Ring ring ...
Me: "Science Department*, this is Jennifer."
Old Man: "Yes, can I speak with Barbie Balooma?"
"I'm sorry sir, I don't know who that is; there's no one in our department by that name."
{Confused laugh} "Oh, okay, sorry, bye."
"Good bye."
(5 minutes later)
Ring ring ...
"Medicinal Chemistry, this is Jennifer."
"Hi, I need to speak to Barbie Balooma."
"I'm sorry sir, you just called here and I couldn't help you. Are you looking for someone in the Higher Education Science department?"
"No, she's in the Finance department."
"Well, this is Science. If you have internet access, you can go to www.collegename.edu and look up her name in the search bar on the home page."
{Very confused Old Man voice} "Hmmm, I guess I'm just doing everything wrong here! Okay, well, then, good bye."
"Good bye."
(2 minutes later)
(Conscience gets the best of me; I look up 'Balooma' and 'Barbie' before hitting paydirt on 'Barby' - it's Bamahloo, by the way)
Ring ring ...
"Hello?"
"Hello, sir, you just called me asking for Barby Bamahloo. I was able to look up her number and would be happy to give it to you."
"Oh, if you would look it up for me, that would be great!"
"I already looked it up for you sir; I have it right here."
"Oh, well, just let me get a pen, hold on just a second ..."
(click)
*headdesk*
(2 minutes later)
(Feeling pissy)
{Sigh}
{Grab phone}
{Begin dialing}
{Phone rings on my end}
{Switch to ringing line}
"Science Department, this is Jennifer."
"Hi, you just called me but I disconnected you."
"Yes, yes you did. Are you ready for the number?"
"I'm ready, go ahead."
"It's 555-123-4567."
"55 ... what?"
"555. 123."
{repeats} "555. 1 ... ?"
"1. 2. 3."
{repeats} "555. 123. Okay."
"4. 5."
{repeats} "4. 5."
"6."
{repeats} "6."
"7."
{repeats} "7?"
"Yes, 7."
"555-123-4567?"
"You've got it sir."
"555-123-4567. Okay, thank you so much sweety!"
{eyeroll} "Mmm-hmmm. Have a great day."
"Buh bye!"
(click)
I get karma points for that, don't I? Please tell me I do.
*Names have been changed to protect the bitchy
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Hello, My Name is Jenn and I'm ...
... ? I don't know about you, but I just can't finish that statement with a few pithy words. I'm pretty sure that I'm not alone in my multi-facetedness - doesn't everyone have a lot going on with their personality? No? Just me? Well, alrighty then. Why don't I list a few things that make me such an *ahem* interesting person, and you can pick and chose whichever ones make your skirt fly up, mmmkay?
... a reader. And I don't just mean someone who reads books, I mean someone who would breathe the printed word if possible. I took a test today (yay for the Internets!) and learned that I read at 750 words per minute. If that doesn't mean anything to you, well, we really can't be friends now, can we.
... a smidge bit stubborn. And by smidge, I mean unbelievably. Don't tell my husband I admitted that. I blame my dad. Don't tell my dad I said that.
... an overly proud parent. I'm sure all my Facebook friends are tired of hearing about my two incredible, smart, beautiful, talented, amazing children. Too bad. That's what the hide button is for, guys.
... a dog trainer. Part-time only, due to the necessity of having room for another job that actually pays the bills. I love dog training. I hate people. Surprisingly, this does not cause problems as often as one might think it would. Clients tell me I'm great (shut up! they do!), but after 3 years of training, working with hundreds of dogs of all breeds, ages, and behavior issues, I still occasionally feel like I have no idea what I am doing. Please do not read the previous sentence if you are interested in hiring me.
... a full-time executive assistant. And I just got interrupted by work. Really, the things they expect of me around here.
... a fallen-away Catholic. Baptism, First Communion, Confirmation, and Church Marriage all under my belt, and here I sit, feeling completely apathetic about ever going to mass again. In my world, being gay is not a choice and everyone deserves the right to get married. I think that abortions within the first 4 months should be legal, because it's not my right to impose my religious beliefs ("life begins at conception") on anyone else. Yeah. Not so much fitting in with the Catholic crowd these days.
... a person who believes in ghosts, psychic powers, and aliens. After seeing Sheena as a child, I spent years believing I could talk to animals. Some days, I still do. What?
... a pill-popping downer. Don't worry, the pill-popping cancels out the downer part. That's what my doctor says anyway.
... an obsessor, with no ability to let things go. Especially when those things are me doing something stupid and/or embarrassing. Or when I get utterly screwed over by random store employees. Have I told you the Hollywood Video story? Let's go with the short version, which is that I am on year 10 of my Hollywood Video boycott. Fuck those fuckers. (Mom, if you're reading this, please edit the last sentence to 'darn those meanies.' And put the bar of soap down, okey dokey?)
... a statistic in the 'morbidly obese' column. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do about that. Lord knows I need to do something.
