it

you do that.

(gets credit card information)

Her: Oh, and they told me to ask for the special USCJEGLS rate.

Me: growing dread You're coming for the USCJEGLS conference??!!!

Her: Yes

Me: So you're part of a group

Her: Oh, I suppose so

lady, you have just wasted 10 minutes of my time. I want to throttle you. I want to pluck out your eyes, reach through the holes and try to locate you pecan-sized brain. you will still be talking when I do this, because your entire brain and speech centers WONT be in your head, they are located somewhere else. where? i don't know or want to

Me: I wish you'd told me first. This will take a few minutes, and then I'll need ALL your information again.

Her: oohhh....

Me:..........

so, I'm going to make this silence as uncomfortable and drawn out as possible. I will not say anything. I will type extra loud. and i will intentionally take twice as long. then, i will put you on hold while I finish getting it "set up"

(gets EVERYTHING ALL. OVER. AGAIN.)

Me: Would you like me to just email it to you, or did you want the confirmation number as well now?

Her: The confirmation number now

Me: It is 539--

Her: Wait! I need to find a paper and pen!

if you know you are going to write a number down, perhaps you should have quill and parchment handy? or, if that fails, just carve the number into your arm using a penknife.

Her: ok, go

Me: 539714

Her: Thanks ....was is Stephanie?

Me: No...it was Bethany....B as in boy.

now pause for guilt to set in.....

**click**

The scary part is, I actually has THIS phone call. This is not an amalgamation of the "five worst calls", this is one that happened. I don't know how she planned on getting here...driving requires some common sense, NONE of what she seemed to possess.