... a dreamer. I dream of being an author, editor, crazy cat lady, and lazy woman of leisure. I dream of having a home with built-in bookcases in every room, including the kitchen and all bathrooms. I dream of getting 9-10 hours of sleep per night on a regular basis. I dream of the Pacific Ocean, Magic Mountain, and Claim Jumper. I dream that I am sitting at work and all of the sudden get this overwhelming urge to ... you know what? Never mind.
... a woman with little tolerance for females of the happy clappy persona. I am not interested in befriending someone who farts rainbows and shits sunshine. Come now, sit here on the bitchy bench with me. Isn't that better?
... a straight-arrow. The anti-partier. Bor. Ing. I'm just too old/tired/fat/broke to be fun.
... an odd duck. I can't listen to someone's voicemail without leaving a message. I only like even numbers, especially when it comes to setting my alarm or the microwave. I'm anal-retentive at work but a complete slob at home, even though the results of my slobbiness drive me insane. I want to be more liked, and am seriously annoyed with myself for the wanting. My Sahara-Desert-dry skin sucksass but I can't be bothered with lotion. Random smells make me gag, but I can handle my kids' vomit without blinking. Oh, did I go a bit too far there? Oops.
... a girl whose brother is dead. It's been seven years, and I still haven't learned to live without him.
... a wife and mother. Most days, I feel that I am not particularly good at being these things. My husband and kids kind of got screwed. Sorry guys.
... a Pampered Chef hostess currently having a catalog party. Want to buy some cookware?
... a reader. And I don't just mean someone who reads books, I mean someone who would breathe the printed word if possible. I took a test today (yay for the Internets!) and learned that I read at 750 words per minute. If that doesn't mean anything to you, well, we really can't be friends now, can we.
... a smidge bit stubborn. And by smidge, I mean unbelievably. Don't tell my husband I admitted that. I blame my dad. Don't tell my dad I said that.
... an overly proud parent. I'm sure all my Facebook friends are tired of hearing about my two incredible, smart, beautiful, talented, amazing children. Too bad. That's what the hide button is for, guys.
... a dog trainer. Part-time only, due to the necessity of having room for another job that actually pays the bills. I love dog training. I hate people. Surprisingly, this does not cause problems as often as one might think it would. Clients tell me I'm great (shut up! they do!), but after 3 years of training, working with hundreds of dogs of all breeds, ages, and behavior issues, I still occasionally feel like I have no idea what I am doing. Please do not read the previous sentence if you are interested in hiring me.
... a full-time executive assistant. And I just got interrupted by work. Really, the things they expect of me around here.
... a fallen-away Catholic. Baptism, First Communion, Confirmation, and Church Marriage all under my belt, and here I sit, feeling completely apathetic about ever going to mass again. In my world, being gay is not a choice and everyone deserves the right to get married. I think that abortions within the first 4 months should be legal, because it's not my right to impose my religious beliefs ("life begins at conception") on anyone else. Yeah. Not so much fitting in with the Catholic crowd these days.
... a person who believes in ghosts, psychic powers, and aliens. After seeing Sheena as a child, I spent years believing I could talk to animals. Some days, I still do. What?
... a pill-popping downer. Don't worry, the pill-popping cancels out the downer part. That's what my doctor says anyway.
... an obsessor, with no ability to let things go. Especially when those things are me doing something stupid and/or embarrassing. Or when I get utterly screwed over by random store employees. Have I told you the Hollywood Video story? Let's go with the short version, which is that I am on year 10 of my Hollywood Video boycott. Fuck those fuckers. (Mom, if you're reading this, please edit the last sentence to 'darn those meanies.' And put the bar of soap down, okey dokey?)
... a statistic in the 'morbidly obese' column. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do about that. Lord knows I need to do something.
... a dreamer. I dream of being an author, editor, crazy cat lady, and lazy woman of leisure. I dream of having a home with built-in bookcases in every room, including the kitchen and all bathrooms. I dream of getting 9-10 hours of sleep per night on a regular basis. I dream of the Pacific Ocean, Magic Mountain, and Claim Jumper. I dream that I am sitting at work and all of the sudden get this overwhelming urge to ... you know what? Never mind.
... a woman with little tolerance for females of the happy clappy persona. I am not interested in befriending someone who farts rainbows and shits sunshine. Come now, sit here on the bitchy bench with me. Isn't that better?
... a straight-arrow. The anti-partier. Bor. Ing. I'm just too old/tired/fat/broke to be fun.
... an odd duck. I can't listen to someone's voicemail without leaving a message. I only like even numbers, especially when it comes to setting my alarm or the microwave. I'm anal-retentive at work but a complete slob at home, even though the results of my slobbiness drive me insane. I want to be more liked, and am seriously annoyed with myself for the wanting. My Sahara-Desert-dry skin sucksass but I can't be bothered with lotion. Random smells make me gag, but I can handle my kids' vomit without blinking. Oh, did I go a bit too far there? Oops.
... a girl whose brother is dead. It's been seven years, and I still haven't learned to live without him.
... a wife and mother. Most days, I feel that I am not particularly good at being these things. My husband and kids kind of got screwed. Sorry guys.
... a Pampered Chef hostess currently having a catalog party. Want to buy some cookware?
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